Coming to Trade

"Stop calling me that! It's not my name!"

"Herobrine! Herobrine! Herobrine!" The children continued to tease, jumping around Hero and grimacing. Their hands reached out and pushed him roughly at his sides.

Hero grit his teeth and tried to keep from crying, when a shove sent him forward. The children purposely stepped out of the way so nothing remained to break his fall. He saw the ground coming up to meet him and then he hit it hard.

A cry broke through despite himself as sharp pain shot through his elbows and chin. And tears burst from his eyes, evoking more laughter from the children drawn into a tight circle around him. His vision blurred, Hero could no longer tell them apart, seeing only dim shadows against the bright blue sky stretching serenely over the Village marketplace.

A taller shadow approached and the smaller figures of the children parted before it, their laughter diminishing to a few nasty snickers.

"What's going on here?" An adult villager's voice sternly demanded.

"He started it, uncle Vernon!" One of the children immediately exclaimed.

"Yeah, he started it!"

The children complained. Hero grit his teeth to keep himself from sobbing, briefly unable to speak in his defense. Not that it would have mattered. Their voices were many and his voice was only one. And the grown up villagers always, always listened to their own. No matter what he said, they would believe them.

"Yeah, he came here and started looking at us with his weird eyes."

"Evil eyes!" A younger voice piped in.

"It's bad luck. Everyone knows it."

"Yeah! Every time he comes, something bad happens."

"We don't want him coming here!"

"... Hush!" The older villager interrupted impatiently.

"Be careful when you make accusations. Do you have proof of what you say? If not, then do not say it. The elders will not accept empty words. As long as he does not hurt anyone and brings something to trade, he must be allowed to come. That's our Village law."

The older villager's eyes swept over Hero's form sitting on the ground, indifferently sliding over his ragged clothes and bare, dirty feet, and then paused on the basket that lay tipped on the ground. Wild berries colorfully mixed with dust, some of them already squished by the shoes that stepped on them. The villager frowned.

"But he is not one of us!"

"Yeah, why is he allowed to come and trade? He is not like us!" One of the children protested. The villager kept looking at the spilled basket.

"By Law, everyone is allowed to come and trade in our villages. Even Humans." He grumbled.

"But he's not a Human. My pa says so!"

"Mine, too."

"And mine!"

All the children eagerly agreed, supporting each other.

"Yeah, he is a Monster!"

"He lives in the Forest with the other monsters!"

"Uncle Rangil's village chased him away because he is a monster!"

"Yeah, they chased him away because he started a fire, which burnt up their whole village!"

"AND he sent the monsters after them!"

Hero scowled, getting angry at the ridiculous tales. Most of what they said was not true! He did not know where all these stories were coming from, but they seemed to grow worse each time he came. And it was because of stories like these that many of the villages no longer allowed him to come in and trade, even though he carefully followed their rules as Grandpa Grake taught him. This was one of the last villages where he could come, because one of the elders of this village knew Grandpa Grake. But from the looks of it, soon he might not be able to come here, either.

The anger helped Hero to stop crying. Wiping his cheeks with the back of his dusty hands, he gave the children his best glare. They avoided meeting his glowing gaze, unwillingly shying away.

"He is a Monster and a monster shouldn't be allowed to come and trade." The oldest among the children continued his appeal to the grown up villager.

"The other villages do not let him come. Why is he still allowed to come to OUR village?" That older child demanded, frowning at the elder villager.

Doubtfully, the adult humphed, looking away from Hero's spilled basket to the green eyes of the youngsters crowded around him. The older villagers nearby paused their own doings and carefully listened.

"The elders of our village said that as long as he doesn't hurt anyone, he should be allowed to come. And their words are our Law. That means he can come. Whoever... he is." The adult villager gave Hero a doubtful look.

"But, he almost killed our friends! Margol and Tnul told us." The child insisted.

So, that's where some of the stories came from, Hero understood. Margol and Tnul again, still making things up about what happened. Why didn't uncle Rangil stop them? He KNEW the truth.

"Your friends are telling you false tales." The villager frowned. "Their uncle told us what happened. Your friends took something that belonged to him." The villager briefly glanced at Hero.

"He tried to get it back, as was his right. And he did hurt one of them, that's true. Burnt his arm, I believe. But their uncle said that it was an accident. He lost control of his magic…It is really very unwise to provoke someone who has magic, especially if it is unstable. You and your parents should think about that." The villager gave the somewhat abashed children a hard look.

"That is also why he is not allowed to live in his village anymore. Because of his unstable magic. Not because he is a monster." The villager gave Hero another uncertain look.

"But everyone says!" The oldest of the children frowned.

"As long as he keeps his power under control and follows our rules, he can come and trade here. That's what the elders decided and that's how it is going to be." The elder villager firmly concluded.

Hero frowned at the resentment he heard in his voice. He didn't think that this villager fully agreed with his elders' decision.

"... I will have to talk with Rangil's children. They are nearly grown up. They should know better. Telling everyone false tales is almost as bad as taking someone's things without permission." The villager grumbled under his nose. His eyes fell once again on the spilled basket by Hero's feet.

"... And so is damaging someone else's things." The villager frowned at the gathered children.

"You've damaged what he brought here to trade. That means that you or your parents will have to pay him for it." The villager declared sternly. Immediately, some of the children shied back.

"But uncle Vernon!"

"We didn't do it, uncle Vernon!"

"He stumbled and fell."

"Yeah, he fell! We all saw it."

"Yeah, we all saw it."

Predictably, the children earnestly defended each other, leaving the older villager no choice but to make an indeterminate humph.

"If that's what happened, fine. Now kish!" The villager ordered and the children dispersed, almost as if they were dry autumn leaves dispersed by the gust of the wind.

Still frowning, Hero met the elder villager's gaze. Should he tell him that these children pushed him?

Despite this elder villager's words in his defense, Hero didn't perceive much sympathy in his tone of voice. And in his eyes now he saw the same dislike and disapproval he had seen in the eyes of so many others. This villager was the same as the rest of them. He probably didn't want Hero coming here, but had to obey the decision of his elders. That's why he interfered. He cared only about his duty and their rules, not Hero, whom he probably also believed to be a Monster.

The Monster with the White Eyes, who came to the villages to trade, pretending to be a Human. That's what he heard the villagers say about him.

Hero stayed silent. The villager gave him another look, doubt crossing his face, but said nothing else. Only shook his head and turned away, going along whatever affairs he planned to do previously.

In stalls of the market, Hero noticed the younger villagers who teased him, now at their families' side, their faces looking pleased and proud. Quite a few of their parents approved what they just did, though they avoided looking in Hero's direction.

Knowing that it was because many of them believed that looking him directly in his strange, white eyes brought ill luck, Hero held his glare on them all on purpose.

Nothing happened of course.

His eyes drawing to his spilled basket, instead, Hero sighed. An entire morning of work, all wasted...

Not bothering to look at the berries, which he had hoped to exchange for something useful today, Hero picked up his basket and slowly trudged out of the village, resigned to once again go without dinner. Earlier anticipation of smelling the delicious scent of freshly baked bread and the smooth taste of milk still made his mouth water. Hero forced his thoughts to turn away from such things.

Not today.