Kile of Zumada

1: The Farm Boy

A storm was coming. The sky had turned gray and dark, and the village Earthbound had done a weather scry. But most importantly, his mother's knees were hurting something fierce. That was always a bad sign.

Kile whipped the sweat off his brow once more as he dug his shovel into the coarse earth beneath him. A big storm meant a lot of water, and that meant the plants might drown out. He wasn't going to let that happen. His mom had started helping him, but with her gammy leg and sore knees she had gone for a sit. He didn't blame her in the least.

He had been working on this for two hours, and there was still so much to do. He looked at the sky. The sun was already past midday, and the storm was supposed to come at sunset. After this, he was planning to put pots over the crops to protect them from the wind. He was also planning on making a dam on the other side of the ditch he was digging. If it overflowed the ditch, he'd have another line of defense.

One by one, he carefully examined each of his plants. Like most of the people in the village of Zumada, he grew grains. Specifically, wheat and barley. His family had been doing this since his grandfather's grandfather, and that's why they stuck to it. The demand for potatoes had grown ever since people discovered how versatile they were, but it would feel like a betrayal of his dad to start growing those, and Kile was not a young man to betray the dead.

He missed his dad. He had died 6 years ago in a Poredo raid. He didn't like to think about that day. Instead, whenever he thought of his dad, he'd think about the smile on his face when he was tending the field.

His dad had loved growing the grains. "It's like a field of gold that you made all by yourself," he'd say. Kile had to agree. There was nothing more beautiful than stepping out into the fresh air of harvest time and seeing the amber waves washing across the face of the world. The first time he had done it with the crops he had nearly been taken to tears by the sight. He had been small then, only 7 or so, so the field looked like it was endless, and it was his. He, father, and mother had done that. With their blood, sweat, and tears they had turned the world gold.

Tubers didn't have that. Flecks of green were no substitute. His dad had also refused them specifically on the grounds of pride. "I won't ever change just to make other people happy," he said, "they'll get over this potato thing soon enough!" Fruits were colorful, and also delicious, but their land didn't have enough space to make growing fruits a viable option. They had a single apple tree and that grew enough food for them alone. Gourds could be beautiful, but for some reason he could never get them to grow. Maybe he watered them too much? Maybe they needed to be planted later in the season? He had experimented here and there but he'd yet to make the major breakthrough and no one in Zumada grew them, so it was his to make. Livestock was also right out - Cluckbirds were too noisy, and he didn't have the heart to slaughter them. He nearly cried every time he had to harvest the grains, he couldn't imagine looking a creature he raised from infancy in the eye and then killing it and butchering it. Woolbeasts could be used for things other than meat - wool, milk, cheese. But they were very difficult to take care of, and the males could be violent.

In short, all they had was grain, and that was fine. It made them enough to keep a roof over their head. But that was the trick. This was a delicate time in the growth cycle. It was too late to replant, but too early to get anything at all out of it. If they lost them now, they'd lose everything.

Besides. He wanted to see that beautiful golden field.

Once the last of the sprouts had been covered, he heard his mother call him.

"Yes mom?" he responded.

"I heard a trader just arrived in town. I'll finish covering the plants, would you please go over and buy some tarps? Just in case the dirt starts to kick up."

Kile nodded, and straightened his back. His muscles immediately started to release in that painfully relieving way.

"Got it! You sure you're gonna be alright?" he asked.

"I got it, I got it," she chided, "I'm hurting, not useless."

She hobbled over to the pots, and began placing them herself. Kile walked to the town center over the dusted paths, and sure enough, a middle aged woman with black hair and blue eyes stood in front of a cart. Her bead-braided hair and her nose patch being a fleshy brown indicated she was Djezzi, which caught him off guard. Usually the traders that passed through here were Tenmen or Imperial.

The oddness of that struck him. He supposed most Djezzi just didn't want to be traders. He certainly wasn't interested in the profession, though the idea of traveling was something he was gaining interest in.

All he had to trade was the quickly dwindling remnants of last year's harvest. As he returned home, he felt a droplet of water tap on his head.