“Give them some time,” Orrian says as he places a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur still looks like he would very much like to interrupt the reunion but nods in acceptance.
“Follow me,” Arthur says after one last look. He leads the way back out onto the street. Most people have already gone back to their drinks but a few watch us warily as we exit.
Arthur doesn’t look back as he leads us over the road and past several more decrepit huts. After witnessing the incredible structures and feats of the colony it’s no wonder Becker has always looked down on our village with arrogance. To him we must seem primitive, incomparable next to the might of the colony.
My mother once told me that she used to know some of the children that would later leave Avlym to become Tarrin’s first community. She was only young at the time, but she can still vaguely remember a couple of her friends leaving with their parents. When I had first come here so many years ago it had still looked new, it had looked much more put together than its considerably older neighbour. Now though, if I was to stare at a single house, it could be in either Tarrin or Avlym, both would be identical. It is incredible how quickly the village has reached the same problems that we have, no doubt they too must have had some tough winters.
We are led to a large two-story building, it is alone in its height as it rises above its neighbours. A small planked platform juts out in front of the house as the whole structure is raised a single step off the ground, another unique feature. From the platform rise several felled tree logs which support an overhanging room above. For once, a proper door also greets us as Arthur ushers inside, no open frame or curtain. The door looks solid and heavy, there are a couple of cracks in it, but the thing doesn’t look like it’s even begun rotting yet. I wonder if we’re being taken to see Thoren, surely no one else in Tarrin could have such an impressive home.
From the entrance, there are a couple of different doorways leading to rooms either side as well as a wide staircase leading above. Arthur takes us up the steps which impressively don’t even creak beneath our weight. At the top of the stairs we move down a narrow hallway and past a couple of closed doors. This is definitely an important place, very few have doors in this kind of condition on the outside of their homes let alone within. Arthur ushers us into the room at the very end.
Inside is spacious, even more so than it would appear from the outside. Many chairs sit around a large table in the centre of the room on which several crudely drawn maps have been scattered across. At the head of the table stands one chair much larger than the others. It is this one that Alice immediately hops onto, I quickly brush any important looking papers out of her mischievous reach. A pile of books and half written abandoned pages rest untidily at the room’s edges.
“Stay here. I’ll be back in a second,” says Arthur, pulling the door too as he leaves. I stiffen as I anticipate the click of a lock, but none comes.
None of the tribespeople take a seat and so I stand also. Orrian hasn’t stopped pacing since being shut in here and has just reached the point of verbally considering whether we should leave when the door opens again.
Arthur steps inside, now at the front of a group of around six villagers, all of them are at least as old as himself. Something considerably larger shifts at the back, at least two heads above the rest of them.
The man must duck as he enters through the doorway, squeezing slightly to fit his shoulders through the apparently narrow gap. Even once in the room he is unable to fully straighten. Now I know why the stairs had to be so solid, I am still a little surprised that anything other than stone would be able to support the man’s immensity. No wonder he kept the colony collectors in their place, I certainly wouldn’t want to risk upsetting him either. The impossibly large warrior really does live up to the legends, Thoren.
“Hey, get out of there,” an old man snaps at my sister. He reaches down to take her by the arm, but she’s already leapt out of the way before he can get to her. I scowl at him and he returns the gesture.
The villagers begin taking their seats as Thoren takes his place at the head of the table. The chair complains beneath him but manages to hold. His people have all sat as close to him as possible, and they watch us suspiciously as they collect up their papers so that the table is now bare.
“Please, sit,” says Thoren, his voice as deep as the rumbles of thunder. The gravelly words wake the tribespeople from their awe and we take the last four remaining seats at the far end of the table. Damion should really be here but Orrian was right, he and Bennie need some time to themselves. Orrian positions himself so that he sits opposite the giant.
“Who are you? Tell us everything,” Thoren orders.
“This is Dale, he’s one of ours, and-” Arthur jumps in from Thoren’s side.
“Not you,” Thoren booms, he doesn’t raise his voice, but his words still seem to shake the walls. He raises a finger at Orrian.
Orrian begins telling our story, he starts the same way he started with me outside Edwyn’s den so long ago. He talks of life among his tribe and the war that ended in the Great Fire before he took refuge in Avlym. As he
