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Chapter 29 - Breath of Magic
🕑 Added 2025-03-17 21:00:04 +0000 UTCTaking his knife, Athan paused in thought before selecting a straight, sturdy branch. Rolling it between his fingers, he pressed one end against the ground, testing its resistance with a gentle bend. The wood held firm but had enough flexibility, making it a good candidate for a bow. Satisfied, strip the branch from any bark before he began shaping it, carving out a grip in the center while thinning the ends. He then added notches on both sides before heading to Nat for a strong yet fine cord. Nat handed him the cord with a smile, the rough fibers strong in his grasp. Athan returned to his work, eager but aware that it would take patience.
Assembling the bow turned out to be a struggle. He tied one end of the cord, then attempted to fasten the other while slightly bending the wood to create the necessary tension. His hands ached as he fought against the resistance of the wood, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. After several failed attempts, his father, Wade, who had been observing, finally stepped in. Athan explained that the wood needed to be bent just enough to properly stretch the cord. Wade took charge of bending and with his father's help, the bow was finally completed.
Grinning, Athan tried pulling the string, only to realize he still lacked the strength to do so properly. Wade watched silently before the boy flashed a mischievous smile. "I'll work on something else for now. Come back later, alright?"
His father nodded before returning to his own tasks. Athan, realizing that his pouch with the feathers was still at his parents' shelter, sighed and stood up. He made his way across the settlement, stepping past the fire and neatly stacked wood, until he reached the shelter. Ducking inside, he quickly retrieved the pouch before heading back toward the foundation where he had been working.
Once back, he grabbed a fine cord, placing it near him before sitting beside the bow. He carefully whittled straight branches into sharp points, crafting his first arrows. The rhythmic scraping of his knife against the wood filled the air, the shavings curling away as he shaped each shaft with precision. Then, splitting the feathers in half, he tied them securely to the ends of the shafts, ensuring stability in flight. His fingers moved deftly, adjusting each feather and making sure they were evenly placed.
Once he had crafted a decent number of arrows, he inspected them carefully, running his fingers along the smooth wooden shafts. They looked promising, but the tips still lacked the durability needed for repeated use. He knew that untreated wooden points would splinter or dull too easily upon impact.
Deciding to improve them, he gathered the arrows and made his way toward the fire. Carefully, he held the sharpened tips over the flames, rotating them slowly to ensure they didn't burn but instead hardened properly. The heat darkened the wood slightly, sealing its fibers and making the points more resistant to breaking on impact. The process was slow and required patience—if he left them too long, they would scorch and weaken, but if he removed them too quickly, the hardening wouldn't be effective. He watched carefully, occasionally testing a tip by pressing it lightly against a nearby stone. Once satisfied with the results, he placed them back near his bow, feeling a growing confidence in his work.
Standing up, he made his way to the forest and cut several bundles of tall grass. The rhythmic motion of slicing through the stalks was almost soothing, a contrast to the precise work of crafting the arrows. Back at the foundation, he tied them into a thick bundle and coiled it into a circular shape, creating a makeshift target. He secured it further with a stick driven through the center and additional ropes to keep the fibers tightly in place, ensuring it wouldn't fall apart after repeated use.
Once finished, he called for assistance. Wade, intrigued, came over to see what his son had made. Other curious members of the clan also gathered around, murmuring among themselves. Athan placed the target against a wall before turning back to his father, who regarded him with a questioning look.
Grabbing the bow and arrows, Athan carefully demonstrated how he had designed them to fit the string, making sure everyone could see the small notches he had carved for the arrow's placement on the bowstring. He then explained the proper stance—standing firm with his feet slightly apart, holding the bow steady with his left hand, and gripping the arrow in his right. He rested the back of the arrow against his bow hand and reached for the string, intending to pull it back.
However, the moment he tried, he found it impossible to draw. His fingers barely managed to budge the cord, the tension far greater than he had expected for a kid body. His arms strained as he attempted again, but the string refused to move, leaving him frustrated yet slightly amused at his own miscalculation. Clearing his throat, he glanced at the onlookers, quickly shifting gears. Instead of trying again, he exaggerated each step in slow, deliberate motions, demonstrating how the bow should be used without actually pulling the string.
His voice carried patience and confidence, masking his embarrassment as he explained the mechanics of the weapon. Though he couldn't yet wield it himself, he ensured his father and the others understood how it was meant to be used. It was a lesson for them, but also for himself—he would need to grow up and strengthen his arms before he could truly master the weapon he had created.
Intrigued, Wade stepped forward, taking the bow from Athan's hands and running his fingers along its curved wood. He tested the string, pulling it slightly to feel the tension before nodding in approval. Accepting one of the arrows Athan offered, he positioned it as instructed, adjusting his grip with a focused expression. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the string back, the wood creaking faintly under the strain. He held his aim for a moment, aligning the tip of the arrow with the woven target, before releasing.
A faint whistle cut through the air as the arrow flew forward. It struck the ground just short of the target, embedding itself into the dirt. Wade lowered the bow, lips pressing into a thin line as he considered the result. "Needs practice," he admitted, but there was a hint of approval in his voice.
The spectators remained silent, absorbing what they had just witnessed. A few murmured among themselves, exchanging looks of curiosity and anticipation. Some had doubted the strange tool would work at all, but now they saw its potential. It was clear—this was more than just a new weapon; it was the beginning of a skill that could change the way the clan hunted forever. The ability to strike prey from a distance, to remain hidden while delivering a lethal shot, was something none of them had considered possible before.
Athan, despite knowing his own limitations, felt a surge of pride. This was only the first step. He turned to the gathered hunters and explained, "If every hunter has one of these and practices with it, since the sound of the bow and arrow is minimal. The prey won't run away when the hunters attack. It will give us an advantage."
Wade, listening intently, gave a firm nod. "Me teach hunters. If work like you say… we get more prey."
As Wade spoke, Ok, who had been watching Athan closely during the weapon's construction, stepped forward. He reached for the bow, running his fingers along its shape, examining the notches and string with focused eyes. "This… good. I see how. If practice more, I make too."
Athan felt a sense of relief and satisfaction hearing this. With Wade taking charge of training the hunters and Ok ready to replicate the process, he no longer had to handle the entire burden alone. Knowing the new weapon was in capable hands, he left them to their work and returned to the foundation, determined to use the rest of the day carving the beams for the future house.
The previous day, he had ensured all the columns were cut to the same height, now Athan turned his attention to the connection that would connect them to the beam. Standing among the unfinished framework of the future house, he took a moment to visualize how the structure would come together. He needed a clear sequence to follow—rushing ahead without planning could lead to mistakes that would be difficult to fix later.
After weighing his options, he decided to start by carving the joints into the three columns on the right side of the future house, ensuring each one had precise slots for the beams to interlock. Then, he would carve matching joints into the beams that would attach to them, forming the first fully connected side of the structure. To reinforce the connections, he planned to use his bow drill to bore holes through the joints. Once the holes were in place, he would insert sturdy wooden pegs to lock the beams and columns together, ensuring a secure and stable fit.
With his decision made, Athan measured each column, carefully marking the exact points where the connections would be established. Since the beams would connect at different points on each column to avoid structural weaknesses, he had to offset their placements. This meant that each beam connection had to be carefully staggered rather than perfectly aligned.
Using his hatchet, he began the rough shaping of the first joint, chipping away at the wood with controlled strikes. Large splinters and wood shavings scattered around him as he methodically worked through the thick grain. Once he had removed the bulk of the material, he switched to his knife for finer adjustments, shaving the surface to create a smooth, even fit. He remained mindful not to remove too much wood, knowing that a loose connection would compromise the integrity of the structure. Every few minutes, he stepped back to check the placement, ensuring the staggered joints would interlock securely with the beams.
This added complexity required even more precision, but Athan knew that taking the extra time to do it right would ensure the strength of the structure in the long run.
After finishing the first column joint, he moved on to the next, repeating the process with the same level of precision. Every few moments, he paused to take additional measurements, comparing them against his small-scale model to ensure accuracy. The model had become an invaluable reference, allowing him to visualize each piece before committing to a cut. Each completed joint brought him closer to seeing the framework of the house take shape.
The rhythmic sound of chopping and carving echoed through the worksite as Athan continued his careful work, fully immersed in the task at hand. This stage of construction demanded patience and precision, but he welcomed the challenge. With every cut, he brought the vision of the first permanent structure in the settlement one step closer to reality.
Once the connections for the three columns at the base were completed, Athan turned his attention to the interconnecting beams that would join them. Having already carved the same joint pattern four times, he now needed to reverse the design on the beams so they could fit into the existing slots.
As he was about to begin, Ok approached and asked if he needed help. Grateful for the assistance, Athan explained the steps he had taken so far, allowing Ok to compare the model to the full-scale structure on the ground. He carefully walked him through how the joints interlocked, ensuring the older man understood the method. Once the concept clicked for Ok, he nodded, took his knife, and began carving one end of a beam, while Athan worked on the other.
Since Athan had already taken precise measurements and marked where each connection needed to be, the work progressed much faster with two people sharing the task. The rhythmic sound of carving and the occasional murmur of discussion filled the air as they worked in tandem, ensuring each cut was clean and each joint properly shaped.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows over the worksite, the two of them stepped back to inspect their progress. Both beams were fully carved, ready for testing the next morning to determine if any further adjustments would be necessary. Satisfied with their work for the day, they set their tools down on the foundation and walked together toward the fire, discussing the project and the steps to come.
Once at the fire, Athan remembered he needed to water the fields and took a few steps in that direction before he heard Kali call out to him.
"Athan! No need! I do it already," Kali said proudly, standing with her hands on her hips.
Surprised, Athan turned back toward her, his tired expression lifting into a smile. "You did?" he asked, glancing at the fields.
Kali nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Plants drink. They good now."
He looked toward Lara, who stood beside her, casually stretching her arms.
Lara shrugged. "You work too much. We help. You no need do all."
Athan ran a hand through his hair, feeling both grateful and slightly guilty that they were taking on even more of his tasks. "Thanks… it really helps."
Kali beamed at his gratitude. "We strong too. Can help more."
Before Athan could respond, four hunters approached him, their curiosity evident. One of them held up an arrow Athan had made the previous day.
"Boy, this good," one of them said. "You teach us more?"
Pleased by their enthusiasm, Athan nodded and began explaining the process. He emphasized the importance of using hard but flexible wood for the bow and the need for strong, high-quality cord, such as the ones Nat produced. He then moved on to arrow-making, demonstrating how straight branches were needed, and how fletching required precision to ensure stable flight.
The hunters listened intently, nodding in understanding. Having spent a years crafting their own weapon, they quickly grasped the technique. Their experience carving combs and other wooden tools gave them a natural advantage—once they understood the method, making bows for themselves would not be difficult. The rest would be to practice using the bow in itself but they had times.
As the discussion continued, Athan felt a renewed sense of accomplishment. Not only was he lightening his own workload with Lara and Kali's help, but he was also sharing valuable knowledge with the hunters, enabling them to improve their skills and, in turn, the entire clan's chances of survival.
Once the conversation with the hunters ended, they all began forming a line for the evening meal, as Lara had already called for it. While Kali and Lara served the food, Athan was surprised to see that they had included dandelions from the fields and other areas. The roots had been cleaned and tied to dry on the shelter, likely to be used for the coffee later, as he had talked with them. Pleased, Athan sat down near their shelter, waiting for the girls to join him before starting his meal.
After a while they came next to him, and he could start. As he took a bite of the smoked fish, he noticed the slight bitterness of the dandelion leaves mixed into the stew, complementing the rich flavors of the broth. The warmth of the meal spread through his body, easing the tension from the long day's work. He looked at the two girls, his gaze filled with gratitude. "This is really good," he said, his voice carrying genuine appreciation.
The girls exchanged pleased smiles, their efforts being recognized. "Dandelion good for body. Give strength, you said" Kali said, nodding as she took a bite of her own portion.
Lara smirked slightly. "Easy to find."
Athan chuckled, appreciating their practicality. "Well, whatever, it's a good addition. Thank you both."
After finishing their meal, they worked together to clean the bowls and the cooking pot. The rhythmic sound of water splashing and the quiet chatter between them made the task feel lighter. Once done, the clan split into their evening activities, with some practicing writing and others working on carving.
Feeling better than the day before, Athan turned his attention back to the hollowed branch he had begun carving earlier. The wood had dried slightly, making it easier to shape. He carefully continued smoothing its surface, ensuring that the diameter remained consistent from one end to the other. Once satisfied with its symmetry, he used a thin heated stick to burn markings along its length, helping him space out where each hole would go. With measured precision, he started creating a series of eight evenly spaced holes, carefully ensuring their placement. Then, a ninth hole was added just a few centimeters from the edge, slightly offset from the others, meant for adjusting the airflow.
Standing up, he moved to the fire, holding the wooden piece over the heat to further seal the wood's pores and remove any splinters. He then rubbed it against another piece of wood, scraping off the soot and smoothing the surface as much as possible. Next, he picked up a freshly cut branch, extracting sap from it as he had done before when making combs. Using a piece of old fur, he spread the sap over the wood, polishing it until it developed a subtle sheen.
Holding the finished piece in his hands, he examined it carefully. It was an instrument he had once played in music class—a transverse flute. The familiar shape stirred something deep inside him, bringing back memories of another life, a time when comfort and security were taken for granted. The contrast between that world and the one he lived in now felt almost surreal.
Moistening his lips, he placed them near the opening and blew gently, listening as a soft, airy note emerged. A faint smile touched his lips as he adjusted his grip, placing his fingers over the holes and testing the sounds they produced. Some notes weren't quite right—certain holes were slightly misplaced, affecting the resonance—but for now, it would do.
Positioning his fingers carefully, Athan closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Then, he began to play.
The first notes of Scarborough Fair drifted into the night, soft and delicate, like whispers carried on the wind. His fingers moved instinctively, the melody unfurling from memories long buried. At first hesitant, then steady, his music wove through the air, each note a bridge to a world now lost to him.
Images flickered in his mind—bustling streets, neon lights glowing against the dark, the distant murmur of passing cars. A world of warmth and security, of laughter shared over dinner tables, of hands that clapped in applause. A world that had once been his.
The music swelled, and he lost himself in it, pouring unspoken longing into each note. Here, in this untamed land where civilization had yet to take root, his song was a whisper of something greater, something beyond mere survival.
As the final notes faded into the night, Athan let his hands fall still. Silence stretched in their wake, thick and reverent. When he opened his eyes, he found the entire clan frozen in place.
Wide-eyed, breathless.
Every gaze was locked on him.
Some had stopped mid-motion, tools resting limply in their hands.
Others leaned in, their expressions awash with something he couldn't quite name—wonder, confusion, awe.
Then, murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd, uncertain yet filled with something deeper—an unspoken longing, a question they did not know how to ask.
Lara was the first to speak.
She hesitated, as if searching for words.
"That… was like the song from before," she said slowly, her words slightly fragmented.
"But… different."
Kali, who had been writing on the ground before stopping, tilted her head, curiosity evident in her eyes.
"What… is?" she asked, her voice hesitant.
Athan sighed inwardly, already anticipating where this conversation could lead.
He had no desire to sing again—not if it meant awakening certain instincts in the adults.
Instead, he focused on what he could explain.
"This," he said, raising the instrument slightly, "is music."
The word was foreign to them, yet it hung in the air like an unspoken truth.
He tapped the flute in his hands.
"And this… this is a flute. It is an instrument—a tool to make music, just like my voice can make a song."
Kali's gaze flickered between him and the flute, curiosity burning behind her eyes.
"Mu…sic," she repeated, testing the word.
Others murmured it too, passing it among themselves as if tasting something entirely new.
Lara tilted her head.
"Other… exist?" she asked, struggling to form the sentence.
Athan smiled.
"Of course. Many others."
For a long moment, silence stretched between them again—not the emptiness of before, but something full, something waiting.
Then, slowly, smiles appeared, small and unsure, but real.
The clan did not yet understand music.
But now, they had taken their first step toward it.
The boy then began playing the flute, letting different melodies from his past life flow through the air. The soft, flowing notes danced between the trees, weaving through the crackling fires and the rhythmic sounds of work being done. The clan gradually resumed their activities, but their focus wavered. Hands that once moved with practiced ease hesitated, their owners momentarily entranced by the unfamiliar sound. Some stopped altogether, their gazes unconsciously drawn toward him, mesmerized by the hauntingly beautiful tones that filled the camp.
Lara, as always, was captivated. Her eyes gleamed with wonder, fixated on the boy as though he were some divine being bestowing yet another miracle upon them. She had long since come to expect the impossible from him, but each time, he still managed to leave her breathless. Her heart pounded as she listened, unable to tear herself away from the sound.
Kali, however, was restless. She watched Athan with narrowed eyes, a deep furrow forming on her brow. She did not understand. How could something so simple—a hollowed-out piece of wood—create such powerful feelings? Her chest felt tight, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through her limbs, making her fingers twitch. It had to be magic. It could be nothing else. Was he casting a spell on them? On her?
She clenched her hands into fists, resisting the strange pull that urged her to move closer to him. The sensations his music stirred within her were unfamiliar, unsettling. Yet she did not want them to stop. The more she listened, the more she craved. The sound, sometimes joyous and sometimes sorrowful, so soft yet powerful, made her skin prickle, made something inside her ache for more. It was maddening.
Her gaze flickered to the flute in his hands. She needed to understand it, to touch it, to uncover its mystery. Was it the flute itself that held such power? Or was it him? Her body tensed as she struggled with the urge to reach out. The sensations his music evoked made her want to move closer, to sit beside him, to feel the warmth of his presence in a way she never had before. It was bizarre… and yet, she wanted to listen forever.
Unable to resist any longer, she stood up and approached the boy, extending her hand toward him. He looked at her, puzzled, his fingers pausing on the flute as the melody came to an abrupt stop. The air grew heavy with silence as the clan turned their attention toward them, curiosity and confusion etched on their faces.
His gaze dropped to her outstretched hand before, after a brief hesitation, he handed her the flute. As soon as it was in her grasp, she began to examine it closely, turning it over in her hands, tracing the smooth curves of the wood, and inspecting the tiny holes carved into its surface. She ran her fingers along its length, as if expecting to feel the remnants of the magic she was certain it possessed. Her brows furrowed in deep concentration, her lips slightly parted in silent wonder. How could such a simple object produce something so extraordinary?
After some time, she found nothing unusual about the flute. She looked at the boy questioningly, seeking an explanation. Smiling, he gestured toward a specific hole and told her to blow into it. Trusting his guidance, she did as he instructed.
A sharp, high-pitched sound erupted from the flute, startling her. Instinctively, she let go of the instrument, her hands flying away as if it had burned her. Expecting such a reaction, the boy caught the flute mid-air, laughing softly. The young girl, much like a frightened cat, stared at him with wide, angry eyes, her body tense with surprise and frustration. A ripple of chuckles spread among the gathered clan members, amused by her reaction, though she ignored them, her attention locked on the flute in his hands.
Seeing her reaction, the boy demonstrated by blowing into the flute himself. The same piercing sound emerged, confirming that it was not some trick he had played on her. Curiosity slowly returned to her expression as she realized it was simply how the instrument worked. She leaned in slightly, watching his every movement, trying to understand.
He then explained that the sound of the flute depended on how one blew into it. To illustrate, he adjusted his breath, producing different tones, some softer, some sharper. Then, he placed his fingers over various holes and played different notes, showing how the positioning of fingers changed the melody. As he played a short tune, a new kind of silence settled over the group—not the absence of noise, but the quiet of deep concentration and awe. The melody, though simple, carried an undeniable beauty, stirring emotions they could not yet name.
As he played, the camp fell into an eager silence. The clan members who had been listening closely were visibly intrigued. He could see the glimmer of desire in their eyes—they, too, wanted to try. Some leaned forward unconsciously, their bodies drawn toward the sound. Others exchanged murmured words, their tones filled with both curiosity and excitement.
Laughing at their expressions of anticipation, the boy handed the flute back to the young girl before turning to the others. He took a step back and crossed his arms, surveying the eager faces before him. He had not expected such enthusiasm, but he welcomed it.
"If you want to try," he called out loudly, "form a line. You'll each get a turn!"
For a moment, there was hesitation, as if no one wanted to be the first to step forward. Kali, gripping the flute tightly, took a deep breath and raised it to her lips again. This time, she was determined. She blew carefully, trying to mimic what she had seen, yet the sound that emerged was shaky and uneven. A few chuckles rippled through the crowd, but they were not mocking—rather, they carried an air of encouragement.
Athan nodded approvingly. "Not bad. You just need to control your breath more," he instructed, demonstrating the motion with a branch. "Try again, softer this time."
Kali, now more focused, adjusted her approach and tried once more. A clearer note rang out, and this time, a few heads nodded in appreciation. She smiled slightly, pleased with her small success.
Then, after a brief silence, Ulf took a bold step forward. The man, of average build but carrying himself with quiet confidence, crossed his arms as he regarded the flute with skepticism but undeniable interest. "Me try next," he said, his deep voice cutting through the murmurs of the clan. The crowd parted slightly as he approached, his stance steady and deliberate. His eyes locked onto the flute as if challenging its magic.
Athan smirked, waiting for Kali to pass the flute back before handing it to Ulf. "Go ahead, just don't break it," he teased. The murmurs around them grew louder, some filled with approval, others with curiosity. The lesson had begun.
Finding another branch of similar dimensions, he carefully began carving a second flute. His knife moved with practiced precision, shaving away the rough bark to reveal the smooth wood beneath. The process was slow and methodical—this wasn't something that could be done in a single sitting. He knew it would take time, likely he would finish next evening, to refine the shape, smooth the edges, and ensure the holes were placed correctly to match the first flute.
Occasionally testing the wood's flexibility and adjusting the carving as needed. Having more than one instrument, he thought, could prove useful—not only for teaching but perhaps even for something greater. Music had stirred something deep within the clan, a spark of curiosity and wonder. If they could learn to play together, what else could they create?
Kali had returned to test the flute once more while the others took their turns. She watched each attempt with intense focus, noting the differences in how each person blew into it and placed their fingers. Occasionally, she would try again, determined to refine her technique. After a long while, once she felt satisfied with her progress, she stepped back and handed the flute back to the boy, her fingers lingering on the wood for a moment before letting go. Without a word, she returned to her writing, her mind still swirling with the experience of playing music for the first time.
Watching her a moment and smiling before returning to his craft. His fingers ached slightly from the delicate work, but he welcomed the sensation—it was a reminder of progress. When his eyelids grew heavy, he decided to stop for the night. Tomorrow, he would finish shaping it, polishing the wood and testing its sound. For now, he placed the unfinished flute beside him and allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction. This was just the beginning?
