[Story] A Babe in the Woods

[Shieldwarden]

The fighting had been going for near on half a day. The crackling of magitek, the booming of cannons, and the bright flashes of fierce combat disturbed the Moon Keepers from their normal hunting, each one nervous and curious as to what the outcome would be. Most had their eyes skyward, where the flashes from malms away still lit up the night sky where they stood. The canopy of the Black Shroud over the Keepers’ camp could not obscure the lights completely, and even the little ones could see that something was amiss. 

 

 

Rhel Qhaalu watched as well, fingers twitching with each flash and bang. She crouched down next to the trunk of a fallen tree, covered in thick moss. The fighting could easily spill over into the woods, and they were dangerously close to the border with Ala Mhigo. She had ranged north from the camp, keeping watch on the perimeter to warn her clan should the Garleans or even the Ala Mhigans encroach. Rhel slid an arrow from her quiver and nocked it as she watched, listened, and waited. 

 

 

The miqo’te had been sitting near motionless for two hours when the flashes in the sky began to taper off. The blasts from the cannon fire had gone quiet, but there were still thunderous rumblings of the battle echoing from the north. Rhel was watching a leaf dance in the wind when she began to hear the panicked scrabbling of feet strange to the wood. Ears perked and grip tightened on her bow, Qhaalu squinted as she looked in the direction from which the noises came. They were distant, but there seemed to be a throng crashing through the woods in a frenzy. The movement was headed southwest from the fighting, crossing north to west from Rhel’s position. But then it wasn’t; some had broken away to head due south away from the group but slightly east of where the Keeper camp was located. They mean to surround us, Qhaalu thought, but she was too far from the camp to warn anyone and the encroachers were too close for her to shout. So, she raised her bow and prepared herself… 

 

 

And then they stopped. The larger group to the west of her was still moving farther away, and she could make out some shouting, but the ones that had broken off south had stopped somewhere a couple hundred yalms away from Rhel’s position. Heart pounding and breathing difficult, Rhel remained tensed for what seemed an hour.

 

 

The larger group had fled from earshot, but Rhel still heard no sign of the others that had stopped east of her. They were somewhere still north of the camp, but their proximity was still worrying; Qhaalu decided she would try to approach, remembering that both Ala Mhigans and Garleans were diurnal Hyurs and those fleeing most likely were either asleep or otherwise unconscious. So she slowly and methodically picked her way towards where the sounds had stopped, pausing every few trees to listen for any movement or others coming from the north. 

 

 

As she grew closer to where she estimated they had stopped, Rhel became even more cautious. She began to hear a quiet, muffled whimpering and drew her bow as she stepped lightly towards the sound. As she came over an embankment, she found them; a female Ala Mhigan lie sprawled face down at the base of the bank and a large male Highlander sat propped against a broken boulder, his splintered spear lying next to him. He was still breathing, but he clutched at a massive wound on his side. As Rhel examined him from her perch on the embankment, she could see burn marks on his arm as well. The female was motionless, but it was from her the whimpering sound was coming. 

 

 

Leaping gracefully from the embankment, Qhaalu trained her aim on the Highlander. He scarcely seemed to notice her, his gaze wandering the ground in front of him. 

 

 

“The flames… must… stop… the flames,” he muttered. Rhel could see the sheen of sweat on the man’s face and chest in the moonlight despite the coolness of the air. 

 

 

Glancing again towards the female, Qhaalu asked, “Is she dead?”

 

 

The Highlander didn’t seem to hear her and continued mumbling. Frowning, Rhel stepped towards the female and knelt beside her.

 

 

The Highlander jumped to his feet. “Don’t!” 

 

 

Before Qhaalu could react, he fell beside her, an arrow protruding from his back. Another Keeper stood to the side of the boulder, bow still raised. 

 

 

“Lehda?” Rhel asked.

 

 

The other miqo’te lowered her bow and answered. “Yes.” 

 

 

“Help me check the other one, I think she may yet live,” Rhel said, the shock of the moment freezing her voice.

 

 

Lehda turned. “Just leave her for the woods, Rhel. They should not have come here.” She jumped onto the boulder and started to climb the embankment when the whimpering started once again.

 

 

Rhel exclaimed, “Gods be good, say it isn’t so…” She reached down and turned the fallen female over, and beneath her wrapped in a soot covered cloth lie an infant. Lehda also stopped and looked in confusion.

 

 

The two miqo’te looked at one another, questioning what they should do. Neither had ever seen an infant Hyur. They stood and watched as the baby nestled his face into the covers and slept. Lehda moved towards him, but Rhel stopped her.

 

 

“What are we going to do with it?” she asked.

 

 

“What else can we do but give it a quick death?”

 

 

Rhel looked on her friend with abject horror. “You will not.” Without another word, Rhel carefully took up the child and turned back towards the camp. He did not stir as she bobbed him slightly up and down as she walked.

 

 

Lehda sighed, “You are a fool, Qhaalu. The Matriarch will not let you keep it.”

 

 

Rhel paid her no mind and made her way back to her camp.

 

 

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The ruckus had gone on ever since Rhel had set foot back within the ring around the fire. The little ones wanted to see the child, some of the elders argued over how it should be disposed of, and Rhel sat quietly and rocked the baby as it slept. 

 

 

Rhago’a Mohravi sat silently next to her, eyeing the ones arguing. He had said nothing to Rhel when she came into the camp, but he knew her mind. Rhel had the greatest misfortune the Keepers recognized in that she could bear no children. She had tried multiple males over the years, but no seed quickened in her womb and she was nearly cast out before the Matriarch showed her mercy. Resigned to her fate, Rhel thought she could at least find purpose in her life in protecting her clan, but it was an empty life knowing she could never bear her own little ones. 

 

 

Rhago’a knew this, as he and Rhel were close companions. He was the last male she had tried with, and when she learned that there was no conception between them he had been the one to whom she ran. Rhago’a was the last of the sons born in the clan, and soon he would be leaving to perform the role suited to males of the Keepers of the Moon, but his ties with Rhel were oddly romantic; he would have rather stayed with her, but the Matriarch had already made the decision he would leave as was custom. 

 

 

Sahce Mharal, leader of the clan, exited her tent and quieted the crowd. Her long gray hair was braided into her traditional ponytail that fell to the small of her back, and she motioned for Rhel to bring her the child. When Rhel stood and approached, Sahce spoke. “You as well, son of Rhago.” Mohravi was taken aback, but followed Rhel just the same.

 

 

The two sat across from the Matriarch’s seat inside her great tent, and Rhago’a looked about. This was the first time he’d been invited into Sahce’s tent, and he was in awe of the collections the Matriarch maintained; bone carvings in the shapes of great beasts, several embellished walking sticks, a wickedly curved blade that must have come from an Ixal, and numerous other odds and bits. Rhel remained silent as Sahce entered, posting two guards at the tent flap. The Matriarch took her seat and picked up a long shaft of wood and a small carving knife. 

 

 

The three miqo’te sat in quiet as Mharal worked the blade into the wood, gently blowing the chips into the fire pit at the center of the tent. Rhel never took her eyes off the face of the child. Rhago’a watched her, and watched the Matriarch, and waited.

 

 

“The Hyur youngling cannot stay with us, child,” Sahce spoke firmly, but not harshly. “We have not the means to care for him, nor the knowledge.”

 

 

Rhago’a still watched Rhel as she continued rocking the baby, but he noticed no signs in her expression that she even heard the Matriarch. And then she spoke. “Matriarch, I have spent my whole being on trying to become a mother. My only desire in this world was to have a little one of my own, of my own flesh and blood, that I may contribute to the legacy of the clan.” Tears began to run down her cheeks.

 

 

“But the gods have deemed me unworthy—“ Rhago’a tried to stop her but she continued over him. “The gods have shown me no grace in this, and so I had decided that I would instead devote myself to protecting the mothers and the children here.” The baby stirred softly in her arms and she shushed him ever so gently as she stroked his face.

 

 

“Yet happiness still eluded me, Matriarch,” Rhel continued. “I would see new babies every season, and I would remember that I am cursed for eternity. And so instead of watching them grow in the place of my own blood, I have taken to the edge of the camp, away from the painful reminders of my burden. The trees speak nothing of my unborn child, the stones see not my weakness, and the brooks do not whisper in secret of my bane.”

 

 

Rhel paused to wipe the tears from her face before they fell upon the child. Rhago’a resisted the urge to put his arm around her as he sat still as a patch of moss.

 

 

“But tonight, Matriarch,” Rhel continued finally, “tonight I have felt a happiness in my heart I’ve never known. When I first found this child, I knew… I knew that he must be spared. My soul sings as I hold him, and though I know he cannot stay here, I know also that the very fiber of my being refuses to allow harm to come to him.”

 

 

Silence once again fell on the tent as the three miqo’te sat, one rocking a babe, one intently watching her, and the eldest watching the flames. The moment lasted a long while before Sahce Mharal spoke again.

 

 

“There will be no harm come to the child, my daughter,” she said quietly. “The fighting in the north is a burden the entire realm will bear ere long, I fear. We must care for one another in whatever capacity we are able, yet for now we cannot offer more than a momentary respite for this one.” She nodded towards the baby.

 

 

“There is something I must ask of you, and of Rhago’a. It will not be easy, as I can see your adoration for the youngling grows by the second. Yet if we do not do this, the fate of us all may well hang in the balance.”

 

 

Rhel wiped another tear from her eye. “I will not abandon him.”

 

 

Sahce nodded. “I do not ask that of you, but you must understand that he cannot abide among us.”

 

 

The quiet returned once more, and Rhago’a allowed it to last as long as he dared before he said, “What do you ask of me—of us—Matriarch?”

 

 

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Theodoric Oldamont stood arms crossed as his guests spoke. He’d been managing the operation of putting this camp together for months now, and it was not entirely unusual for a miqo’te to come in, hawking skins and asking for a place among the other outcasts. What was odd, though, was a pair of Keepers bearing a swaddled Hyur babe asking to leave it among them. 

 

 

“This is hardly a safe place for such a child,” he finally said, exasperated. “I have men and women of every persuasion coming into my walls at every hour, and some mean not to stay and help but to take and harm.”

 

 

Rhago’a continued his plea. “Sir, please, you must hear us out. This child is a refugee from Ala Mhigo, his father and mother fallen trying to save his life. We have no means to care for him any longer than we already have, and you seem to already have some younglings among your number. We just thought…”

 

 

“Aye, younglings I do have; ones that can haul loads, feed the animals, tend to the fires and such. Ones that can contribute, not just open mouths crying for food,” Theodoric answered. “No, you just—“

 

 

“Theodoric Oldamont, you stop that right this instant!” an elderly Elezen woman stepped up from behind the tall Wildwood captain. 

 

 

His brow furrowed and his arms dropped to his side as he shook his head. “This is all I need now.”

 

 

The woman walked towards them and gave a harsh scowl towards Oldamont before turning a bright smile on the miqo’te and the child they carried. “Oh, I do hope my son has not given you three too hard a time. He cares a great deal about the people here, but sometimes the old blood in his veins comes out and, well, he loses sight of what we are about here. Please, come in and have some soup.”

 

 

The two miqo’te looked at one another and then the male looked at Theodoric. Sighing, Oldamont gave in. “Go on. She’ll have my head on a pike if I try and stop you now.” 

 

 

The three guests made their way into the cabin and Oldamont went about his business, seeing to the repairs on the southern wall where the rains had caused a great tree to fall and tear down a large section. The carpenters were hard at work, but Theodoric preferred to oversee such a task directly and expedite it in any way he could. It would not do to have a gaping hole in their defenses overnight. The forest dwellers were getting bolder, some of the brigands coming within a hundred yalms of the walls the past fortnight. The creatures of the Shroud were more than just a nuisance as well, causing quite the incident with last night’s patrol. The hearer who was stationed with them assured him it was not the elementals doing, but something certainly had the fauna in a stir.

 

 

As he handed up a fresh cut piece of timber, Oldamont glanced over towards the cabin and saw the miqo’te walking out, followed by his own mother, Sarienne. The three of them were making their way towards the makeshift inn on the west side of the camp. As he watched his mother introduce the two guests to the Midlander who managed the lodge and then turn back towards her cabin, Theodoric motioned for her. Sarienne walked up to him, avoiding a rather large water puddle and sidling up next to her son. 

 

 

“So? What do you make of them, Mother?”

 

 

Sarienne took a deep breath and smiled, “I make of them to be honest, cautious, and highly unusual.” She hooked her arm through Theodoric’s and continued. “The girl is very attached to the child, and the boy is more than attached to the girl. Quite odd for a male Keeper to be so enthralled, truly.”

 

 

Theodoric kept his stony expression. “And what of the child?”

 

 

“Berthold and, oh what’s her name… Oh, right! Sophelie. Berthold and Sophelie have agreed to take the three of them in for now. They agreed that if all works out over the next week or so, they’ll take the child and let the miqo’te go on their way.”

 

 

Theodoric kept watching the woodworkers and did not speak.

 

 

“You disapprove?” Sarienne asked.

 

 

Oldamont hesitated, then answered. “I do not disapprove, but I do worry. We started Graywatch to aid exiles and refugees; helping them is what we do here. However, the child is ever so young. What if he grows ill? Who will care for him if Berthold and Sophelie cannot? There is much at risk in taking in such an orphan, Mother.”

 

 

Sarienne and Theodoric walked around the giant puddle in the middle of the path and towards the cabin where she’d prepared the giant pot of soup. “Indeed, such a risk. But everything about this camp has been a risk, my son, and yet you have seen it blessed. I think it is only right that we take him in. After all, Berthold and Sophelie were desperate for a child. Perhaps this is Nophica’s way of granting it to them.”

 

 

“I do hope you are right, Mother,” Theodoric said as they entered the cabin and the aroma from the great pot over the fire filled his nostrils. “Now, about this soup…”

 

 

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Archebald Blackstone, an orphan of fallen Ala Mhigo, rescued by Keepers of the Moon and raised by an outcast Hyur from Gridania and his Duskwight lover. He was given the name Blackstone for the curious trinket found wrapped up in his swaddling clothes, a fang shaped black jewel set in a metal casing and hung from a sturdy chain. His rescuer, Rhel Qhaalu, and her friend Rhago’a Mohravi, visited him often as a child where he grew up in a small village called Graywatch on the western edge of the Black Shroud. His parents were killed during the Garlean Invasion of Ala Mhigo, and his aunt and her lover fled with the baby south into the Black Shroud, but not before they each took mortal wounds. None were aware that these were not Archebald’s parents.

 

 

Rhel Qhaalu rescued the infant Archebald from certain death in the Shroud, but she was rejected when she brought the baby back to her clan. On the advice of her matriarch, she and her friend Rhago’a took the child to a nearby outpost that was developing into a small village called Graywatch, which took in exiles and outcasts from Gridania and the wood. There they met Berthold Sawyer and Sophelie Oslaine, a Hyur-Duskwight couple who were exiled from Gridania by the Wood Wailers for their unseemly relationship. The pair could not have children of their own, and so were more than willing to take in poor Archebald. 

 

 

Growing up, the young orphan took an interest in the men of the patrols that guarded Graywatch and soon began asking to train with them. Berthold was hesitant, but knowing Archebald’s heritage he understood it was only a matter of time and so he and Sophelie eventually allowed him to train in arms. He also seemed keen on the lessons given by the hearers, who would stop by on occasion to ensure the village was abiding by the elementals’ will. His skill with a blade soon became apparent, and by the time he was recognized as a grown man he was considered the best swordsman in the village. 

 

 

In addition to the training with arms, wanderlust was another reason Archebald took an interest in the patrols. He longed to see what lie beyond the walls of Graywatch, and the tales from the hearers served only to stoke the flames higher. He even abandoned a patrol once to explore an overgrown ruin; he received quite the tongue lashing for that, but Berthold could tell that it was simply the young man’s nature.

 

 

One night as the stars were out and things were quiet in the village, Berthold took Archebald on a walk around Graywatch. He explained who each person was, what struggles they endured outside the village, what life held for each of them should they ever decide to leave. Archebald took this as an attempt at discouraging him from leaving, but Berthold told him that was not the case at all. “No one here has anything out there, but you have a chance to do something great, to make a difference. I would be a selfish old fool to try and keep you from it,” Berthold told him. The next morning, they told Sophelie, and she understood right away though she did not like it. Three days later, Archebald left Graywatch and began his life as an adventurer bearing a satchel of dried meat, a belly full of old lady Oldamont’s famous soup, and a heart filled to the brim.