It was late in the harvest season, and my whole family would get up early in the morning because of it. I was only about eight at the time, and while my brothers and I were out helping our father harvest grain in the fields, our mother would be in the kitchen preparing breakfast. We would all wake up to the sound of thunder in the distance, and thought nothing of it. That day, however, when the winds picked up, it would become a sound we’d never forget.
While everyone else had started working that morning, I’d grabbed a handful of dried grains and sneaked around to the back of the barn where a large crow lived to feed it. I’d thought that feeding the crow would make it friendly so that it would tell its friends not to eat our harvest. It had hurriedly snatched a few corns from my hand when I felt a hard wind blowing inward. There was usually a small gust from time to time which was never anything to worry about, but I’d never felt one so strong before. Suddenly, everything went quiet around me, muffled by the force of the wind that blew against my face and through the grass. From out in the field I heard some nervous shouting, though about what I couldn’t make out. I tried to turn my head to listen, but it was no use. When I turned back, the crow had disappeared, having left a few uneaten grains behind which blew away in the gale. I got up and walked to the front of the barn, only to find that there was nobody in the field anymore. Bits of loose grass and dust began to blow up and into my face, and I began to stumble as the wind nearly knocked me off of my feet. I could just make out the groaning of the flimsy boards that made up the barn as the wind tried to tear them away from the structure. I again heard voices shouting over the wind, now sounding desperate.It sounded like they were shouting my name. Behind me, I began to make out what could only have been described as the sound of one-thousand people running right at me. As I turned to look, I saw my father running from the horse-drawn cart over to me, a scared look on his face. My brothers and mother seemed to be there too. The sound of the barn became louder and more defined against the wind, and more grass was now flying into my face. It took most of my will to stay standing against the blowing wind. When I looked to where the sound came from, I saw The Storm. Where the creeping rain fell, grass was ripped from the ground, and it was coming right towards me! I couldn’t move. I just stood as the barn now began to fly apart in the wind, and I was very nearly thrown to the ground. I was lucky though, as my father got to me in time and ran me to the cart. With the final image of home being that of it torn apart, we left.
I don’t know how far we had traveled, but it felt like it would never end back them. For the remainder of the first day, the cart was silent. My older brother and I just sat, staring out over the near endless meadows all the way to the mountains in the distance. For once the grass, similarly to those bare peaks, was pale grey. My youngest brother sat with us for a while, before turning in and falling asleep in the back. I wouldn’t even have noticed, had his snoring not pierced the silence hanging over us. Our parents didn’t even say anything to us or to each other. The wind continued on that day, blowing loose grass all over us. It wouldn’t slow down substantially until nightfall.
By then, I’d nearly fallen asleep myself. I probably would have too, if my brother hadn’t suddenly asked,
“Do you know where we’re going?” It took a little while, but out father told him,
“Roughly… We’re following the roads west, to the sea. The capitol’s out there, and they’ll give us a new parcel of land if we talk to the Deedmaster.” Despite his usually confident demeanor, he seemed uncertain. Our mother then hastily added,
“We’ll be there at some point tomorrow. Why don’t you two get some rest like your brother?” The cloud of silence then lowered upon us again as we both tried to fall asleep, though the images of the previous morning made it difficult. It was difficult for me, at least.
I awoke to the sound of people shouting. At the time I didn’t think much of it; I didn’t recognize the voice. I then heard my mother scream, and nearly jumped out of the cart. I only then realized that the cart wasn’t moving. I peeked my head over the edge of the cart to see what was happening, just to find that some strange man had pinned my father down with his foot, a pitchfork poised to pierce his neck. I doubt that anyone else noticed, or cared, but I saw a certain fear in his eyes, one that I couldn’t quite place. He was shouting,
“I’ll ask again… Do you have any food?” My mother could do nothing but whimper. My father said,
“No! Nothing! We were hit so suddenly, we couldn’t bring any!” At that, the man faltered for a moment. I now noticed, my eyes having adjusted to the light under the naked moon, a cart behind the man, similar to ours.
“You were… Hit?” the man croaked. He left little time for reply.
“We were too… Snatched up nearly everything, save for our son. But even he’s not been left untouched by it! A board flew into him, knocked him unconscious. We won’t be able to feed him if… When he wakes up. Can’t even feed ourselves…” It nearly seemed that the man would step away from my father, when, with a newfound intensity in his voice, he shouted,
“Which is why you’d better have something! Anything…” He looked around: at my mother, then at the cart, and I think he must’ve seen the top of my head. Suddenly, shame on his face began to mingle with the fear in his eyes. He turned to look at his cart, before quickly releasing my father and driving away. My parents got back onto the cart, my mother driving this time, as if nothing had happened. We began to move again, and as much as I tried, I wouldn’t fall asleep again that night.
The morning soon came, and the events of the past night, while not forgotten, weren’t in the forefront of my mind. The others had begun to stir, and my stomach began to rumble gently. Out of the silence, my younger brother asked,
“Will we stop for breakfast?” My mother seemed to freeze up, and both parents remained silent. I couldn’t even help but shake my head with a little shame. He didn’t quite seem to understand though, and started to root around in the back of the cart. My father eventually reached back to him, and said,
“Just, don’t think about it. We’ll be in the city soon.” He didn’t seem to hear, or at least didn’t listen. He continued his search, and nobody else tried to stop him. I considered handing him the few grains I had left in my pocket, but who can make bread with three corn’s-worth of flour?
At around midday we finally reached the capitol. The winds had picked up over the course of the morning, somehow even faster than the day before, leaving us with a fear that The Storm would catch up to us. The city, however, didn’t even seem to notice. People simply worked, spoke to each other, and walked the streets without any hesitation. Out in the distance, on either side of us, I saw other carts heading towards the city. My mother must have seen it too; she picked up the pace, under her breath saying,
“Won’t let them steal our opportunity…” When we finally reached the Deedmaster’s office, I was happy that we seemed to be the first to arrive.
The inside of the office was the strangest thing I’d ever seen. It was made of wood, but not of the flimsy brush-wood that our barn had been made from. It seemed to be made from real hardwood planks, and more kinds than I’d ever seen before. It put our barn to shame, and even that wood had been a luxury! The Deedmaster didn’t seem to notice we’d walked in, his head stuck in his paperwork. My father spoke up first,
“Hello, sir. Our farm was eaten up by the storm just yesterday. We were hoping to get a new parcel to work.” The man in front of us let out a loud sigh of exasperation. He apparently didn’t care to spare our feelings.
“More? How many are to come?” Without looking up at us, he said,
“Take a ferry ticket and a deed from over there,” he pointed to a wooden box to our left, “you’ll all be re-settled in the offshore colonies. It’s an even larger deed than before, too. Sound good?” His tone made it obvious he expected no response. My heart sank a little bit, and my father replied,
“We were hoping to get a new parcel on the mainland. There’s still plenty of land to go around here.” The Deedmaster only now looked up at us, a scowl of derision on his face.
“Why do you even care? You just lost everything you had on the mainland.” My father paused for a moment.
“Well… It’s all we know. I…” He struggled to put his thoughts to words, but it was a sentiment that we all held.
“Whatever misguided reason you might have, that land is for the descendants of mainlanders. You are now colonists, so it’s not yours.”
“Why not!” My father lost his composure for a moment. The Deedmaster appeared then to be contemplating something in his mind. When he seemed to make a decision, he said,
“I’m the only one you’ll get to admit this, but you’re a reminder of The Storm around here. You’re not welcome anymore. So either take a ticket, or I’ll have you all arrested and thrown in the deepest, darkest cell we can find where you won’t remind anyone of anything! Got it?” He looked back to his paperwork, and none of us said another word to him. That man, that terrible man, is the last thing I can remember about the mainland.