Rageborn

"Listen," my mother, the villagers' sole Wisewalker, began, her eyes reflecting the grey sky, "the mountains are the soul of The Ashen. They protect us, yes, but they teach us too." Her hand gestured expansively towards the rugged slopes. "They remind us to be strong, resilient." She scooped a handful of soil, letting the dark grains filter through her fingers. "Every plant, every creature here has a role, a purpose. As do you," she said as her gaze swept over us, but I could feel it linger upon me. I straightened, feeling the weight of her words. "Why do they call them the Guardian Peaks?" I piped up, my voice tinged with the eagerness that often earned me simpers or sighs from the adults. "Because," she paused, a small smile played on her lips as she encouraged my curiosity, "just as I protect and support you all, the mountains support the land. They are our strength, our guardians against the world beyond." Harlan, the blacksmith's son, stood a little apart from the main group with his friends, his broad shoulders and thick arms already showing the promise of his future trade. I could never imagine myself working a forge—too dirty, too much work. He frowned, his dark eyes narrowed as he asked, "If the mountains are so strong, why do their peaks crumble when a storm hits? Doesn't seem all that strong to me." Mother’s gaze turned to him, her expression patient yet firm. "The mountains, like us, endure. They may be weathered by storms, but they stand tall, providing shelter and strength. It's the weak ones that think strength is never bending or breaking. I would think a blacksmith’s son should know that. Real strength knows how to weather a storm and still stand tall afterward." Harlan's face reddened, a hint of embarrassment flashed across his features. He glanced around, noticing a few of the other children smirking at his question. His jaw tightened, and he looked away, the moment seeding a grudge in his mind. I just nodded, absorbing her metaphor, picturing the mountains as giant, stony spines. My sister, Liv, with her spirited green eyes and freckled cheeks, elbowed me gently. "He's always full of boyish questions, that one," she teased, tossing her long, chestnut braid over her shoulder. The statement was like a fan to the kiln of Harlan’s face which only glowed all the brighter. A boy to the left of Harlan, the miller's son—Torin—snickered. "Yeah, but at least they're good ones. Better than asking why the sky's blue for the hundredth time, Liv" He said, obviously trying to quench the flames. “Do not!” replied Liv. Feeling the tension thick in the air, I decided to break it with yet another question. I grinned, then pointed to a hawk circling above, its wings slicing through the air. "What's it looking for?" I asked, squinting against the light. "Opportunity," Mother replied swiftly, then pointed to a bush near us. "Just as you should always look for opportunities to learn. Like this," she reached out, plucking a leaf, "Sagebrush. Used for toothaches or wounds. Remember that." I took the leaf, rolling it between my fingers, the scent sharp and clean. Torin smirked, still eyeing my sister. "Does it cure stupidity?" he asked, nodding towards Liv. Heat prickled at the back of my neck. "Watch it," I snapped before I took a step in front of her. Mother’s eyes flicked between us with a sly smile, that softened her stern features. "Only silence cures foolishness," she interjected with mock severity, quelling the simmering tension and drawing a round of chuckles from the group. But her smile faded into seriousness again as she swept her arm towards the mountains. "Respect these teachings. The mountain's roots are deep, their wisdom ancient. You must be willing to climb, to struggle, to reach the heights of understanding." Mother dismissed us with a wave of her hand, the cool morning air seeming to sharpen her words as they floated over to us. "Remember what we discussed about willow bark yesterday? It's time to put that knowledge to good use," she called out, her gaze swept over the cluster of us with an instructive gleam. "You need to find the willows by the stream. Look for the trees with the long, slender leaves and the rough bark. That's where you'll get what we need." Liv and I exchanged a quick glance, her eyebrows raised in mock seriousness. We threaded our way through the group, the other children’s chatter and laughter fading as we veered off toward the familiar path that led to the stream. "And remember," Mother's voice followed us, strong and clear, "the inner bark is what you’re after. Carefully peel it back. It’s valuable for its medicinal properties — can reduce fever and relieve pain. Be mindful not to harm the tree more than necessary." As we moved away from Mother’s instructive presence and deeper into the grove, the topic of our conversation shifted from the practical to the personal. "Torin's a prat," I muttered, brushing a low branch aside for Liv. She laughed lightly, the sound mingling with the rustle of leaves. "He's just a boy. Maybe he teases because he likes me." I snorted, surveying the brush for the telltale slender branches. "If that's his way of showing affection, remind me to stay on his bad side." Liv nudged me with her elbow, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Afraid you might start liking him too?" I made a face, and she laughed again, a genuine sound that made the chilly air feel just that bit warmer. We crouched by the water, the reflection of the clouds overhead dappled by the gentle flow. As Liv pulled her belt knife to cut a few strips of bark, a voice sliced through the quiet. "Look, the runt and his keeper," sneered a voice I knew too well — Harlan, flanked by his usual lackeys, which included Torin. “Your turn,” Liv whispered to me. I straightened, my hands balling into fists. "Leave us be, Harlan." Harlan, a head taller with arms like an anvil, stepped closer. "What? Not happy to see us?" His eyes flicked to Liv, "or maybe you need your sister to save you again?" Heat pricked behind my eyes, a slow, simmering anger building with each beat of my heart. The edges of my vision tinted, the world taking on a reddish hue. Liv stood, placing herself in front of me. "Leave us alone, Harlan. We're just here for the willow bark." "Yeah? Me too," Harlan said, snatching the bark from Liv's hand with a roughness that made her flinch. He was faster than his size befitted. My anger surged, a deep growl built in my throat unbidden. Harlan laughed, turning his attention back to me. "What, you gonna cry now runt?" "No, but you might!" I shot back as I stepped around Liv. I didn’t see the punch coming until it was too late, Harlan’s fist connected with my cheek and sent a shock of pain through my skull. I imagine that’s how his hammer felt when it met the anvil. The heat in my eyes blazed, the world a blur of red and shadow. I lunged forward, driven more by instinct than thought, my own fist swinging wildly. More of a windmill than any real punch. Liv caught my arm, pulling me back. "Leif, no!" Her voice was sharp, a command that sliced through the fog of rage. Torin also stepped forward, his face conflicted as he glanced at Liv. "Harlan, that's enough," he said, his voice firm as he attempted to grab at the larger boy’s arm. "Come on, let's go." Harlan, ready to retaliate, paused, his eyes darting between Torin's intervention and my heaving chest. "Come on," Liv urged, her grip firm on my hand. "He's not worth it." I allowed her to pull me away, the warmth behind my eyes slowly receded leaving a dull throb of humiliation and simmering anger. As Liv and I walked back from the stream, the tension from the confrontation slowly unwound, she shot me a sly glance with a hint of a smirk playing upon her lips. "You know, if Torin's way of showing he likes me is by teasing, maybe Harlan actually fancies you," she quipped, her eyes twinkling with mischief. I scoffed, rubbing the sore spot on my cheek. "Yeah, right. He punches like he's courting me, then." My voice dripped with sarcasm. She chuckled, nudging me gently with her elbow. "It's a love tap, clearly. You know, the rough beginnings of a beautiful friendship." I rolled my eyes, the corners of my mouth twitched despite the ache. "Let’s stick to making friends who don’t leave bruises, yeah?" Liv laughed, her laughter lightening the mood as we continued our way back. "Deal. But just so you know, I’m keeping an eye on Torin, just in case he decides to start showing his affection with something sharper than words." I shook my head, a small smile finally breaking through. "Just make sure he knows you punch back." As Liv and I made our way back to the clearing, Mother emerged from behind a gnarled oak, stepping into our path. Her tall, willowy frame was accentuated by the flowing hair the colour of autumn leaves that gathered at her nape. She had a presence that warranted attention, yet her eyes, full of reprimand, softened slightly as we approached. Faint lines framed her gaze, hinting at wisdom and weariness, while still vibrant and sharp. The air around us cooled, heavy with her unspoken disappointment. "I saw what happened," she began, her voice low and even, forcing each word to carry its full weight. The disappointment was blatant, her gaze shifting from Liv to me with a deep, knowing look. Trying to defend our actions, I started, "Mother, ever since Da—" "Leif," she interrupted firmly, her tone brooking no excuses. "I understand your reasons, but reacting with fists is not our way." Liv and I exchanged a quick, guilty glance, accepting the rebuke. "You must learn to master your emotions," Mother continued, her expression softened as she stepped closer. "Anger is a quick spark, easy to ignite but difficult to extinguish. Remember, you are both capable of more." "How do we hold back when pushed so far?" Liv's voice cracked slightly, her usual resolve wavering. Mother's shoulders slumped, just a little, as her breath escaped in a gentle sigh, her eyes reflecting our own emotions. "By practising control. Let me show you." She stood between us, her presence grounding. "When you feel that surge of heat, that rush of blood that presages anger, take three deep breaths. With each breath, imagine drawing in the calm of the earth and casting out your fury." She demonstrated, inhaling deeply, her chest rising, and exhaling slowly, her features smoothing into calm. Liv and I followed, the rhythmic breathing helping to leach away the remnants of our earlier tension. If I had the sense back then I might have realised that we may have been the reason my mother knew those techniques. Then again she was the Wisewalker. "Feel the peace you draw in," Mother advised as we opened our eyes, "and let it temper the storm within. This is how we uphold the tranquillity of our tribe." She then placed a hand on each of our shoulders, her touch reassuring. "Embrace peace, my children. It is not merely the absence of conflict, but