The rain continued for several days. Although no longer the deluge that happened a few days, yet so long ago, the constant drizzle seemed to oppress the village and their mourning. People remained quiet and to themselves, considering the past and dreading the future. The healer was one of the oldest people in the village and had been there as long as most could remember, yet she was full of life as she kept the villagers healthy and alive. A part of the village had died that day and there was no way to replace it. The only hope was that the initiate healer, the girl who had stayed with the dying elder for so long could somehow finish her training, but many in the village could not agree to this. The healer had to come from the village and learn everything she had to from the previous healer. The line of the village had to be maintained and now it had been broken. Although some harboured the hope of bringing in another, many could not comply. The sanctity of the village had to be maintained and could not be corrupted by an outside influences. The village was mourning their loss of a friend, a leader and their future; it was also divided. However, for now the village lay still. Many did nothing but pray to the gods and few returned to work. Those that did return to work remained subdued and their thoughts were lost, all constructive effort lost in the daze that penetrated all the people to their core.
Of the few that worked, Rasalt was one. The forge that had a few weeks ago been a place of happiness and warmth was now different. The fire seemed to give out a blistering heat instead of the heartening glow of before, and every blow of his hammer on the anvil sounded hollow in his head. His tears had ran dry, and he had cried no more since the night of her death. Instead he had become like the rest of the village. He walked around stunned and lifeless and his actions were lifeless. He stayed in his forge all day, beating out tools and forging metal into use, and slept all night. Like the others he ate little. No-one could eat until they knew their future.
The burial ceremony would be at the new moon, still four days away, and there would be a meeting the day after to discuss the future. The decisions had to be made as soon as possible, but they were held back until after the ceremony as a small mark of respect, one of the few they could offer. Although the illness did not seem to have spread, sickness was inevitable, and soon someone would need the healer.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“A decision has to be made, we cannot wait for the illness to spread to the rest of us. You know that the only person who could help us is dead and we are left in greater jeopardy than ever before. We have no choice but to send the girl to the next village. She has to be taught to heal us and there is no way that we can do this here. She also has to learn quickly, we cannot wait long.” The voice carried clearly across the square so that all those present could hear it. The Speaker was a slightly small man yet he was still strong, muscles from his years of labour fleshing out his form. But he was also a man of intelligence, he could speak well and displayed a great leadership. For many years he had been the unofficial leader of the village and he seemed likely to keep the position for the remainder of his days. Now, however, the village did not unite behind him. The subject was separating them.
“How can we break the line of healers? You know they carry the life of the village with them. That cannot be given by another village. You saw yourself the last time it was attempted, the village didn’t last even two summers!” The people were all gathered round and were showing their first signs of activity since the death, the signs of conflict and dispute.
“I know the traditions as well as you do, but I also know that we won’t last one summer without a healer. The cold will steal the young, elderly and ill in the night over the winter unless we have the shield of the healer. If she begins training now, she will be back in time.”
“They are more than traditions though!”. There were murmurs of approval at this, emboldening the Speaker. “We cannot find the life of our village with our neighbours.”
The Speaker could see the rift developing before him. There were people on either side of the conflict and there was no solution. He knew sending the girl away was hopeless, even if she could find what was needed, she was too young. He almost agreed with those before him, but he knew that that approach would not solve their problems. “Then what would you suggest? I know as well as you do about the sanctity of the healer, but we have no alternative. There is no other way.” His voice was tired and the villagers understood. It is some testiment to them that they did not clamour or shout but instead paused to think, to try and see a way out.
After a period of silence someone spoke. It was Rasalt, standing at the back of the crowd. “If there is no way she can finish her training alone, and no-one from another village can help us, then there is only one option. We must leave.” The briefest of murmurs flashed through the crowd as his emotionless voice carried clearly. “No-one else can help us, and without others, the village is doomed. The only answer is to move on. Make a new village and create a new bloodline.” Now the murmurs became voices. People questioned their neighbours and the rift was formed. Already people had set their minds, some on staying, some on going.
“No!” The voices were silenced. “We cannot leave. Winter is nearly upon us and it would take months to make even half of what we have here. We would all die within weeks without shelter”
“We have a chance. If we stay here it is a matter of time before we die. If we move on then there is a chance that we could find somewhere new and unpolluted. Maybe this is even a sign from Earth Herself that we should leave and find somewhere new. Maybe she has somewhere prepared for us if we move out of this valley, and if we stay we are denying her gift. Everything tells us to go.” Rasalt turned and began to leave, people shifting uneasily in the crowd, some even following him.
“Maybe if we leave then we will die! Maybe you are sending us to a cold death. There are no signs to leave and all that we need is here. Even waiting until the spring would be better than what you suggest.” Desperation rang true in the leaders voice, yet tinged with anger at the futility of Rasalt’s departure.
Rasalt stopped and turned round slowly. “I do not speak for the others. I only tell you that I am leaving. Perhaps logic would tell me to wait until spring, but I cannot do that. This place holds nothing but tears and suffering for me, and I cannot face that. I am leaving and whether I shall survive or not shall be for Earth to tell.” He turned and walked back to the forge at a steady pace, ignoring the increasing protests of those behind him, and barely acknowledging those who did as he did. He was leaving. Some would follow, some would stay. The desperate protests of the Speaker, left in the middle of the square with those who would stay, screamed past his ears unrecognised and uncared for as he walked away, holding part of the future on his shoulders. The decision was made, the words spoken, and now all that was left was the cold reality.
The Speaker was left in the square with a smaller crowd than before. The crowd had left and all that was left was the villagers. They were confused and afraid as the Speaker was, and those that had not left immediately were left with an increasingly difficult decision. Those who remained were quiet, they looked to each-other for guidance and whispered almost conspiratorially amongst themselves. The Speaker however, did not remain so inert. Slowly, he began to walk after Rasalt towards the forge. The meeting had finished, but their conversation had not. He did not know what would be said or what the outcome would be, but something needed to be said. He knew that by the time the sun went down that the future of the village would be changed irrevocably.
He paused outside the forge before he entered. He braced himself for the approach totally uncertain of what was to come. He also took the time to calm himself as the rare feeling of loss of control approached him. The only way for him to try and avoid it was to keep moving and pray that he could stay ahead. He ventured into the forge expecting to see Rasalt preparing to leave, but instead saw only the forge silent, the fire burning gently, and at first, not a soul present. Not for the first time today he was surprised and took a moment to survey the room. At first he didn’t see them, but then he noticed in the corner, where the bed had been returned to it’s original position after the healers death, Rasalt lying prone facing the door and the girl kneeling, speaking softly and inaudibly to him. He was not expecting to find him in such a state and decided to leave. Their talk could wait if he needed to rest and he was also suddenly reminded of his own tiredness. The past few days had been a drain on the Speaker but Rasalt had suffered more. Although the Speaker bore the weight of the village, Rasalt had had to face the loss of his mother as well. His responsibilities were combined with an insurmountable grief that the Speaker could not challenge. If the boy needed to sleep then he would sleep. If the future of the village was to be discussed then they most both be fully concentrated. The boy needed time to rest. The Speaker gently turned to leave the forge.
“If you have come to speak then speak. If you have come to pity me then pity me.” Rasalt’s voice was tired and quiet. With his back turned The Speaker had briefly wondered if Rasalt’s father had been in there unseen, but as he turned he recognised the voice as Rasalt’s, somehow changed but recognisable nonetheless.
