Chapter 4

Exill woke up to a hubbub of noise as the refugee camp turned to life the next morning. Two soldiers flanked an official cradling a plumed helmet. Raising his hand, he motioned the people gathered before him to quieten down.

"You will gather your belongings immediately and make way to the western checkpoint. Bring only your essentials because you will be carrying them in a five-day journey to the Capital. The caravan leaves at midday. You must leave before then or you will be left to fend for yourself." The official waved away the protests and questions of the refugees before turning to exit the camp. Outbursts could be heard as some started wailing, their hopes of reuniting with their loved ones swiftly dashed away. As Exill limped towards the gathered throng of people he could overhear multiple conversations.

"It goin' to take longer than five days to Ark in the condition we in…"

"I heard fields be infested with wolves and grasshounds, what, with all them corpses around."

"How we goin' to defend ourselves?"

A sympathetic young guard at the camp entrance sidled over to the gathered group with palms raised to placate them. "You are going to be alright my good folks; we are all blessed by the Spirit and there'll be guards with your group. Now quickly pack up and get goin'!"

Another guard injected by shouting over the first, "Tell 'em to sharpen stakes! It be better to have at hand than naught!"

This prompted the group to panic and look around for suitable staves they could sharpen, asking to borrow knives as they slowly began to arm themselves. Exill furtively looked around for things to carry as he had no belongings to speak of. A man with one arm in a bloodied sling approached him, holding two sharpened staves. There was a hint of concern in his rugged, yet good-looking face as he extended the weapons., "Hold this and let's head out, the sun is nearly above us."

Exill gratefully took the stave and followed the injured man as refugees steadily filed out of the temporary camp. They soon reached a convoy of three carts drawn by mules. Two of them were loaded with injured soldiers, some of them groaning in pain.

"Alright people! Form up and get ready to move out! Elderly and injured in the spare cart, six maximum. Let's get a move on people!"

There were surprised whispers as the group of 40 refugees looked upon carts filled with injured soldiers. These wounded were going to be their escorts? How could they possibly protect them? They were surely doomed, the wolves would tear them apart!

Many were convinced they were walking to their graves. A trek to Ark was dangerous even in the best of times. Not only did they have to contend with beasts, in these times of unrest strange things arose from their slumber… but the alternative of staying on a battlefield was worse. The refugees gradually formed an orderly caravan and set out just as the sun reached its zenith.

Only the squeaking axles and muted conversation could be heard as they travelled along the well-worn road. Distant laughter could be heard as children chased each other, clinging to the wagons, and treating the entire thing as an adventure.

"You ever been outside Lindtree village?" The injured man asked as he checked the unstrung bow on his back.

"No, this is my first time… Thank you for the spear."

"No worries, my name is Verill by the way, hunter/forager by trade."

"My name is Exill, I… do not have any useful jobs."

Verill raised his eyebrows and asked, "How old are you if you don't mind me asking?"

"Twen-… seventeen" Exill corrected himself at the last moment.

Verill nodded as if that explained everything and continued, "You must have recently turned 17, that explains why you haven't assigned a job yet. Did you discuss your future job selection with your parents?"

Exill shook his head, feeling nauseated from the memories that weren't his own, visions of a middle-aged man and a woman with mirthful green eyes. He absorbed this new knowledge that Verill had shared. 'So, you can't assign jobs until you turn 17, that's important to know.' he thought.

Verill sighed as he empathised with Exill's predicament. He himself had taken six months to choose his first job, and his second job was assigned a year later, only after the incessant nagging from his late father. "It isn't easy for us commoners to switch jobs once they're assigned. Normally I would tell you to take things slow, but looking at our situation now…" Verill ended his sentence with a shrug.

The two continued to walk in silence as Exill thought things over. This world seemed a dangerous place. As a former 29-year-old engineer, he didn't know the first thing about self-defence. Riding a bicycle was the most exercise he had ever done.

These dark thoughts seemed incongruent under the bright midday sun amid the breath-taking scenery of the gently rolling hills to the left. However, Exill could not help but overhear people muttering about dangers to look out for on the road. He suspected that when night fell and the shadows loomed closer, he would want some way to protect himself.

"How can I learn to wield this?" Exill gestured at the spear in his hand and Verill's normally stern face softened into a smile,

"It's easy, I'll show you when we take our next break."