Cleo's Game

6. Berkenton

A half-rotted wooden sign was displayed at the beginning of the cobbled path. "Berkenton," the sign read. "I've heard of this place before; they supply leather for shoes." Cleo said. Drew didn't answer, and Cleo started to feel the eyes of the villagers burning a hole in the back of her head. They were disgruntled at the very presence of the two. The two of them continued to make their way down the path, avoiding bumping into the natives of the village.

They were smaller than humans, only coming up to the waists of Cleo and Drew. They wore raggedy leather clothes, and their skin was wrinkled. Their limbs were skinny, with long and dexterous fingers that allowed them to be masters of their craft. The entire village smelled of cow pats, and for good reason. These little, scrappy creatures have adapted to their lack of size and paved the way for animal domestication.

Every family had a group of cows, and they consumed enough beef to become sick of the taste. They commonly curdled cheese too, meaning that food was never an issue for them, despite it being virtually impossible for them to hunt. However, surviving hunger was half the story, considering their neighbours. The peaceful, goblin-like Berkenton residents were easy pickings once humans caught up in development and their settlements surrounded them like a moat of blood.

As they walked through the centre of the village, Cleo suddenly stopped. There was a wet, thick impact that slapped her on the side of the head. She put her hand to her head, and she scooped off the mud that was thrown towards her. She started to steam, furious about this unprovoked attack. She scanned the area before finding the culprit. She stormed over to this old, scrappy goblin with mud on his right hand and confronted him.

Drew rushed over, worried about what Cleo might potentially do. "What the fuck is with you? You think you can just fling mud at me, you little shit?" she yelled, as the goblin just returned an equally angry, defiant expression. "Cleo, this isn't worth it. Come on. Let me fix that." Drew said, trying to calm Cleo down. He separated the earth from the water in the mud caked on Cleo's face, allowing it to slide off as if nothing had happened.

"Get out of our village!" the little goblin scowled. "What the hell did I ever do to you, you little asshole?" Cleo asked, as Drew defeatedly sighed. "I'm a soldier fighting to protect this place from the Northern Army, and that's what you do?" she continued, with Drew grimacing as he heard her finish that sentence. More of the Berkenton villagers watched the confrontation, startled by the shouting.

"Protect us?" the villager scowled. "You are the danger. You soldiers are what we need to be protected from. You started this war for greed and nothing else," he argued. Cleo was confused as to what he was even talking about. There was no conflict between the South Exdritch army and this little village, she thought. "That's not true," Cleo replied, not even fully confident in what she was saying. She had never even heard of Berkenton or its inhabitants. "We're fighting to protect the people who live on the south of this island, and nothing else," she said, remembering the things she had been told before while in training.

"We were here long before the war started, when your human greed took over and those two brothers' scramble for power began. We were once a large and advanced civilisation, but your people reduced us to tiny villages, holding us prisoner in our own homes," the villager started. Cleo was confused, hearing this history that was completely different from what she knew. Drew allowed her to listen, knowing it was too late to stop Cleo from hearing this.

"Cleo, let's go now. There is no point in arguing with him." Drew firmly told Cleo, once the villager had stopped speaking. He led her through the cobbled paths, past the tiny homes, and away from the village. Drew didn't look angry, but he looked concerned. "What was he talking about? None of that could possibly be true. Why wouldn't I know about them at all?" Cleo asked, somewhat rhetorically.

"Well... I suppose what the army has told you isn't entirely true," Drew answered, carefully picking his words. "I wouldn't say that the army has clean hands at all, from what I know. What you need to remember, though, is that because I have this rank, we can eat three meals a day and sleep with the rain off of our heads." Drew reasoned. "What? What are you saying? Are you telling me what he was saying was true?" Cleo asked, alarmed.

They stopped walking, and Drew found some rocks for them to sit on. They made eye contact, which was a very rare occurrence. "The short answer is yes," he answered, sorrowfully looking towards Cleo and knowing how much this new information will affect her. It sure affected him when he read about it. "I don't want to fight for an army like that!" she yelled, feeling angry and overwhelmed by how her worldview was flipped. 

"I know you don't; it's horrible." Drew agreed, but he realised that he needed to convince Cleo not to try to leave. "However, if we lose this war and the Northern army takes over, who knows what will happen to the people here? If I had to guess, a lot worse than what's happening now. Let's just appreciate what we have for now," Drew reasoned. Drew was looking more and more desperate to move on from this, and his eyes were like a window into his psyche.

Cleo always wondered why Drew was the way he was. Serious, secretive, and sad. She has known some of what he knows for just minutes, but her energy was already somewhat drained. She thinks back to how things were before Drew was recruited, and she knows he's right. It's just hard to stomach for her, knowing that she is only fighting for a lesser evil. As they continued to look each other in the eye, it felt like the ice between them had melted, and they wordlessly continued walking.