Nothing In This World


Nothing In This World


Nothing In This World

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“I’m not sure I understand,” said the man. “You’re saying that you don’t know what’s going on?”

The woman nodded, her eyes downcast and sad. She was a young girl with long black hair tied back in two braids; she wore an old-fashioned dress of white linen over a simple chemise. The man who sat across from them had dark skin and short curly brown hair.

He looked to be about forty years old. His clothes were plain but well made: a gray woolen tunic tucked into soft leather breeches held up by suspenders, and he wore a pair of sturdy boots. A sword hung at his side beneath a worn cloak.

It wasn’t much like anything they’d seen before—it seemed more like something out of a storybook than real life. But then again, everything here did seem unreal somehow…

“We’ve been traveling for days now,” continued the man, “and we haven’t found any sign of our friends or anyone else.”

He paused as if waiting for some response from the girl beside him, but when none came, he went on. “It seems strange to me that there should have been so many people living nearby all this time without us ever noticing it until today. And yet…” He shook his head sadly.

“There are no signs anywhere around here of battle, nor even of violence. There aren’t even any bodies lying around. Just empty houses and fields full of dead crops.”

“But why would someone do such things? Why would they destroy their own homes?” asked the girl. Her voice trembled slightly.

She sounded just like a frightened child asking questions about the world she knew nothing about. Perhaps because of how innocent she appeared, the man felt sorry for her.

“Perhaps they didn’t want to live anymore,” he replied gently. “Or perhaps they wanted to make themselves forget.”

As he spoke, the girl began sobbing quietly. The man put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close against himself. For a moment, neither one of them moved. Then the man stood up slowly and walked away toward the house. As he passed through the doorway, he turned back once to look at the girl. She still lay curled up next to him, crying softly.

When the man returned inside, the girl wiped tears from her face and followed after him. They entered a small room off to one side of the main hall. It contained only a single bed covered with blankets and pillows, along with a table and chair set near its foot.

On top of the table rested several books bound together by strips of cloth. One book was open on the tabletop, displaying a series of drawings depicting various scenes from everyday life. Another showed a map of the surrounding countryside. Yet another depicted a detailed drawing of a large building surrounded by a walled garden.

“What is this place?” whispered the girl.

“This is my home,” answered the man. “My name is Jorin.”

“And mine is Lina,” she said, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her dress.

Jorin smiled warmly. “Please sit down, Lina. You must be tired.”

Lina hesitated, looking uncertain. Finally, she took a seat in the chair opposite him. After sitting herself down, Jorin picked up the first book and handed it to her.

“These are maps of the land around here,” he explained. “They show where everyone lives, including myself and your parents.”

Lina stared at the pages intently, turning each page carefully. When she reached the last one, she closed the book and laid it aside.

“Where does this go?” she asked, pointing to the end of the book.

“That’s the front cover,” said Jorin. “If you turn it over, the other side will tell you how to get to my house.”

After handing the book back to Lina, Jorin opened the second volume. “Here’s a list of the people who live closest to us,” he told her. “Their names and addresses are written right here.”

Lina glanced quickly at the page, then looked up at Jorin questioningly.

“Do you see the name ‘Tristan’ listed among those who live nearest to us?” he asked.

Lina nodded.

“Then let me introduce you to Tristan,” said Jorin. “He’ll take care of you while I’m gone.”

With that, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

***

A few moments later, the sound of footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway outside. Moments later, a tall man wearing a green tunic and pants stepped into view. He carried a wooden staff in one hand and a bundle of sticks under his arm. His hair was long and tied back tightly, and his eyes were dark brown.

The man stopped before the two children and bowed deeply. “I am Tristan,” he announced. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

Lina jumped out of her chair and ran forward to greet him. “Thank goodness!” she exclaimed. “You’re alive! We thought we’d never find you again.”

Tristan laughed heartily. “Well, it wasn’t easy finding you either. But don’t worry; I’ve brought plenty of food and water with me.” He placed the bundle of wood on the floor and unwrapped the cloth covering it. Inside was a large pot filled to the brim with stew.

“Oh, thank you!” cried Lina. “We haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning.”

“Don’t mention it,” replied Tristan. “Now come on, eat up—we can talk afterward.”

While Lina and Tristan ate their fill, Jorin sat alone in the corner of the room. He watched as the two young people talked excitedly, sharing stories about what had happened during the past week. At length, they finished eating and went upstairs to change clothes. A short time later, both came downstairs dressed in clean clothing.

“How did you know where to find us?” asked Lina.

“It was simple enough,” responded Tristan. “There aren’t many places to hide in these woods, so I simply started searching until I found you. And now that I have, there’s no need for any more hiding.”

“But why didn’t you just leave when you saw us?” asked Jorin. “Why stay and help us instead? Why not run away like all the others?”

Tristan sighed heavily. “Because I couldn’t bear to abandon you,” he said softly. “Not after everything you’ve been through.”

Jorin frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Look at yourself,” continued Tristan. “Your clothes are torn and filthy, and your skin has turned pale from lack of proper nourishment. Your hands are covered with cuts and bruises, and your feet are swollen because you walked barefoot across miles of rough terrain. Do you think anyone would want to keep such a person as a slave or servant?”

Jorin shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “Of course not.”

“So if someone offered to buy you, you wouldn’t accept the offer, even though you might be able to earn money by doing some menial task?”

Again, Jorin shook his head. “Never,” he declared firmly. “Even if I knew nothing else but how to work hard, I still wouldn’t sell myself.”

Tristan smiled sadly. “And yet, you’ve already sold yourself twice,” he pointed out. “Once when you agreed to become a soldier, and once again when you decided to join the rebellion.”

“I didn’t really agree to anything,” protested Jorin. “My father forced me into becoming a soldier. It wasn’t my idea.”

“Yes, well, I suppose that’s true,” conceded Tristan. “Still, you made the decision to fight against the king, and that means you chose to give up your freedom. You gave up the right to decide whether or not you wanted to serve the crown. That makes you a slave, regardless of how much you may wish otherwise.”

“But I only joined the rebels because I thought it was the best way to save our village,” argued Jorin. “Besides, I’m not sure that joining them is going to accomplish anything anyway. They seem to be making very little progress toward overthrowing King Rard.”

“That’s exactly why I stayed here,” explained Tristan. “To try to convince you to stop fighting. To tell you that you shouldn’t waste your life trying to overthrow an unjust ruler. Because, believe me, it won’t make any difference. The kingdom will fall eventually, but it doesn’t matter who rules over it in the end.”

“Are you saying that you don’t care if the king dies?” demanded Lina angrily. “After all you’ve done to help us, you should be happy to see him dead!”

“Of course I care,” replied Tristan. “He’s killed thousands of innocent people, including hundreds of my friends and family. But that isn’t the point. Even if the king were to die tomorrow, the country would still be ruled by his evil son, Prince Rodric. So long as the prince lives, the people of this land will continue to suffer under his tyranny.”

Lina looked at Tristan in disbelief. “You’re telling us that we’ll never be free unless the prince also dies?” she exclaimed incredulously. “Then what good does it do to kill the king?”

“The answer is obvious,” answered Tristan. “If the prince died, then the throne would pass to another member of the royal bloodline. Someone who cares about the welfare of the people rather than using them as pawns in his own personal games. If the prince were to die, then things could finally begin to improve.”

“But what if the next heir to the throne proves to be just as bad as the last one?” objected Jorin. “Or worse?”

“Well, then, you’d better hope that the new king is willing to listen to reason,” suggested Tristan. “Otherwise, you can rest assured that he’ll take advantage of the situation and use the opportunity to consolidate power. He’ll probably start arresting those who oppose him, and imprisoning anyone who disagrees with his policies. In other words, he’ll turn the entire nation into a prison camp.”

“How did you know all that?” wondered Jorin.

“It’s simple,” responded Tristan. “All rulers throughout history have used their position to oppress and control the masses. And they always find ways to justify their actions. After all, no one wants to admit that he’s being controlled by someone else. No one likes to feel helpless. So most people simply choose to ignore the truth and pretend that there’s nothing wrong with the status quo.”

“So what happens now?” asked Lina. “Do we go back home and wait for the revolution to fail? Or do we stay here until the war ends?”

“Neither,” said Tristan. “We need to get away from both places. We need to escape from the city and the battlefield. Then maybe we can figure out a plan to change things.”

“Where should we go?” inquired Jorin.

“There’s nowhere left to run,” replied Tristan sadly. “At least, not anywhere where we can hide without getting caught.”

Jorin frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“This whole thing started because I tried to warn the villagers about the soldiers coming to arrest them,” explained Tristan. “Now everyone knows that I’m a traitor. My name has been dragged through the mud, and I’m lucky if I ever set foot outside the walls again.”

“So what do you mean, ‘there’s nowhere to run?'” questioned Jorin. “Don’t you think that we should leave town before word gets around too far?”

Tristan shook his head. “No, I don’t want to risk running into more soldiers. Besides, I doubt that even if we managed to slip past the guards, we could manage to reach the forest undetected. Not after everything that happened today.”

“Then what do you suggest?” pressed Jorin. “Should we just sit here waiting for the army to come looking for us?”

“Not necessarily,” replied Tristan slowly. “Maybe there’s something else we can do instead.”

The End

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