Axiom ~ 1

~ One ~

*Thunk*. The old warrior woke from a deep sleep with a pained jerk, his latent nightmares still sending the word ‘Traitor’ ringing through his skull. His forehead stung as his aged body awoke to the aching impact of a shelled nut. Right on a sore spot near the temple. It had healed over… oh, decades ago by this point.

*Plink*.

The communal gasp of several youngsters was the first sign of what was likely going to be a taxing day. A child’s voice whispered frantically, “You hit him!” 

Half-muffled replies from another tiny voice snapped in panic. “I didn’t mean to!”

The first voice remained frantic. “You hit the Elder! You hit the El- *mlmm*!” 

Any following words were muffled by the tight grasp of multiple hands, and a communal *shhh* hissing from several sources. The scuffle of feet moved with the unskilled stealth of a weighed-down pack mule as the small gathering of children tried to escape unnoticed. Fat chance of that happening.

Dry wood croaked like a grumpy frog as the Elder struggled to get off his resting place. One leg clambered over the edge of the bed, and a moment later the other followed. A deep breath was held before the *Hmmmpf* of effort pushed the aged wreck up and off the padded sheet. Trembling hands fell to his sides after the old man was finally upright; at least as upright as an almost fifty-year-old who spent most of his time horizontal and in bed could be. 

Small crunches rippled and popped underfoot with every step he took. It appeared he’d wandered into… a mess of small shells. He pondered the unnatural addition to his floor, uncertain what to make of the situation. “Hmm. Curious.”

There was a slight stagger as a shell cut into his foot, but a few steps later he was leaning on the window hole in the wall. This particular hole was ‘mysteriously’ missing the thin cloth that usually gave his home a touch of privacy. The Elder stuck his bald head through the window and squinted to find the missing cloth. Sure enough, it was floppily attached to the top of the frame and detached from the other three supports. The cover aimlessly flapped in the eternally soft breeze, the wind making his waist-long beard follow suit. 

Barely a white puff floated overhead, the sky was its usual gentle blue. The beautiful sky was a common sight in this corner of the world thanks to a low annual rainfall. He realized right then that he must have overslept, as the sun was past its midpoint. Then again, as a member of the community not needing to perform any task concerning physical labor, he didn’t give it a second thought. Nobody else did either. 

As usual, it was a warm day. A pleasant one, even, as the cooling breeze took the weight and excess warmth right off your shoulders. A thumb and forefinger brushed along his upper lip, smoothing out a snow-white mustache that curved out past the sides of his mouth before sharply angling downwards. It was nearly a fourth the length of his equally colorless beard, and it served to distract from his wrinkled features, scars, and large prominent nose.

“Eeeeee!”

A screech from the children allowed him to easily pinpoint where they’d scampered off to hide. When the Elder turned his still-waking gaze to meet them, they froze like wide-eyed rabbits before the alarmed pack sucked in a simultaneous breath… and scattered. Some dove behind shrubs, while others thought that thin willowy trees half their width would conceal them fully. The last child mostly just dawdled in place, about to move left, then about to move right, then changing his mind like he was about to move left again. Distress was drawn on his face like a finely carved woodwork. 

“Sproutling.” The Elder’s voice was slow, full of depth, and held a parent's questioning tone. The inflection at the end of the word made the young child freeze. While the Elder’s words had been forceful, his voice still possessed all the warmth one would expect of a doting grandfather. The tattered-robe-clad child panic-smiled; showing a mostly full row of teeth. His eyes darted around looking for help… only to see that the others had thrown him into the river and had left him to drown. They peeked out from their respective hiding places, motioning for him to stay quiet about their ‘hidden’ selves. 

With no way out, the child swallowed loudly and attempted his best–completely innocent–response. “Y-yes, Elder?”

The Elder held a tense silence as he leaned his sharp-featured face forward out of the window further, beckoning the young child closer with a digit. Sharp eye contact was firmly maintained along with the ‘come here’ tug of the index finger. With much chagrin and a pinch of defeat, the young lad approached the window. Hidden children were watching with rapt attention, looking for a chance to flee while their ‘caught’ member dragged his feet.

While the sproutlings sought escape, the Elder had a cursory glance at the village. His small lodging nested near the center of the village, given that the ‘center’ was measured by proximity to both the bonfire ring and their haphazard attempts at an apple orchard. The lasting silence allowed quick deduction that the majority of adults in the village were out working the salt flats.

There was no loud whining in the direction of the apiary, so the caretakers were not currently working with the honeybees. The distinct lack of sizzling and iron striking bronze also added to the strong indication that young children–sprouts, or sproutlings in this village–were entirely unsupervised.

He’d actually have to get up today, and his inner lethargy bemoaned the very notion that such effort was going to be necessary. With a sigh and forced determination to get going with his day; he reached out with his thin trembling hand and patted the sproutling’s head after he’d approached. While the grandfather’s voice was tired, it wasn’t the kind of tired that came from freshly waking up and coping. It was the kind of slow creeping drain that stuck with you at all times, regardless of what you did to try and work through it. His question was tender and soft. “Were you all trying to see who could get shells into an old, snoring mouth… so I would choke, wake up, and be able to tell my stories sooner?” 

The small youth’s eyes brightened with a mixture of wonder and surprise. How did the Elder know? He hadn’t said anything, and they would have sworn that he’d been asleep when they’d come up with their devious trickery. The conflicted youth sputtered, “H-how?” 

“Gather your friends, fetch me a pail of water. I’ll be out to tell you a story after I’ve washed.” He paused and clenched his fingers around the head of the sproutling to keep the child’s attention. Ever so slightly he tilted the young head up, so their gaze remained met. Chestnut brown innocence met the Elder’s deep-set dull blue eyes. “Next time wake me properly when your caretakers are nowhere to be found. A nudge of the arm will do.” 

The young child beamed while trying to nod, clearly having already forgotten half the information. As the young one had not been held firmly, he slipped free and darted away to screech the information at the rest of the playgroup with glee. They made a massive cacophony before speeding off to the well like a poorly organized mob of energetic squirrels. The kindly Elder watched them bolt, then looked down at the floor behind him. The shells were small and broke easily. 

He did have a tendency to snore or otherwise sleep with his mouth parted, since he could never trust his nose. Since the children had never bothered him even when they had reached the pinnacle of boredom, this was a new experience. In fact, he had the sneaking suspicion that someone had put them up to this. He’d have the children clean the crunchy mess on his floor up later.

Staggering over to the center walkway, he patted an unstrung and long unused hunting bow hanging from a supporting beam. They had many adventures together, but that was all in the deep past now. From the edges of the beam, he picked up a simple grey Gi and white outer robe. The hanging robe was soft, made from the fur of those mountain animals. What were those called again... Alpacas? Popular beastie for cloth. “Shall we go wash? Alpaca towel. Oh, ho-ha!”

His thoughts slipped, before returning to the forlorn bow that had been repurposed as a clothing hanger. Well, forlorn was too strong a term. It hadn’t been that bad in his many years here, spending his days on the edge of the known world. ‘The Fringe’ is what everyone called it, at least those who knew what a map was. Here, the social rules were considerably different, and education was entirely a personal ordeal. Normally an ignored personal ordeal. Being called ‘Elder’ still felt odd, but he’d gotten used to the naming conventions, and in fact they were very simple: your name in the village was a derivative of your function. 

Nostalgia struck him suddenly. He recalled arriving years ago; running from all the problems in the world. Had it actually been problems he was running from, or merely regrets? His grip around the robe strengthened, and a tinge of discomfort bit through as he forced the thought to pass before reaching for his woven tabi and wood-carved sandals. This penchant to wander off in thought was going to be the death of him one day. Now that he thought about it… he had certainly been running from the regrets. 

The Elder had to give up his name in order to be admitted by the Fringe. Now he was just ‘the Elder’. It had been a rule as much as it was a ritual, and one he recalled not trying to fight in the least. It wouldn’t ablate the memories, but what lost soul did not appreciate the chance at a clean slate? When his arms were still strong, he had helped gather the salt from the flats each day after the thin tide that rolled over the flatlands evaporated; leaving behind only the substance that the town was named for. 

Salt.

That had been long before he started deteriorating. There were people in the village that beat him in age, yet still had more vitality and youth in them. While physically he counted around the age of fifty, visually he appeared several decades older. His position became more administrative as a result: check up on everyone else’s tasks, keep stock of events, and humor the children. Or rather, educate them, as nobody else had the time or ability to do so. There had not been any sort of election or formal process to this. 

He kept doing what he could, and the way people had addressed him simply shifted over time until they’d all called him ‘Elder’. In this village, being called an Elder also made you an Elder. Being ‘gifted’ the title afforded you an automatic council position. It assigned larger responsibilities and decisions, such as speaking to the traders that came every few moons and keeping track of goods. His word relegated where the settlement grew, as such tasks were left to those who spent all their time paying attention to the minutiae.

The aged man stopped to squeeze the bridge of his nose and groan at the unfortunate recollection. The traders. That unpleasant conversation was tonight, wasn’t it? Elder ‘Switch’ would no doubt muscle her shrill voice to the top of the pile again, making endless, unreasonable demands that only suited or benefitted her. How had she ever become a respected Elder in this town? 

A pain in the shoulder snapped him from the vestiges of reflection. *Mmf* He soothed it with a stern thumb-pressed rub, drawing upon his limited knowledge of acupoints, being anything but quiet about his discomfort. When the mystery pain passed, he finished dressing and could already hear the panting breaths in the distance. 

The *thudthudthudthud* of small feet accompanied a hasty beeline towards his small home. Was that sloshing? Why would there be sl… ah! The pail of water. Good.

“I’m getting old,” he mumbled while hitting the small of his back with the side of his fist, preparing his muscles as he lifted and moved the wooden plank covering the door. Shifting the rectangular weight to the side, a few of his stockpiled things fell to the floor. He stuffed the plank behind a spare cloth, logs, and other clutter he’d accumulated and stored over the years. An attentive moment was spent to safely store the fallen roll of vellum. Handwritten philosophy notes were priceless beyond compare… at least to an academic like himself.

Exiting his small home, he kept his hand over his eyes so the light of the sun didn’t stab him right in the face. His blocked vision aided in noting the smell of crushed posies and hibiscus that hung on the breeze. 

“Ah, so Hibi is home,” he spoke to himself, a small smile forming as he thought fondly of events to come. If Hibi was home, it meant that when For returned from the salt flats… he could tease the young man about the moon-eyes he constantly made at the girl. The current matter came first, as his slightly hunched form awaited the stampede coming right for him. 

“El~de~ee~er!” Screeched a mousy voice in the distance, though that distance was lessening in a hurry. Those little rascals are just so fast! With a curt nod, the Elder hummed his way forward and began his daily trek to the deeper salt-stream. One’s health and cleanliness were important. He, as usual, didn’t get far before there was a parade of activity underfoot. 

“I got the fresh water!” 

“No, I got the water!” 

“I got it first!” 

“I filled it after you dropped it!” 

“I only dropped it because you pushed me!” 

“Did not!” 

“Did too!” 

The Elder clapped his hands together. “You all got the water here, so you all did wonderfully. Put it in the usual place, would you?” 

His tone was calm, passive, and weighted with pensive depth. The whirlwind stormed off, a wooden *Tak* sounded as the bucket loudly hit a stone, and then the sproutlings raced back. “Elder, we get our question!” 

“Yes, we get a question!” The children were all bouncing with big smiles, balled hands, copying his hunched posture. Sure enough, he’d told them before that if they helped him with something, they would get to ask a question outside of their adventure time. Which normally was generally nothing, but he tried to get lessons in between the many attention-demanding voices squawking over one another like a flock of tiny birds. He needed a solid breath. 

“Very well. You did earn it. One question.” The Elder paused in his calm stride and raised a single digit as little students fought to be heard.

“Why are leaves green?” 

“Why can’t we use leaves to color our clothes green?” 

“Why does mum wash the color out of my robe?” 

“What was your name before it was Elder?” 

“I found a pretty leaf, can I put it on your head?” 

Several more questions whizzed past. It reminded him of the blather that happened closer to the evening when all the seamstresses got together and whispered that new gossip to one another. Of course, they whispered loudly enough for others to hear, and most things said were just to rabble-rouse, but everyone had to find joy somewhere. In the questions of the children though, one was out of place. 

“What was my name before it was Elder? Now, now. You know that’s not something one is supposed to talk about in the Fringe. Before I answer one of the others, what is the rule?” His tone shifted to a sterner, determined flatness as he kept a solid eye on the one who had chirped the question. 

Serious engagement made the congregation fall silent and shrink away an inch. They knew better, of course they did. With a swallow, the mousy voice piped up. “Everyone that wants to live in the Fringe becomes part of the Fringe, and everything you were before is left behind.” 

The Elder nodded and dropped the stern quality, it was unnatural for him, and took effort to uphold. “That’s correct, sproutling. Now, while I have your attention, was it Elder Switch that put you up to that game from earlier?” 

Embarrassed nodding did the rounds. The Elder sighed and rubbed his forehead. “That woman is rage incarnate.” 

The embarrassment of the group changed to quizzical frowns. They didn’t know those words, so he explained, “She’s always angry, particularly at me.” 

Clarification complete, he then turned to the young girl holding a very big leaf. “As for the question I’m answering. I pick yours, and yes, you can put the leaf on my head.” 

The Elder lowered himself down, and the smiling girl zipped up to place the big leaf on the Elder’s bald head. He promptly got back up and struck a pose. “How is it, do I look beautiful?” 

He did a turn and a flourish, playfully taking the hem of his robe to make it sway from side to side as he took little bouncing steps to match. A smile remained on his bemused face as he stood there like an awkward duck with the leaf on his head. The laughter and snorting giggles from the children made him not mind one bit. He didn’t bother taking the large greenery off as he turned to continue his trek to the saltwater stream. At least the fresh water in the pail was going to quench his dry throat upon his return. 

When the laughter was dying down, the Elder turned to look at them; dramatically and with much vigor as possible, he snapped back into the awkward ‘look at my leaf’ pose. As expected, back down into the land of snotty, ugly laughter the children went. One of his arms was poised above his head, oddly bent as he pointed at the leaf while his face scrunched up and eyes squinted. One knee bent, while the other remained straight out and at a sharp angle. He couldn’t hold that long, of course, so released the pose and patted the new hat on his head. 

“It’s a great leaf,” he mentioned as he wandered to the stream, giving them a light wave and an idea of where he was going to be when done with bathing. “Orchard. Bring your cups.” 

He stopped to look over his shoulder as a ‘Yes, Elder!’ rang out behind him. He gave a positive nod and the children charged off. “They’re good little ones, beneath all their wide-eyed wonder and boundless energy.”

The Elder mumbled the words to himself but couldn’t keep the smile off his face as the sun uncovered from behind a single dense cloud and stabbed him right in the eyes. He recoiled from the searing assault with an *Argh*! 

It had gotten him again today. “You win this time, shiny sky orb. You win this time!”