Borghulda - afternoon - Proxy

  “Oh… Oh!”

  Alex's speechless, awestruck gasping is better than anything I can muster up. Hell, all I did say was “Holy shit”, and that was back on the bus. The buildings are made of wood and stone, but they don’t look mismatched. Rather, well throughout and constructed; down to a fine art, might I add. The roads look carefully paved and there’s a nice gap between it and the buildings, to keep them out of the way of people.

  “This village looks…better than I had assumed it be,” Richard mutters, taken aback.

  “Course it is. We don’t do half-assed shit. Dis is our home after all, so we do da finest work for it.”

  “You’re telling me,” Chip says, keeping himself whelmed. “This place is better looking than any other village.”

  “What about that underground one?” Gil mentions. “That place was huge, and the place was amazing.”

  “True, but the buildings don’t come to mind. The only thing worth remembering was the girls,” he ends with a creepy grin. “...Man, after this is all over, I wanna go back there.”

  “Thought ya remember the part where they tried to snuff ya out?” Elizabeth retorts, disgust written all over her face.

  “Who isn’t trying to kill us nowadays? Besides, if it's a cute girl, then I can let anything slide.”

  “Ya have no shame. I'd say that's impressive, but I just can't.”

  “Hey, it ain't about shame, it's just…being a gentleman. Right, Proxy?”

  “Nah, dude, you are shameless, with a capital ‘s’.”

  “Whatever, you're still just a kid, so you wouldn't get it.”

  “Kiss my ass with that ‘just a kid’ shit.”

  But it wouldn’t be bad to go back there to tell everyone that we won. Besides, I wonder how Vella is doing anyway, so popping in and sporting my big ol’ smile sounds nice.

  “We keep to ourselves but we do get some new people who wound up here. Don’t just take in anyone with a sob story though; have ta pull ya own weight. Means ya gotta go huntin’, keepin’ an eye out for a suspicious lot, maintainin’ crops, and helpin’ with resource gatherin’. Our home won't get back to glory itself!”

  Our little tour takes us to a town square. People pass by, carrying stuff: food, buckets of water, and weapons. They’re going on about their lives, talking with one another about mundane shit, but they stop as we pass by. Their eyes cautiously glaze over us. Super wary of strangers, I take it.

  “Don't mind dem. Just never had a big group of people come up here before. Dat, and your big ass vehicle makes an impression.”

  “We apologize for rattling anyone with our appearance.”

  “Nah, it's all good. ‘sides, if you were causin’ trouble, we wouldn't be talkin’ like dis. But enough of dat, my place is just down there.” There’s a large building down the road, by itself. A three-story house painted with a bunch of red markings. “We’ll have us a nice ol’ chat in there.”

  Chief Horgmon's home - Proxy

  The inside of this old dude's home is made of wood, and the quality speaks for itself—smoother than a con artist. And not to mention the warm, pleasant smell of lavender. A relaxing aroma that helps calm the senses… I gotta get me some incense when I get back home.

  “This place smells nice,” Marie says, taking a whiff of the smell.

  “Dat? Well, we used…ahh…”

  “...The smell is from a flower,” Finn answers, his chest puffed up. “It lets out a nice odor when in a warm environment.”

  “There are multiple flowers capable of emitting an aroma within certain environments,” Nunnalé chimes in with a twinkle in her eyes. However, some can produce toxins. However, those must be smelt in close proximity to it.”

  “Oh, there are some of those around here, but I got those mapped out already! Also–”

  “Enough! Finn, ya free to go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, ya can go to ya room.”

  “Yes, Grandpa.”

  The boy scurries off out of the place with a smile plastered on his face.

  “He looked glad to leave,” Marie states.

  “Ah, you know how kids are. Aye, I love da boy, but sometimes, he goes and worries me. This ain’t the first time he’s disappeared without a word. Sometimes, I want to yell ear off ‘till it comes off and make his head spin…! Bah, but ya ain’t here to hear me moan and groan about a young boy actin’ his age. Ya came to fight bandits, didn’t ya?”

  “That is correct,” Alex answers. “However, we also had the desire to come here as well.”

  “Hmm…let me take a gander. You wish for the warriors of Borghulda, right?”

  “We wish to have you all fight by our side in the coming battle.”

  The old man puts his hand to his chin, stroking his beard with his eyes closed. “Hmm… No.”

  Well damn, didn’t expect him to refuse us this early on.

  “No…? May I know why?”

  “Many reasons, but the important one being: we don’t know ya.”

  “Come on, old man, you heard of us, right?” I chime in.

  “I have, however, just ‘cause you make a few bandit shit themselves doesn’t mean I trust you.”

  “Then what must we do to earn your trust, sir?”

  “Is getting our help dat important?”

  “No, it is your trust that I want.”

  “My trust is important to ya? Ain’t you just a stand-up guy… Hmm...well, ya ain’t lanky like that boy behind you, or that angry lil’ shit as well.”

  I roll back my sleeves and show off the goods. “Hey, dude, I got muscle!”

  “Yeah, you old bastard! I’ll show you muscle when I–”

  Zell wraps his hand around Zeal’s mouth. He’s smiling and all that, but you can tell he’s not happy with his outburst.

  “Most of ya men look like they can handle some work.”

  “Work? Hold on a sec, you’re not gonna have us working, right…? Right?” Chip asks, sweating bullets at the thought.

  “Huh? What else would I have ya do? We got shit that needs to be done around here, and some able bodies are nice to have. Question is: are ya men willin’?”

  It’s not like I want to work or anything, I don’t. But if it helps Alex, I’ll keep my mouth shut and buckle down. But if the old guy really doesn’t trust us, then why have us work with his people to fix up their town? Telling us to piss off makes more sense.

  “Is this arrangement agreeable with everyone else?” Alex asks.

  Nobody rejects the idea; although a bit of apprehension is going around like the flu, nobody voices any discontent with it.

  “Very well, we shall assist you with whatever task you ask of us!”

  “Dat’s good to hear, kiddo… But…” The old man flashes an evil ass grin, snickering too. “...I never promised it would be easy.”

  Borghulda - afternoon - Proxy

  “1…2…3… Push! Come…on…push damnit!”

  Hell…this is…hell! Grueling, tiring, muscle-torturing hell! My legs are working overtime and my arms are pushing as hard as they can. Damnit, this sucks, this sucks so damn bad! Zell, Richard, and I are pushing this heavy ass wagon filled with rocks, wood, and some other shit! This should be easy and all, but hell no! This shit weighs a ton.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Push…you…lazy asses,” Zeal says, struggling to string words.

  “We are, shut up!

  “It’s…too heavy!”

  “Then put some backbone into it, buddy!”

  “I…I am!”

  You guys…are useless!”

  “Kiss my ass! You don’t hear me panting yet, do you?”

  “You’re sweating bullets, you weakling!”

  “Don’t come at me with that! I see your scrawny legs wobbling!”

  “Can you…guys…stop…arguing! Just push!”

  “Yeah, yeah…whatever…you scrawny little–”

  The wagon gains a sudden boost in momentum, leaving us behind. Richard keeps pushing it ahead with just one arm. Stepped on a land mine with that one.

  “Wha–what the–”

  A dry laugh is all I can manage while collecting my breath. “You were saying, chicken legs?”

  He stops moving the wagon and rests it in place with a single hand. We catch back up, placing our hands on it, and Richard puts his other hand on it.

  “Just so you know, I can do this by myself, but I thought it would be cheating,” Richard says, baring his buried cold, ruthless-natured attitude onto Zeal. “...Now both of you, please start pushing!”

  “Don’t lump me in with him. I don’t need to stop pushing to talk shit, you know this.”

  “Then just don’t let him antagonize you!”

  “...I’ll try.”

  We barrel on, bring ourselves to the brink just to luge this stuff around… You’d think with four guys this would be a… Wait a minute… Where’s Chip!?

  “Where did Chip go?”

  “He…he was just right here.”

  “That lazy little– He’s over there!”

  Sitting in the shade of a house porch, Chip fans himself with his damn cape, acting like he did any hard work.

  “Richard…we’ll be back.”

  “...Drag him back here.”

  “I hope you mean literally.”

  “I do.”

  Our unsuspecting friend continues to have the time of his life under the shade as his - soon to be - immediate doom approaches.

  He notices us, nervously waving at us like it’ll do anything. “O-oh… What’s up, guys…? You hanging in there?”

  “Whatcha doing over here?” I ask, disguising my anger with a calm tone.

  “Yeah, what happend?”

  “Ah, well, you know, I ain’t all that strong. My arms are lanky, my legs aren’t too good, and I have terrible stamina. I, um, would be a burden to you guys, so, I decided it’s best if I sit out on this one. Gotta do what’s best for the army right? But don’t worry, I’m rooting for you, 100%! So what do you say, just leave me here, huh?”

  “...Proxy, let’s drag him by the legs.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Ah, wait, wait! I wa-wa-w-was just kidding! Guys, it was just a joke!”

  With our combined strength he doesn’t stand a chance of getting out of this now.

  “You know, I’m feeling kinda tired. Wanna take a break?”

  “Ya know what? Not a bad idea, kid. Hey, lazy ass! Take over for us.”

  “For…all three of you?”

  “Yep.”

  “You gotta be kidding me! I’ll die!”

  “We’ll make you a nice grave,” Zeal dispassionately says.

  “Monsters! Evil!”

  “Pure evil, baby.”

  And just like that, Richard, Zeal, and I earned ourselves a quick break while the ever-reliable Chip continued to do the work for us. I expected the usual shit-talking to ensue, but Zeal seems pretty chill, for some reason. I want to be careful talking with him since I can’t tell if he’ll explode or not, but I might as well take the chance to shoot the breeze with him before he gets all bipolar again.

  “So, Zeal…having a nice day?”

  “No. We have to do shit labor for these bastards. Why the hell should we anyway; it’s their town, they should fix it.”

  “We need their trust, that’s why.”

  “Yeah, yeah… Still a pain in the ass.”

  Okay, well, that didn’t go anywhere. Yeah, this labor stuff is hell, but if we benefit from it in the end, then I don’t mind. However, a part of me wants to know what’s going on in that old man’s head.

  “Zeal,” Richard calls. “...are you worried about your brother?”

  “Hm? Why do you want to know?”

  “I know it’s random, but you sounded somewhat worried when you were talking about work.”

  “Oh, yeah, you got that weird ability. I guess I am, but I know he isn’t a wuss, but I can’t help it sometimes.”

  “Because you two are all you have.”

  “Yeah. Just can’t help but worry at times.”

  “No, I get it, and I’m sort of envious of you guys for being so concerned for the other like that.”

  “What for?”

  “I have a brother, too. We’re not twins, though, and I’m the younger one.”

  “Did something happen to him?”

  “I want to say no, but that’s the thing: I’m not too sure. Even before coming to this world, we rarely spoke to each other, and he always kept his messages short. I wanted to ask how he was, but…I dunno, it never felt like I’d get a reply, or that he would care to answer.”

  “You think he doesn't care about you?”

  “No. He sends me money and pays for my living expenses, and I am grateful, but the last time I saw him was before he sent me off; 3 years ago.” He nervously chuckles to himself, trying to hide his face behind his arm while awkwardly scratching the side of his head. “Look at me, now I'm just complaining.”

  “Man…you both sound like idiots.” Richard leaps inside his skin, bringing his eyes to Zeal like a deer staring down headlights. “You're scared to send him a letter, and he just sounds like an ass. If you miss him, then speak to him, and if he cares about you, he’ll respond.” Zeal stands up, smacking Richard’s shoulder. “...Brothers shouldn’t be scared of talking to each other, so stop being such dumbass about it and just do it…”

  Richard’s forlorn expression softens into a small smile. “...Your right… Thanks, Zeal. I suppose I am overthinking things. Sorry if my bemoaning about this bothers you.”

  “…I kinda get it, so it’s fine. Just don’t wuss out when you do… Who knows if you’ll ever get another chance.”

  “Right, thank you.”

  I nudge Zeal on the back. “Wow, so you can be nice.”

  “Of course I can!”

  “Color me surprised.”

  “Hey, you want me to beat you!?”

  “Then stop mouthing off and take a swing. Can’t promise I won’t.”

  Oh, that reminds me. Chip is still pushing the wagon and he’s no farther than he started. His loud panting is pretty pathetic. He isn’t a powerhouse; he has the strength of a fourth-grader, but this is kinda sad.

  “Okay, maybe we should get back to work. I sort of pity him at this point.”

  “Alrighty, let’s go give him a hand, fellas.”

  “Guy lazes around and can’t even push a damn wagon.”

  “After this, you guys want to go do something?” Richard asks.

  “Ah…fine, guess I got nothing better to do, but it better not be boring.”

  “Sure, it’s been a while since we could relax.”

  “Great, then let’s finish this task first.”

  Chief Horgmon's home - afternoon

  Horgmon watches the town from his porch, smoking a pipe and standing around with the authoritative air chief of Borghulda. However, something is bothering him. These newcomers to his town doesn't alarm him, but rather set him on guard. He’s keeping up the appearance of someone who’s accepted them for the time being but is wary of them.

  “Excuse me for the intrusion.”

  A boy clad in black makes his presence known to the village chief, who doesn’t flinch at the boy’s sudden arrival. He takes a large drag on his pipe, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

  “What do ya want?” he asks, composed yet laced with anger. “Don’t ya know it’s rude to come into people’s homes uninvited?” The boy keeps his silence. “Aye, ya better get to da point of ya bein’ here.”

  “The anti-bandit army has arrived here.”

  “I damn well know, but why are ya here?”

  “Are you intending to fight alongside them?” Horgmon takes another hit of his pipe. “I would like to remind you off–”

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it already. Dat all?”

  “You have not answered my query. What do you intend to do with the anti-bandit army?”

  “Dat’s none of ya concern…! But we don’t intend to fight ya.”

  “Very well. I was only tasked to see if they came here, and of your stance on their arrival.”

  “‘Fraid we might want in on da action?” Once again, the boy does not answer. “Am I expectin’ another visit?”

  “I am not privy to that information at this time.”

  “Course not. Now piss off! Ya got what ya came for, so just…”

  The boy vanished, leaving no sound or even the impression of a human being there. All there is smoke and the bitterness he left Horgmon in. The elder curses under his breath, wishing he could strangle the life out of that boy, and he could probably do it, but not consequence-free.

  “Finn…! Finn, you here!?” His grandson does not come, and he sort of knew that would happen. “Aye...”

  He isn’t pissed that Finn leaves the house without a word. He’s used to it. The problem is he leaves without telling anyone where he heads off. Today, like every other day, gives the chief a reason to be concerned about him.

  “Hmph, no sense in dawdlin’ about like dis. Work needs to get done.”

  He takes one last puff of his pipe, savoring the flavor, before releasing it from his lungs. He places it on the porch rail and heads off to do his duty. Before he can get far, Alexander’s blond hair grabs his attention.

  “Ah, Chief Horgmon!”

  “If it ain’t the blondie. What are ya doin; over here?”

  “I have completed my task early to come speak with you, sir.”

  “Rushin’ things get ya nowhere, kid.”

  “But, I have thoroughly polished and sharpened the weapons that were given to me.”

  “That right?”

  “Indeed. My father taught me to maintain a weapon. ‘To put your life in the hands of a poorly cared for weapon is nothing but foolishness.’”

  “Dat right…? Well, he ain’t wrong. I’ll just have to check it later. If ya excuse me, I got work dat needs doin’.”

  “What sort of work?”

  “My chiefly duties. They’re a pain in da ass, but I gotta do it.”

  “...Then may I be of assistance?”

  Horgmon brushes his beard, forwarding his brow and squinting his eyes. “Why for? Kissin’ up to me won’t win ya any favors.”

  “I know, however, I wish to help anyway, and I also wish to learn more about this village and its people. So if it is not bothersome, allow me to assist you.”

  Alexander’s earnest response surprises Horgmon. Originally, he thought that was something akin to an act he puts on for his allies, but he can see that he does want to help out with him. But it’s not enough to satisfy him. He wants to test how genuine he is.

  “Fine, but keep up. I want to get dis done by dinner.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Oi, ya don’t need to yell. I’m right here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Aye, this might be a different headache…”