1.38 Madwin’s Barrow
The mud squelched under Michael's boots—borrowed from Liam, each step a heavy echo of what had happened.
A week. Seven days since the hill rumbled, since the earth had flowed like a river and swallowed him and half the village. It still felt like the ground beneath his feet wasn't done yet, biding its time to crush him in its unforgiving embrace.
Don't be silly, Michael. The worst is over and you've survived.
The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth, remnants of a landslide that had battered the village and crushed the spirit of many villagers. These people had saved him, a stranger, they did not deserve this desolation. Homes, families, livelihoods—all shattered in a single moment.
This desolation of the landslide taught him a lesson. Mother nature was far more dangerous than any monster. Monsters could be lured into traps, they could be outsmarted. But nature was abrupt in its punishment.
Michael paused, stopping at the relatively solid street unable to go on from the burning pain in his legs and his muscles that protested at his walk—he had yet to recover fully even with Liam's healing. Liam, however didn't notice his distress and continued walking.
"Liam," Michael called, but his broad-shouldered friend in tattered garments didn't react, his voice drowned out by the sounds of hammering and the occasional clang of metal—reconstruction works.
"Liam!" He shouted his friend's name this time.
His friend turned, struggling to keep the curls of his shoulder length hair that was being buffeted by the wind out of face. "What's wrong? Why have you stopped?"
"I … It hurts… and I can't … breathe properly," Michael said in between gasps.
Liam rushed to his side, "Quickly, sit down."
Michael collapsed onto the nearest rock, breathing heavily. Liam's hand glowed with Mana, and healing energy seeped into Michael, stopping his ragged breath and soothing away his pain. Good man!
Unlike this ragged breath, the stubborn pain showed little sign of vanishing, it only diminished and not by much at that.
As Liam worked a healing spell, Michael let out a resigned sigh and asked a question to Liam, not only to pass the time, but to distract himself from the pain as well. "Madwin's Barrow, is there a history behind the village name?"
Liam glanced up at Michael, a flicker of pride in his eyes replacing his concern. "Ah, Michael, there is indeed a history to the name of our village. The name comes from bravery and sacrifice, it comes from the people for gratitude and remembrance."
Each word Liam said was emphasised by his reverence, his eyes twinkling, as if basking in the heroic tales of his forefather.
Michael leaned forward, captivated by the shift in Liam's demeanour. "Tell me."
Liam took a deep breath, his voice now steady and filled with simmering pride. "Many years ago, before the Naiker's field was officially named a county—a part of the Mandalin empire, our village was besieged by a company of orcs. They came in the night when we were least prepared, seeking to not only pillage and destroy but hungry for human flesh."
Michael gasped, it was as if he was inside the game he used to play at his friend's house.
Does that make Liam an NPC? No, don't be absurd. Liam is a living, breathing person and your friend. This world is no game. And I must not treat it like it, no matter the resemblance, that could be the death of me.
But what if he was a player of a sick game, unknowingly used to amuse aliens? Or worse, rich people from Mars.
"How did the village survive?" Michael said, stifling his stupid thoughts.
"When the orcs attacked, Madwin, the only warrior in the village, stood at the forefront. His battle speech, words flowing with the determination to defend their home, to protect our children rallied the villagers. Men fought with axes and hammers, women with pitchforks, and what other weapons they could find. They fought to protect their children from the orc's cooking pots."
"The battle was ferocious. For each of his people the orcs killed, Madwin reaped ten of theirs, turning the battle against them. They fought until the land was riven with the blood of the dead, until no orc was left standing."
Liam paused for dramatic effect. "Alas, victory came at a heavy cost. Madwin, in his bravery, was riddled with wounds, and succumbed to them. But the village was saved."
"And so," Liam said, widely gesturing to the village. "The village was renamed Madwin's Barrow in honour of our fallen hero. So that one day we might forget his face, but never his bravery and sacrifice."
Michael wiped a drop of tear from his eyes. "That was beautiful."
Michael pushed himself off the rock with a grimace. He didn't want to appear weak, not in front of these people, not after hearing that story.
"Easy there, Michael," Liam said. "You must rest. This walk was a little too ambitious, I think."
Michael set his jaw with stubborn determination, stifling his reactions to pain. "I'm alright."
"No arguments," Liam said firmly, prodding to guide him back to the rock. "Rest is what you need. Healer's orders."
Why would he rest now? After hearing such a powerful story. If he sat around doing nothing, he would go crazy. He had to move, do something. Even if it was nothing more than a simple walk. Michael didn't think he could accomplish more than that, as weak as he was, so walk it was.
Michael began walking, ignoring Liam's protests, leaving his friend no choice but to follow him, grumbling under his breath. "Fool! If he gets worse, I will be the one who has to do all the work of healing."
As they rounded the first block, another hut emerged—this was the area designated to cook food for the hard working villagers. A woman with flour clinging to her apron stood by the doorway, holding a ladle dripping with broth.
"Michael, Liam! Come, have some breakfast."
Michael shook his head. "Thank you, good mistress," he said, "We must decline your offer, we've already eaten."
"Nonsense, men your age must eat more. Come, have something."
"We wouldn't want to take away food from the children."
The woman favoured them with a hearty laugh, though her gaze did move to the children clamouring to carry supplies to workers, and pass messages. "Don't you worry about that, boys. There's enough for everyone."
In the end, Michael and Liam couldn't escape her food, short of rudeness, and so they ate.
With their stomach filled to the brim with food, they continued their walk. A young man, his broken arm fixed to a sling, passed them carrying a load of wood.
As they passed through the heart of the village, he saw houses that stood half-collapsed, their interiors exposed like gaping wounds.
Women worked diligently to clear debris. Men, some missing limbs, hauled wood and hammered nails. All the villagers were working hard to rebuild their home.
Yet, the work was far from easy. The constant rain, though absent for now, had turned the ground into a muddy mess, slowing reconstruction progress. Dark clouds loomed overhead, threatening the villagers with the next downpour.
As they walked, several villagers stopped to greet them, offering warm smiles and gestures of gratitude.
Their tour of the village continued for hours, not because Madwin's Barrow was particularly large, but because Liam and Michael stopped frequently to talk with villagers. Each conversation, stories of bravery and loss, of hope that couldn't be taken away from them. There were strong people indeed.
There were few who had lost their will, the fire in their eyes no longer present. The mayor had gathered the group of these villagers, with haunted eyes and hunched back. They huddled around a large bonfire, where the mayor recounted tales of Madwin's stand during a battle against the orcs.
Michael understood the purpose behind the mayor's actions. He wanted to burn away the despair from their soul and bolster their spirit, to rekindle the flames of life in their eyes.
"We're fortunate that so many survived," the Mayor said, his gaze sweeping over the gathered crowd. "But many are left with scars, not only on the body but the soul itself, scars that will never fully heal. Yet, we must continue living. To carry the memory of those we have lost, that they lived among us …"
They continued their walk after the mayor finished his speech, passing a group of craftsmen rebuilding a collapsed wall. The sound of hammers striking nails filled the air, punctuated by occasional shouts for more supplies.
"Isn't this enough," Liam said. "Why not stop and rest now?"
"Look there," Michael said as he pointed at the carpenter, his weathered hands calloused from years of work, showing a young apprentice how to use a saw. "They have suffered much—"
He pointed at the blacksmith, eyes blazing with determination as he repaired tools scavenged from the rubbles. "And yet, they endure. They rebuild–"
He pointed at the elderly woman who had no business moving about, organising the distribution of food rations. "The legacy of the hero, Madwin, runs deep in your blood. A resolve to never give up. How can I rest and do nothing in the face of that? I must recover quickly. I must help. That is why …"
A scream resounded in the air, the first scream accompanied by more screams. The sound had come from their left, from the farm on the outskirts of the village. Michael turned to see what the commotion was about, but the running villages blocked his view.
Since he had no energy to run, Michael used [Flight] to reach the crowd quickly. Liam did likewise, flying behind him.