A Fracture (Narration 2)

One day the weather began to change. It was not a sudden event that caused it, but a slow and grinding destabilisation of the seasons. Each year the birds would migrate south after the Autumn harvest, and always to return. But villagers noticed fewer each spring. Farmers noticed more insects eating away at the crops. The circle of life was falling out of balance. Winters were longer and colder, with the violent gale force winds terrorizing the coasts. Structures that had stood for centuries, degraded. Summers were blisteringly hot. The Spring rains became irregular. Eldbriaris had long viewed water as a source of life, but gradually, some saw it as a potential enemy that had to be domesticated and tamed.

Agriculture was the main source of industry and sustenance in Eldbriaris, and the unpredictability of frost had made planting exceedingly difficult. Year after year, crop yields diminished. Whole harvests were lost due to increasingly extreme weather patterns. Silos and grain stores dwindled. For the first time in many generations, people were worried.

There had been little need for technology in Eldbriaris. What sparse technology they did have was used in the fields, critical for the success of their harvests. The tools had been passed down through the decades; the blistered hands and sweaty brows changed, but the tools remained constant. Few had ever questioned where some of the tools had come from: mechanical combines made from intricate metalwork, strange displays that could read temperature and moisture and determine the richness of the soil. Periodically they would break or need to be recalibrated. There was an entire profession of Eldbriarans responsible for preserving the knowledge of these tools. They knew how to make basic repairs, but no one understood how they were made.

Everyone had grown up hearing their elders spin grand tales of a past time when travellers would arrive from distant lands, sharing knowledge and technology. These journeymen would be welcomed with open arms. They told tales of great societies. Of ships that could reach the stars. It was a time of bewilderment. Everything seemed possible. But one day they stopped coming. It was as if the shores themselves had been cut off from the rest of the world.

The land of Eldbriaris, once open to wayward travellers from every corner of the globe, had since become isolated. A once rich cultural tapestry of exchange had become homogeneous. Like a lake cut off from access to a tributary, the water had grown stale. Generations had come and gone, and despite a rich history and fertile lands, Eldbriaris was stuck in place. People stopped exploring. Most stopped dreaming of what was beyond their shores. Their lands had been green and the climate stable; so they could flourish, and yet the truth was their homeland had been collectively treading water for years

Eldbriaris’ isolation was not self-imposed. Centuries ago it had been a major trading hub connected to the wider world. Much of the technology and farming knowledge the people had honed over generations had come through trade. But these techniques and technologies had not developed substantially since. Everyone had been comfortable; there had been no need to innovate. Now Eldbriaris faced a real crisis and was completely unsure how to solve it.

Emmerich felt a restlessness in his soul. Each night he would gather those willing to listen and spin tales of a return to normalcy. He could see in the firelit faces of the villagers a deep longing to believe. With each turn of the season, he noticed people becoming more withdrawn. Fewer came to the fire each evening, and fewer still danced. The once-joyous nightly gatherings were fading like the last embers of the kindling in the hearth.

When he needed space to think, he would wander down to the cliffs and stand at the edge overlooking the sea. There he would fantasise about the great unknown. He would ask the sea a question and often felt as if the answer would echo back to him from beyond.

This time, as he stood on the cliff looking out across the vast blue sea, he asked, “What shall I do?” But he did not receive an immediate response.

Overhead he watched seabirds gliding through the sky, soaring out into the great unknown.

There must be something out there.

It had been nearly a century since Eldbriaris had commissioned an exploratory voyage beyond its shores. There were fishermen’s tales of strange vessels seen in the distance, but none who had sailed beyond the horizon had ever returned.

At the next town meeting the villagers were in a panic. Their food supply was dwindling, and strict rations would need to be implemented to ensure they had enough to survive the winter. They would need to stick together, to pray for a more stable climate and a shorter winter. Families would need to store as much water as they could to avoid losing crops to drought. Every possible uncertainty would need to be planned for.

This was a disaster scenario no one had foreseen.

“We must pray more for better fortune. Offer more thanks to the deities,” shouted one voice.

The villagers began to argue.

“All of these solutions are necessary, but they are only temporary fixes to our problems. The world has changed. We will need to innovate!” yelled another.

“How can we afford to change our practices when the cost of one failed harvest could mean starvation?”

“If we carry on this way, we will certainly starve!” a man replied.

“And where shall we even start? We are not even certain what challenge we are facing.” yelled another.

Tempers in the room began to flare. A village that had been blissfully unified for centuries was tearing itself apart. One could see different factions forming, each rallying behind a reason to blame. Some believed it was a lack of faith, that there had been too much focus on festivities and not enough on piety. Others believed it was a matter of science. A lack of innovation meant that food would now need to be rationed, and ultimately difficult choices would have to be made: for the good of the herd.

The air was heavy. Raised voices filled the hall. They stopped listening to one another, each villager choosing to shout louder than the last. Their voices swelled into a crescendo as emotions boiled over. It was only a matter of time before it turned violent.

Emmerich stood in the middle of the crowd. His mind raced, thick with anxiety. He closed his eyes. Images flooded him. Wind at his back, sails snapping in the gale. Strangers with unfamiliar tools. A land that had endured famine. A smiling face. Answers. His eyes flew open and he let out a primal scream.

“ENOUGH!” he roared.

Eldbriaris fell silent at once, like a bell struck so hard that the whole world stopped to listen.

The entire village, dumbfounded, stared at Emmerich. With a swift motion, he turned toward the window and pointed in the direction of the cliffs.

“Beyond the horizon,” shouted Emmerich.

The room fell silent.

He stood up.

“We have all heard the tales of our ancestors. The great civilisations and friendships we once shared. For too long we have grown disinterested in what lies beyond these shores. The very tools and metals that created the stability which allowed us to flourish came from far away lands. If you allow me, I will sail beyond the horizon in search of knowledge.”

“You will need my help then,” Seraphine said, standing.

“And mine,” Saela added, rising beside her.

“Count me in!” Kael shouted. “This place was getting a bit boring anyway,” he jeered.

The hall fell deathly silent. The villagers stared at one another, the scowls and anger fading from their faces. In an instant, the aggression in the room drained away like air from a punctured balloon. It was no cure for their plight, but it offered an unforeseen chance at revival. Eldbriaris had found new heroes in whom to place their faith.

And so it was—Emmerich, Seraphine, Kael and Saela—set sail from the shores of Eldbriaris. The journey that all of their childhood adventures had prepared them for.

Emboldened by the pride of their entire village, they stood proudly on the deck of their ship. It was a great expedition that would be etched into the lore of the land.

Emmerich dreamt of glory. He imagined himself as the hero of one of his own tales, sailing to faraway lands and returning with knowledge and technology that would save the village.

Seraphine imagined all the people she would meet, the connections she would foster, and the ways those relationships might enrich the very soul of Eldbriaris. She thought of the prosperity that would return and of the great festival she would organise to celebrate.

Kael dreamt of adventure. But most of all he could not wait to shove it in the faces of the farmers when they returned triumphantly. Still, he knew he would miss his friends, and he worried they would die of boredom in the fields without him.

And Saela—she would miss this land deeply. But she knew that if their mission failed, her animals and her home would be lost anyway.

Valiantly and defiantly, the ship set sail beyond the horizon.

The joyous sounds of bells and cheers rang from the shore. Thousands stood side by side along the cliffs, waving ecstatically. Small fishing boats followed in their wake, hurling last words of encouragement towards them.

Most importantly, the people of Eldbriaris had been given something they had not felt in years: Hope.