Mom was silent, turning her eyes reddened from tears to us, shaking off the eerie shadow from her face. I was silent, and so was little Leila, huddled beside me. And the story continued:
"My first fault, my children, is that I gave in to my husband's persuasion and went with him. We sold our house, workshop, and together with you, Legrad, set off on a journey around our Circle. I cannot say those were bad years. No. We saw the entire Zero. Others might think our wasteland is monotonous and uniform. But believe me, children, it is not. Our eyes learned to see its beauty, and in some corners, surviving structures of the Ancients still remained. These huge buildings gave these places an incredible aura of fallen might. In the end, Leila was born during this journey."
I involuntarily held my sister closer, listening and recalling vague pictures of childhood. And mom nodded to her thoughts and smirked:
"The Warrior Virigo's advice proved correct: your father was able to understand his mistake and broke through to the tenth star. Unlike me. I didn't care about Elevation, I didn't try to break through my barrier and stopped collecting energy. My happiness was you, children. But Virigo was wrong about one thing." Mom smiled, this time victoriously, proudly. Her eyes were burning. "My husband wanted to return to Arroyo and pass the exam there to fill his relatives with pride. So we continued our journey, returning home through new places. And your father had an amazing talent. He himself, without the help of a First Belt mentor, broke through to the Warrior stage!"
I was stunned, trying to process my mother's words. I had never heard of such a thing in any of the tales spun by the tipsy local teacher Orikol at the fire. And he loved to occasionally wag his tongue and boast about knowledge he had picked up in the First Belt. No, if you think about it, there must have been the first Warriors who had no teachers. But that was even before the Ancients, or rather, even for them it was probably legends and myths. It's simply incredible!
Father! I remember how strong you were... Were you really a Warrior? After all, in the Zero Circle there are simply no instructions on breaking through the boundaries of the Elevation stages! Even I, a child, know this!
"Our journey was nearing its end when we arrived at this cursed place!" Mom distinctly gritted her teeth; I had never seen her like this—full of hatred. "In the very first days, Rimilo clashed with Kardo. First, he demanded a whole silver coin from us for living within this lousy fence, which wouldn't even stop a lame jackal. Then, after a successful hunt, he tried to take the larger part of the meat."
I nodded, involuntarily glancing at the pot of stew. But mom understood this gesture differently:
"You, Legrad, are used to this. But the law of the Wastelands states that only half of the catch goes to the common pot. And in all the places we visited, this law is honored. But not by Kardo. Rimilo beat him up. What could this trash do against your father? He simply didn't expect it, was used to being the strongest and most powerful in this dump with his ninth star. Of course, he harbored hatred, but at every meeting he smiled sickeningly and bowed to my husband. Ah, I have regretted many times that my husband then restrained his hand and didn't finish the job. The villagers, who never ate their fill in this game-rich area, would have only been grateful to us! We had already rested well and were planning to set off when that black day came."
Leila shuddered and grabbed my hand; for her, that day marked the end of carefree childhood. The same was true for me. I squeezed my sister's cold fingers.
"If only your father had known at least some spiritual technique! We traveled to many settlements, spent almost all our money buying rare blacksmith and leatherworking recipes, but nowhere could we find detailed descriptions of techniques. Only pitiful retellings, half of which are lies and fabrications! Even Orikol received gold but couldn't teach your father anything, the stupid bastard who only knows how to guzzle swill and lie!" Mom angrily struck the stone table with her fist. "If he could have applied anything available to Warriors, he could have killed the Monster without receiving such terrible wounds! He wouldn't have died in my arms!"
Leila couldn't bear it, pushed my hand away and threw herself at mom with sobs:
"Mom! Mom!"
"Forgive me, forgive me!" whispered mom, hugging her and stroking her head, back, shoulders. "Forgive me, children. My second fault to you is that Rimilo asked me not to think about him, but to buy a place in a caravan and go to Arroyo. But I went against his will. He wouldn't have survived a month's journey with such wounds. And we stayed here. I was a fool, not seeing the threat to the whole family behind my husband's misfortune. But Rimilo knew that's how it would be. From that day Kardo gave us no peace. We paid silver for shelter, food, herbs for bandages. That bearded scum took advantage of my husband's helplessness and extorted money from us. But I gritted my teeth and endured, praying and hoping that my husband would get better."
Now I was gritting my teeth too, driving away angry tears. I remembered perfectly how, on the very next day after father saved the hunters at the cost of his health, Virgl's gang beat me for the first time. As they say, brought me down from heaven face-first into the dirt.
"My third fault is before you, daughter." Mom began to frantically kiss Leila's hair, which was just like her own, repeating: "Forgive me, forgive me! A week later, another caravan came to the village, a tiny one, just two merchants. And from one of them I traded for a Body Restoration potion. In exchange, I gave away your inheritance—my entire set of leatherworking tools. He assured me, and I knew myself, that it would save your father. But..."
Mom fell silent, and I lowered my eyes to the floor again and was surprised to see drops of moisture beneath my feet in the flickering, uncertain light of the hearth. Am I crying? I remembered that day just as vividly, as if it were yesterday. The day when our family became smaller.
"The merchant convinced me that the potion was taken too late, and he didn't have enough life force to heal the wounds. This simply couldn't be! I was born and lived my whole life in a five-star settlement! I had heard many times about those who took this potion. I even saw these people when they were brought in from the wasteland! Many of them had wounds even worse than my husband's! The potion itself already contained herbs that granted life force!"
Mom shouted, wiping tears from her face. She shouted the same way that day. I remember.
"I couldn't prove anything, because I examined the potion's seal in the presence of witnesses, and it was intact. But I didn't believe it. For long months I watched how that rotten old man, whom Heaven miraculously hadn't taken yet, was doing some deals with Kardo, and I became more and more convinced that they killed my husband together. And two months ago, when there was a real big caravan from Arroyo here, not just the old man's single cart, I was able to secretly meet with a traveling apothecary. I gave him the empty potion vial. I gave all the money I had left, but it wasn't in vain, not in vain!"
"Mom! Mom!" I tugged at my shirt collar, tearing the ties, listening to her terrible croaking laughter. "What did he say?"
Mom raised her eyes burning with hatred to me:
"He said it was an Enhancement potion! It simply killed your father, directing the last resources of his body to strengthen his muscles! This potion is no cheaper than the healing one, and if Rimilo had had it on the day of the battle, he would have easily killed the Monster. I don't believe the merchant forged the seal and slipped us this potion of his own will! Everything that Kardo takes from the villagers goes to this merchant! Kardo paid him to kill your father! It can't be otherwise!"
Staggering, I went outside, unable to stay in the hut any longer. I leaned against the cold wall, not worrying about the whitewash that was staining my back, and raised my eyes to the stars.
Somewhere far, far away jackals howled, prowling in search of someone from whom they could steal meat. There was a barely audible roar of a leopard, and the jackals fell silent. It seems they wanted to start a quarrel and take part of the prey, but they got scared.
Listening to the sounds of the night, I rummaged through my memories and re-examined the pictures in my memory. Not only of those two days, which seemed to be burned into it, but also of others that remained only vague images. And I became more and more convinced of my mother's rightness. Everything I remembered suggested that Kardo could have paid for my father's death. I knew even more than my mother. Not even a month had passed since I was hiding from Virgl near the training ground. And behind the wall of the shed, where spare spears and measuring weights were stored, Kardo was talking with that old merchant. And this conversation was a conversation of equals who have known each other for a long time. It was full of understatements and hints, understandable only to those who have discussed this for more than a dozen times. I understood only that everything was going as it should be, some things even better, and the last potion would be on time, and the merchant would not let Kardo down, especially if he increased supplies a bit more.
Lightning from an approaching rainstorm flashed on the horizon, causing my thoughts to take a different course. I looked into the hut:
"Mom, if we have relatives in Arroyo, why don't you send word about us?"
"I'm an orphan." Pale mom sat by the hearth with Leila on her lap and was combing her hair, which had already grown almost to her waist. "There are Rimilo's father and mother. We didn't get along with them. They didn't forgive their son for taking me as his wife, disrupting their plans. And they wouldn't let him cross their threshold. But with Rimilo's brother—Varo—we continued to communicate, despite his father's ban. It was to him that I wrote twice. And two months ago I sent another letter with a caravan driver. I don't know why he never once sent a reply. After all, six years have passed, many things could have happened, although I try not to despair and not to think about the worst."
"There are still father's tools. Why don't you sell them? And we could get a place in a caravan."
"That's your inheritance. I won't violate Rimilo's wishes," frowned mom, glancing at the small chest near her bed.
"Even if it might save us?" I was stubborn.
"Don't delude yourself," mom shook her head. "If something has happened to your uncle, Heaven forbid, then we will remain in the settlement without support and without money. I can't work with leather. I have no tools, there will be no money to buy a place. My teacher was a kind old man, but he is already dead. And no one will just let a foreign master into their workshop, everyone keeps their secrets, and I'm already too old to be an apprentice in another trade."
I started to object, but fell silent under mom's gaze. This is not the time for a stupid child's protests. Mom really seemed to have aged during the time I spent outside. She smirked:
"I would have to get by with dirty work, which is not much better than today's, and Arroyo is not a cheap settlement, and we would have to rely only on the mercy of our few acquaintances. Their support won't be eternal, and there are three of us. We would keep falling lower and lower. Believe me, son, I know what I'm talking about. After all, once I climbed up, but then I was alone. And we would end up where I started. In the slums. I grew up there and don't want my children to end up there. It would be much worse for you there than here. Believe a former beggar, son. I, with eight stars of Elevation, would easily have been accepted by Monster hunters. But it's mortally dangerous, and I can't leave you alone. My death would be the worst betrayal of my children. Son, the things I've been thinking about all this time!"
"Wait," I persisted, though my head was already starting to ache from this tangle of problems. "Surely our grandfather and grandmother wouldn't abandon us in the slums? The children of their son?"
"Believe me." Mom smiled crookedly, shaking her head, her now-dry hair falling over her shoulders. "For them, you are, first and foremost, my children, the cursed seed of a thief."
"Thief?" I could no longer hold back and grabbed my head.
"Ah, son, you don't know what hunger drives a person to do. Let's eat, and tomorrow evening, if you want, you can ask questions again."
Ending the conversation, mom looked back at the hearth and the clay pot, still tempting with its aroma. I understood that I wouldn't learn anything more today, and I had only to surrender.