Aer Born - First Draft

1: The Beginning

On the eighth day of second spring, in the 124th year since the Split, a woman of little worth gave birth to her second son. There was nothing special about this day, except for it being the day Aron was born. Yet, it would not be for a long time before anybody bothered to write it down.

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Marie Turkfel thought she did her best, but as she looked down at her newborn, she couldn't help but wonder if she ever really tried. She was just glad that this time she gave birth in the middle of spring, as opposed to the blizzard her firstborn came. With a huff, she reached for the coarse towel beside her and began wrapping the babe. He wasn't crying, but she didn't worry. If he died now, then at least she wouldn't have to try and feed another mouth.

Hector knocked on the door as he entered, but Marie didn't pay him any mind. He was five now, and time he started helping. As he stepped closer to peer at his new brother, Marie's frown deepened. Each year, the boy looked more and more like his father -- a dashing blond man from Tarse, who had passed through their insignificant village. She hoped her second-born didn't look like his father. If he did, and he grew up, she might just kill the boy herself. She never wanted to see that man's likeness again.

Marie shoved the infant at Hector and stood up. The sun had risen hours ago, and she needed to get to work. That Marie just gave birth wouldn't matter to the farmer she worked for -- he would just say it was her own fault for getting knocked up in the first place. Marie grimaced as she straightened her tattered frock. He wouldn't be entirely wrong.

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Hector watched his mother leave, gently rocking his new brother in his arms. She hadn't said anything about him, and Hector wondered if she'd given him a name. As the door swung shut, Hector cooed at the baby, smiling when he shifted and started to cry.

"Hello, baby brother," he whispered.

The older boy glanced around their small shack, eyeing the hay bed with a thread-sparse woollen blanket atop it. He set the babe atop the bed, ignoring the increasingly loud cries, and went outside to check their cellar. Their home was only small, and the shed leading to the cellar appeared nearly as large.

With a grunt, Hector heaved his small build against the door, stumbling as it gave way. The dank smell from below wafted to Hector, and he scrunched his nose. He hurried down as quick as he could without risking a fall, his feet nearly catching on themselves as he reached the bottom and looked around. It had been a while since he'd last hidden in the cellar, but he was sure there was an old crib somewhere.

The cellar was around the same size as the inside of their shack, and he quickly saw what he wanted. Under a pile of rags, and covered with cobwebs -- Hector shivered as he wondered if any spiders were near -- a rickety crib sat with two musty pillows inside. Hector struggled as he tugged at the crib, and glared at the stairs he would have to pull it up. Using two of the longer rags, he tied them to the crib's rockers and slung them over his shoulders. As Hector began to trudge, his mind drifted to the plough horses working in the farmer's field.

With a glistening sheen of sweat across his brow, and aching shoulders from where the rags dug in, Hector resisted the urge to collapse outside the shed. In the light of day, the crib resembled little more than a heap of splinters. He would have to sneak into the Craftsman's home later for something to smoothen it. He didn't want his little brother hurting himself.

After a brief rest, during which Hector laid out on the ground and heaved many breaths, the boy stood back up and grasped the rags. He couldn't hear the baby crying, but assumed that if he were then the wails would've been discernible, even outside the hut.

With a great deal many grunts, Hector finally pushed the crib into the corner beside his own bed of hay. He picked the pillows up briefly to what some of the dust away, glad to not see any spiders, and scooped his little brother up once more.