The Rokkoh Adventures

Rokkoh and the Smith, Chapter 1

Our breath makes little puffs of steam in the cold winter air, but at least we have the campfire to keep us warm. The moon hangs high in the frigid sky, giving us a little more illumination. The forest sleeps around us, only the nocturnal beasts playing in the dark. We huddle close to the fire, wrapped in thick mammoth-fur coats underneath blankets. We left the Tower of Lost Children the previous day. It was far simpler than any of us expected: we walked out the front door and headed northwest. Though it goes unsaid, we all wonder if the Baroness has sent out a search party yet. So far, we haven't heard or seen anyone following us. Besides, it isn't like we're running away from the place. Kym, Max, and I still have two years before they'll let us go. Augustin has one. We'll go back to the Tower once the adults find us, or we find what we're looking for.

Kym scoots closer to me, shoulder to shoulder now. Her warmth emanates from under her coat and blanket. I can feel Max's and Augustin's attention, side-eyes staring us down. Let them stare. The two of us are warmer now. They would be smart to buddy up too.

"We should sleep in shifts again," Max suggests with a yawn. No one argues; it had worked well for us last night.

"I'll watch first," I offer.

"Sounds good to me," Augustin says. He gets up from his spot, uproots the sword planted at his side, and brings it over to me. It's a simple weapon, sharp and made of iron. We have not yet come across a need for it, just as Max had vehemently expressed before we left. I take it nonetheless, resting it in my lap.

Augustin goes back to his spot, laying down close to the flames. Seventeen, strong, and short, he has always been a kind yet fierce friend. He had already been at the Tower of Lost Children when I arrived. He beat up a kid once who made fun of me for having a teddy bear. I was six at the time, a perfectly fine age to still carry around such a toy. Augustin kicked the kid in the balls and punched his face until Cy the guard separated them. He got some lashes for the fight, which I later learned was just the way things were at the Tower. Do something bad, especially something violent, and it was the whip.

Max follows suit. His lanky form stretches out on the ground, his head resting near Augustin's. His blanket barely covers his long and slim figure. His dark skin hides under the layers; he and his twin sister Kym are among the few at the Tower of Lost Children with such a complexion. Most, present company included, see no problem with this difference. After all, we're all orphans. Yet there will always be a bad apple or two. Our little quartet has been caught up in more scraps than I can remember. Naturally, that meant lashings. Proudly earned ones, they are. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Two sets of snores come soon enough. Kym remains by my side. I really shouldn't be surprised. Out of the three of them, she's my closest friend. She and her brother arrived at the Tower after I did, back when we were eight. She stuck to Max's side as often as she could, and he would hang out with Augustin and me all the time. He just picked us one day shortly after arriving. So, Kym came too. There were occasions where Augustin and Max would break away and go do things on their own, leaving Kym and me to entertain ourselves. A lot of those times consisted of us raiding the pantry, throwing rocks into the pond, and stealing things when we got older. We were inseparable. Still are. But as the years have passed, there's something else there now. Something I can't quite explain. It's less of a want to always have her around, but more of a haunting need. In the morning, I can't wait to see her in the mess hall. During instruction periods that we do not share, I slog through the lesson in anticipation of our next adventure. I don't know why I feel this way. I don't feel anything like it for Augustin or Max, or anyone at the Tower.

"Aren't you going to sleep?" I ask to fill the air with something other than the other boys' sleeping sounds.

"Not tired yet," she shrugs. She wraps her blanket tight around her. Without our blankets our skin would touch. The thought tickles my stomach, quickens my heartbeat.

"Oh, okay," I say, unsure what else to offer.

"Do you think we'll find him?" the question comes, soft and hopeful. Her eyes go somewhere beyond the trees around us. I try to follow them but find only the night.

"Where else would Dagan have gotten that fancy dagger?" I ask in return.

Dagan had been a boy older than us all, freshly eighteen. Before he was sent off into the world a few weeks prior, rumor had it he slipped away for a few days and returned with a glimmering dagger, its sheath encrusted with dazzling jewels. For weeks, kids hounded him for answers on where he got it, if they could see it. Only a select few were blessed with a private viewing of the dagger, each of them sworn to secrecy. Augustin, to our troupe's delight, broke his promise. According to him, Dagon had ventured out and found the Smith of Valier Forest. A legend, the Smith had been known to gift a weapon to whoever wandered upon his forge. Though Dagan had been vague, he said that one needed to pay a price for such graciousness. Augustin came to the rest of us shortly after with the idea to find the Smith.

The clouds shed, sprinkling light snow upon Valier Forest. The flames dance and cast their light upon the trunks around us. The smoke soars, aiming to greet its skyward cousin. We fall silent again, watching the firewood glow and crackle in the makeshift pit. A breeze brushes our blankets here and there, but otherwise lets us be.

"Could've gotten it at the market," she suggests. "Found a fancy vendor with fake shit."

"I thought about that," I admit with a slight shrug. "But Augustin is certain it was real. He's no fool."

"Doesn't mean he can't be wrong," she says.

"Hm," I sound. The crackling fire overtakes the silence that settles between us. It is not an uncomfortable or awkward thing; it never has been between us. It feels like home, or what I imagine home feels like. Cozy, relaxing, shared with someone special. Maybe one day, once my days at the Tower of Lost Children are through, I will find such a home with someone like Kym. Or, perhaps, with Kym herself.

"What will you ask for?" her curiosity returns.

"Not sure," I answer. "Hadn't really thought about it."

"You better think of something quick," she giggles, warming me in a way the fire could not. "We'll likely find him tomorrow. I doubt he'll wait around for you to make up your mind."

"Alright then," I laugh with her, a soft sound to not disturb the boys. "What are you going to request?"

"A dagger," she says, quick and ready.

"You're copying Dagan?" I joke. "How original!"

"No, you ass," she elbows me through our coats and blankets. "Nothing quite as extravagant. But still something unique. Maybe a black blade, with a cool hilt."

"Might wanna figure it out. I doubt he'll wait around for you to make up your mind," I elbow her back with a grin. We laugh together for a moment, her hand venturing outside the safety of her blanket and smacking me in the chest. It rests on her knee for a few seconds. Part of me screams to take it, to hold her hand for some reason. She pulls it back before I gather up the courage.

"I think I'll go to bed," she says after a moment. "I'll take the next watch since neither of them were kind enough to volunteer."

"Thanks," the word comes with a twinge of sour disappointment. I catch the sting in her eyes though she tries to hide it. It shines, even in the flame-lit dark, as she sets to the earth. A cold, sharp thing settles in my gut. Guilt, shame, regret. I should have taken her hand.

The world goes quiet as my friends rest. The critters are silent here, spectating from their perches at the strangers. Perhaps the snoring that fills the air sounds like a predator's call to them, scaring them away. Doesn't bother me, just means I won't need to use the sword. I'll pass it off to Kym in a few hours and then sleep until morning.

Yet, through the quiet, something watches. Something bigger than the creatures of the forest. Something intelligent, curious. I feel its eyes on me, but I cannot tell from which direction they gaze. Then, beyond my sleeping friends and deep into the wood, a shadow moves. It hesitates behind a tree, aware of my eyes on it, then moves north. Curiosity gets the better of me. Sword in hand, I pursue the figure. I'm certain the others will be fine if I step away for a minute. None of them awaken or even stir as I leave the circle.