Chapter Text
Late Spring - Sixteen years Post-Translation
Sol sighed with relief as he finally stepped out into daylight.
The day's trek had been exhausting, but the soreness he felt wasn't nearly enough to dim his satisfaction, and he was already looking out over the valley below him in hopes of spying a good campsite close to the river. He even smiled as he lifted his crude spyglass to his eye and began to consider his options.
Right away, Sol noticed a spot upstream and on the other side of the river where the ceaseless work of time and water had eroded the foundation of a basement or tunnel, causing the northern wall to collapse in on itself. That cave of sorts could be an excellent shelter if the rest of the walls inside were still stable, and from what Sol could see, the river hadn't moved too far in the intervening years, so he'd be nice and close to the bit of pebbled beach that had formed at the water's edge. It looked like a great location to camp, or even to settle down longer term, but Sol figured the odds were slim that he'd make it there before sundown.
He figured he still had plenty of time, but he knew that the steep climb down the embankment would tire him further, and he hoped to have enough energy left to make a proper meal out of the rabbit he'd caught earlier in the day rather than resorting to his dwindling supply of jerky and pemmican. Besides, the weather was lovely, and if Sol was honest, he kinda wanted a spot where he could also get a decent view of the sunset.
As he accordingly swung his gaze down towards the closer side of the valley, the weary traveller sighted a large patch of stone at the river's edge below him, and a peek through his spyglass suggested a sizable chunk of it was clear and level enough to set up a cooking fire. His camp would certainly be more exposed than he'd usually prefer, but he'd seen little sign of wolves in the area, and a decent fire and some simple warding should deter the smaller scavengers that might come along.
Having made up his mind, Sol began to carefully pick his way through the rocks, gravel, and scraggly bushes, down towards the spot he'd chosen.
---
Later that evening, as he lay on his bedroll, watching as the sun hid itself behind the forest and stone that loomed over the western edge of the valley, the young man thought to himself that maybe he had finally wandered far enough. This valley and the ruins that surrounded it couldn't be more wild, and he knew these lands were said to be poisoned, but they were also beautiful and full of life. Game was abundant, and there was plenty of fruit to be found in the trees and bushes. The river too was full of fish. A person of skill could live well here.
Sol only hoped that the stories that grandmothers told about the place would be enough to keep others away, to keep them far enough away that his father couldn't make him hurt them.
Autumn - Sixteen years Post-Translation
Danel's voice was loud today, and Sol's patience was wearing thin.
It wasn't the rage-filled screaming that the deranged bastard had bombarded him with when Sol had first left the village, or the incessant pleading whine Danel resorted to as it started to sink in that this was no mere hunting trip. This was more like a petulant grumbling and moaning.
Sol had learned at a young age not to shout back or really respond at all to the voice. Half the village already thought he was cursed because of the events of his birth, and being noticed talking to or shouting at things others couldn’t hear would only make people avoid him more.
Back home, Aunt Jen used to say that as a baby, the only thing that would calm him was when she or Uncle Peter would sing his mother's songs to him. They made sure to teach him each one they could remember, and as Sol grew older, he'd use those same songs to calm himself and to quiet his father's near constant, incoherent raving.
Most of the time, Sol could get himself some peace by humming one of his mother's tunes or practicing some of the meditation techniques Uncle Peter had taught him. Even now he was humming his mother's gardening song through gritted teeth as he worked on folding compost into the soil of the plot he had begun to lay out the day before, but today it seemed that Danel just refused to calm or quiet down.
It was days like today that reminded Sol why he'd left ...why he'd travelled somewhere he knew he'd be alone.
He tried not to think about the burns he'd given Uncle Peter.
He hadn't meant to hurt him. He'd known that Uncle Peter was trying to help ...but meditation wasn't working; the songs weren't working. His father wouldn't stop screaming, and Sol couldn't focus, couldn't think about anything but his father's seething rage, and Sol was angry too.
He'd been angry with Danel constantly yelling inside his head, angry with himself for not being able to push the voice away or shut it out, and even angry with Aunt Jen and Uncle Peter for not being able to make it stop.
...and when Uncle Peter had tried to hold him, to soothe him, for a moment Sol and his father both lashed out to push Uncle Peter away.
He remembered how it felt, and the memory made him sick. He remembered pushing with his arms, already strong and sinewy from years of hard work around the village, and that strength alone might have hurt Uncle Peter badly, but this was more than just a shove. Sol had pushed with something else as well.
He remembered how first his limbs felt cool as his chest grew warmer. He felt the satisfying warmth, the delicious heat filling him up from the core. He felt it flow within him, following his will as it surged down his arms and into his uncle's skin, searing the flesh as if it had been put over a flame. Then he remembered the wave of cold that poured over him, and the way he shivered. He remembered the smell, that awful, horrid smell of his uncle's burnt chest.
He hadn't meant to do it. He hadn't known he could do it. He wasn't sure if he was capable of doing it again.
...but he had still done it.
His father had shown him how, leading him through the mental movements of drawing in and pushing out, telling the heat where to go. Without his father, Sol didn't know if he'd ever have learned how to do such a thing.
...but he had still done it.
Later, as he lay recovering, Uncle Peter said that it was like what he did as a healer when he needed to cleanse a wound, drawing heat from within and sending it where it needed to go to destroy any infection before it could take hold. Danel had known how to do it because he had been a healer too.
Uncle Peter tried to tell Sol it wasn't his fault.
...but he had still done it, and he was terrified that he might do it again.
After it happened, Danel wasn't angry anymore. Instead, the crazed voice inside Sol's head had been overjoyed, beaming with pride and excitement at what Sol had done to the man who had certainly been more of a father to him than the raving lunatic inside his head.
Sol hated his father for taking joy in what he’d done.
The unbidden memory still made Sol nauseous. He tried to clear it from his mind and focus back on the task at hand.
There was usually some sort of logic to Danel's moods. He'd been relatively quiet over the last few weeks, alternating between a sort of smug taunting and bored whining. The volume of his petulant grumbling had been quite manageable until Sol had started working on the garden this morning.
He was confident he had enough stores for the coming winter stashed deeper into the tunnel, behind the shelter he built around its opening, they'd keep just fine in there where it was cool and conveniently dry, but since Sol had decided to settle here in the valley instead of just wintering over, preparing some garden beds for next year just made sense. He’d brought a few seed potatoes with him and seen other plants in the valley and amongst the ruins that he recognised from home and was pretty sure he knew how to cultivate. With any luck, he’d have a garden next year that even his mother could have been proud of.
As stood up straight and brushed the dirt off, Sol looked over his handiwork and suddenly realised why Danel had been throwing such a hissy fit.
His old man had figured out from the garden project that Sol was planning to stay.