The Tenth Purge (I)

Ystal woke up that morning surrounded by the cries and pleading of young women and desperate parents.

He glanced quickly at the window, clearly sensing what was happening outside his home. The Purge had arrived on time and impetuously that year too.

He let out a low, disconsolate sigh, running a hand over his face, marked by fatigue and hunger.

It had been about five full moons since he had met that minstrel and, despite the great hope of seeing him return, he was as if vanished into thin air. The rest of the villagers barely remembered seeing him, while he - deeply impressed by his farewell words - had done nothing but think about it.

In that period, many things had changed. Famine had hit their village, starting with the beasts; they had become ill and many of them had begun to die, leaving scarce resources. The fields had been devastated by a violent storm that hit their heads, and game had drastically diminished with the arrival of a herd of mercenaries, stationed deep in the woods. They, who were only three in the family, barely managed to survive; Ystal dared not imagine large families. Perhaps, that year, the Purge would do everyone favors.

He dismissed that unhappy thought, immediately feeling guilty. He knew the frustration and pain of seeing loved ones being ripped off like that, how could he even consider it a positive?

Irritated and disappointed with himself, he quickly got to his feet and, without even checking that his clothes were in order, joined his parents in what was once a living room full of herbs and meat, now reduced to a simple dusty room.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a figure standing in the corner of the room, but he didn't give it too much weight. Sure, his black cloak was curious and unexpected, but the child had other priorities.

"Mom, Dad. I'm going to look for some fish by the river. I'm sure something is left." and, without waiting for an answer, he rushed out of the house.

The figure followed him with his eyes, finally staring at the parents, seated rigidly at the table.

"Are you sure? He looks like a very good child." he began, with a deep and intense tone. His father stared at him, grim and dark-faced.

"You came this far and made the proposal, and now you worry that it might harm us?"

His wife lowered her head slightly, suppressing her tears. She didn't care about any manual loss, but more about having her latest baby taken away. The figure moved, approaching the table, leaving a jangling leather purse on it, heedless of the couple's feelings.

"This is my offer." he said simply, finally letting his arms fall to his sides.

The woman winced, while the man's eyes sparkled. He turned to his wife, intent on shaking her head, and then returned to observe the figure, with renewed suspicion.

"Why him? He hasn't seen fifteen winters yet."

"That's the point." the figure exclaimed peremptorily, in a slightly hasty tone.

The father shook his wife's hand in his, trembling, turning towards her reassuringly.

"Think about it, wife. Better with someone like him than with one of those soldiers."

The woman could not reply, still trying to make some sound, which nevertheless did not take shape. She lowered her head, disconsolate, letting go of a thin sob. Finally, she nodded.

The man stared back at the figure, "we accept." he said, after a brief moment of hesitation. His child would be safer that way than being with them.

The figure weighed their words, then smiled with satisfaction.

"Then it's settled. Where is this river? I'll take it myself."

The man stared at the door Ystal had run out of, biting his lip, "Out of the village, towards the West."

"Great, great." the figure laughed, chilling the couple. They saw him make a funny and elegant bow, while on his face - largely obscured by the hood of his cloak - a proud smile shone. "Then, with permission, I'm going to get what belongs to me now."

Without saying anything else or waiting for greetings, he walked out the door, closing it slowly behind him.

Left alone, Ystal's parents relaxed their shoulders. The woman burst into a silent cry, hitherto suffocated with fear, furiously squeezing her husband's hand. The man, on the other hand, just stared in horror at the purse containing the coins.

-Be strong, my son. Better with him than with soldiers. Always remember that.-