The Man in the Hut

The fog had finally subsided owing to the light that fell over the grounds of Liberio. The dawn revealed the fallen faces, who took bullets to their hearts. Colonel Vicar knew that the Myrrian army wouldn't last long if his troops would demolish their barracks. However, disguised as commoners, their fleet took refuge in the nearby ancient hamlet of Beoutia.

"The shipments of ordnance was expected, was it not?" Vicar smacks his lips, as he spits at the carcass covered in the dusty green leather tunic. "Sixth-day post-eclipse, the word says," says Selena gazing at the troops a mile away. "That makes it today. Talk to the camps in the West. These Myrrian pig-bloods won't wait all day in their tiny Beoutian huts." Vicar grunts, looking at the distant settlements of the village. Selena salutes hastily and scuttles towards the tents, timid to the temper that scares the Devil itself.

Blood and pellets had been exchanged between the two countries for six months; however, the bitterness for each other's land lived on for centuries fuelling the hatred towards blood and skin. When the waters of Achelous flooded the estates on the perimeter, the debates over the hefty cost of reparations sparked the already fierce enmity to debt of death.

Another hour of the truce passes by, but Vicar has progressed half a mile with his troops already. His resolve, reasoned by the idea that if God can violate the sanctity of blood to birth Myrrians, he shan't be chained to a mere principle of War. Selena runs up to him and performs a perfect salute. "The cannons are ready, Sire!" she says, looking up to his beard, as black as space. "Send those babies up here. Let's see what they got made after pissing trains of shillings to iron factories." The lower ranks pull large grey cannons with bent steel handles moving them on the front lines. Vicar gestures towards the village, "Make no mistake. The screams should reach the depths of hell." A soldier lifts the barrel directing it towards the lead sky. The chamber ignites. One blank moment, silence before the storm. A recoil with a deafening bang stuns the vultures. The shell boosts like Leonidas's Spear towards the huts.

The moon was bright but hidden behind the grey clouds. Thorfinn walks like a crippled old man as his legs bleed like a waterfall. He struggles to reach a worn-out small cottage on the other side of the border, desperate. As he crosses the fence, his feet twist over a stone; he screeches with pain and falls with a thud. His eyes look deep into the black night sky, waiting for the arms of Hades to pull him out of his oblivious state as he passes out. The door of the hut creaks, an older man emerges. He looks at the fallen body of Thorfinn, crouches down to hold his wrist, and murmurs, "One... Two... Three..." He pulls up Thorfinn, keeping his big arm around his frail shoulder, and hobbles inside the door. Taking him up to the small fireplace, he rests his body down on the old torn rug.

The man sees one of Thorfinn's pant legs dark and red. He pulls it up to find a small metal round struck to his shin. He hurriedly runs inside a room to return with a pair of tongs and warm water. His face frowning, he looks at the wound, as he sticks the blades to the bullet and holds it. He twists his hands in every direction possible, keeping the tongs between his fingers tightly till he pulls out the bullet. He reaches out for a piece of cloth with his blood-painted hands and ties it around the wound after applying a turmeric paste on it. He washes Thorfinn's legs with the warm water and takes a cup of it to Thorfinn's mouth. He pulls Thorfinn's lips apart and tilts the cup as the water goes down his throat.

After one hour, Thorfinn's eyes find the light again. He moans in pain as he waits for the blurs to subside, to regain back his motor senses. He struggles to sit up; his back is stiff and weak from exhaustion. He looks around and finds himself in a small, dimly lit room with the fire pit burning ablaze and hot on his right. The walls have cracks in the corners, and the room is full of old teak-wood furniture; the windows are square with muddy blue curtains on the sides. A small cast-iron lantern burns on the wooden table centered in the room. Behind him, a brown iron shelf has a couple of flower vases with drooping white poppies.

"Ye... You're all awake. You startled me!" the old man exclaims in a Beoutian accent as he enters the room. Thorfinn stares at him, a man in his sixties, fat but weak at the same time. He has small patches of grey beard on his jaw, short height with small hair, and is wearing an old green sweater, probably bought from the local market of Beoutia. The old man stares at Thorfinn's face and says, "You have blue eyes. You must be from Vernia. I thought so before, too, when I saw your brown uniform."

"Where am I? Who are you?" Thorfinn stares up at the man.

"Well, you came to my doorstep... I figured you'd know where you are."

Thorfinn holds his forehead and speaks slowly, "I don't remember. I was on the front lines... They killed my partner and shot me in the leg..." Thorfinn reaches up to his leg and finds a red-stained old piece of cloth wrapped around it. "Er-did you do this?" he asks calmly.

"I believe I did, and you were a living body outside my walls. I didn't want a smelly dead one, and they say that people who die on others' doorsteps haunt their houses forever." the man chuckles as he pours water into a glass and gesturs towards Thorfinn. Thorfinn takes a sip and asks, "Who are you... What's your name?"

"Helel"

"Where is this place?"

"You're in a poor old man's cottage in Beoutia. You must be serving in the War." Thorfinn looks up at his face, "Why did you save me? I'm a Vernian... we're at War."

Helel smiles, "It's the War of the Kings, who are selfish for their Gold treasures. I do not need to carry their burden of hatred."

"Th... Thank You", Thorfinn says as he gulps down the last drops of water.

Helel sits down on a wooden chair beside the table and keeps an apple on it. He then cuts slices with his knife, holds one, and gestures to Thorfinn. Thorfinn shakes his head, so Helel takes a bite himself. "You haven't asked me my name..." Thorfinn says, nervous.

"Well, if you're willing to say it."

"Thorfinn."

"That's a nice name. I once knew a merchant when I was young with the same name. A kind fellow he was." Another bite.

"How far is this house from the Liberio Front? I don't hear any ammunition sound", says Thorfinn, trying to stand.

"Oh, it's just beside the field. Word says that there's apparently a short truce."

"That's strange. I thought Lieutenant Vicar wanted to attack by dawn itself." Thorfinn mutters.

"The chess of War is often anticipated wrong, as it takes turns like a raging river." Helel offers another slice to Thorfinn.

Thorfinn gets up, worked up, "I need to get back now," and tries to walk. "Argh..!" he shrieks.

"I think you need to rest, for now, son." Helel pats on the table.

Thorfinn tries to struggle, but his attempts are in vain. He finally gives in, and sits on another chair beside the table, and takes the slice. "So, since when have you been living here?"

"I moved to this village after my marriage. You see... my wife was very fond of Beoutian markets. Also, farmlands were so cheap here."

"Where is your wife?" Thorfinn asks. Helel looks up at the ceiling and blinks. "I'm sorry," says Thorfinn in an apologetic tone, looking down.

"Do not worry."

"So, you live alone?"

"Yes, I do live alone. But I have a daughter. She lives with her husband in the town of Rivik."

"That is in Vernia."

"Her husband is from Vernia. People can fall in love across the borders, but these Kingdoms make us fight these futile Wars." Helel grunts as he gets up to fetch soup.

"Yeah... but the War isn't all futile. It is crucial for the lives of people too.", Thorfinn replies, as he presses his leg with his fingers to dampen the pain.

"Oh! Do you think so? What makes you feel this way?", Helel returns with a big bowl of soup.

"If this War ends, the country which wins can divide the money for reparations. This could fix all the damage done by the floods... Or else, without this War, the money needed would have been frozen in the hands of mayors.", argues Thorfinn.

"The War cost the kingdoms double the money that could do the reparations. It's practically spending shillings for blood." Helel pours the soup into two smaller cups and then offers one to Thorfinn.

"What about the difference in governance after the War? The different systems that would get established... All could be a hope for a better future." Thorfinn takes a sip. "Aha!" he exclaimes as he smiles with glee.

"One mayor replaced with another, one country replacing another. Authoritarian men with the same greedy mind, just looting differently." Helel smiles at Thorfinn. "I was a farmer, saw several mayors here. None could change my life enough so I could afford a sheep."

Thorfinn stares into the air, looking for answers.

"There has to be some good out of it," says Thorfinn.

"Well, you're a soldier. You give your life to these Wars. Naturally, you want to find reasons to give away your blood at the command of the rich Kings." says Helel blinking towards Thorfinn.

"But..."

"Go on. Finish your soup and sleep. Do not think much. I've arranged this rug for you. You'll need to leave in the morning, isn't it?"

Helel gets up and strolls into another room. "Do not steal anything. I'm already living on humble money", he laughs.

"Thank You for dinner, Sir.", says Thorfinn as he finishes the soup and gets up. Tired and weak from his wound, he lays down on the rug in the darkroom and stares into the ceiling.

"Why?" he wonders as he drifts off to sleep.

A bright morning, a grey sky. Vultures skimming the clouds that hid the sun. Marches of troops can be heard nearby. Thorfinn is worked up about getting back to the camp.

"Here." Helel holds out a wooden stick to him. "Will help you walk that far."

"Thank You so much, sir."

"It was more of a help to me, son. An old, lonely man like me loves to have some company. Once this War is over, I guess I'll go and see my daughter. She says in her letters she was blessed by the Gods with a beautiful son." Helel smiles at Thorfinn as he walks out. "Be careful, sneak and go. There might be soldiers around."

"I'm grateful to you for saving my life, sir." Thorfinn smiles back as he strolls away with the stick supporting him.

Helel waves at him. After a minute, a blast is heard. Thorfinn looks up and sees a black ball in the sky descending. His eyes follow it till he realizes its trajectory meets with Helel's tiny hut. Thorfinn screams, but it is too late. The shell lands, the houses are obliterated. Thorfinn is in tears. All that remains in the air is a cheerful warcry.