The Grandeur

Chapter One - Hunter

I make my way down to the river to fetch the daily water. Pulling on the straps of my backpack, I swiftly tiptoe down the path.

I’d made this path with Tiff when we first got here, last winter.

There were stories the Grandeur wanted to stop – the reason the Rebellion grew. Most of them are exaggerated or told by the drunken men of Hill, but one stood out.

      The woman, older than time itself, started with the question: “Will redemption really come through compliance?” My face must have been shocked otherwise she wouldn’t have chuckled.

      Everyone knows the Grandeur’s aphorism:

Redemption through Compliance

 

      Posted on every wall, tree and remains of Before, this was printed, along with the Grandeur’s seal. Anyone questioning the Enlightened Ones will have soldiers at their door the same day, so of course what the ancient lady was saying was outrageous.

      I’d gone to the village’s shop, handing in the rabbit I’d caught fresh that morning, when she came to me. I saw grass growing from her hair, dirt on her face and ripped clothes hanging from her hunched frame but her eyes shone with the brightest blue I’ve only ever seen once n a person. Tiff.

      A tattoo twisted round her wrist peeking through the hem of her sleeve. When she saw me looking she spoke again

      “Curious child,” It was certainly more of a statement that a question. Wisdom wrapped around her words as she spoke, with calmness I only find when listening to the wind. She came closer to me, whispering as if it was an effort for her, so more like rasping.

      “The Grandeur isn’t dead; it’s alive, living on its last life. And you have to save it,” she said, whilst she tightly gripped my wrist. She was strong for an old woman.

      Butcher looked over at us and smiled.

      “Come on Edith. Stop talking that babble of yours,” he said to her. Looking at me he said: “She hasn’t the faintest idea of what she talking about.”

      I looked at her, while I released my arm from her solid grasp.

      “How do you know this?”

      She replied, “I think you mean: how are you still alive and know all this?”

      “Edith! I am not having soldiers come here to wreck my home and rob me of my things, just because you’re talking a load of manure!” exclaimed Butcher. “So, please, talk somewhere else if you have to.” Butcher was right. I looked behind us to see if anyone would’ve heard us. Rewards for any information of growing disobedience in a community is said to be quite a lot.

      “I have one thing to tell you,” she comes so close I can see myself in her eyes. “Everything you know is a lie.”

      And she left.

      I stood there dumbfounded.

      “Don’t listen to a word she tells you. She’s getting crazier and crazier each day.”

      I nodded and gave him the rabbit. Butcher is a middle-aged man with hardly any hair, a wife and two children. He’s the person whom I give my hunt to, in exchange for a few silver coins. I’ve never held a gold one. He walked behind the counter and gave me three silver coins. It’s usually one for a pigeon or two for a pheasant. I got lucky that day; three silvers for a rabbit.