Aaron Chapter 10
There were a few locations in town where one might seek out knowledge, but the best place was the tavern, and so they decided to try their luck there. Despite the early hour, the doors were open, and more than a few citizens gathered inside, their complaints and worries reaching the ears of the newcomers before they’d fully stepped inside.
Many spoke of the rotten potatoes, how there was no end in sight, how the Englishmen refused more than a token show of help, and how the Irish were left to starve or forced to move away. Only a few hinted at the rising death toll in the village attributed to the others, and no one dared speak those words. One man, who’d clearly been there for quite a while, was crying about the death of his son just a few days earlier, and while his friends attempted to console him, it was the mead that began to quiet him after some time.
“There’s nothing that can be done, then, to save the crop?” Kian was asking a group of farmers who clearly had many years on him.
“No,” a gray-haired, stocky man who seemed rather lucid replied. “Once the blight has set in, nothing can be done a’tall. Tis a lost cause.”
Kian shook his head in disbelief. “How can the English ignore a problem such as this?”
As the gray-haired man offered an explanation, Aaron noticed a younger fellow with dark hair off to the side of the group a bit whose arms were crossed and his lips drawn into a harsh line, as if he had something to say but wasn’t sure how it might be accepted. “They don’t care a lick about us,” the gray-haired man continued. “They’d just as soon see all the Irish dead!”
“That’s not true,” another older man chimed in. “If we were dead, who would they have to do all of their cheap labor?”
“And clear out their land?” another man added.
“If you ask me, the English will get what they have comin’,” a clearly inebriated fellow across the room shouted out. “The Dark Ones have moved in on them, too. They’ll be sorry they ever ignored the Irish.”
“They’ll be importin’ us so that they can spare their own necks,” was shouted back.
Aaron was quiet, observing the crowd, taking in the discussion. While he was certain there would be no information from this crowd about how to solve the problem of the blight, he wondered if any of them might know more about the Dark Ones and how they could be defeated.
“What say you, Ward?” the first gray-haired man asked the younger fellow who thus far had been quiet.
“What say I?” Ward repeated. “Oh, I’d rather not say.”
“Come, now. Speak up,” one of the others insisted. “Surely, you must have an opinion.”
Ward took a sip out of the glass sitting before him, and Aaron noticed it appeared to be water. Returning the glass to the table he began to slowly give a response. “My belief, and it is just an idea, is that the English have sent the potato blight on purpose. As the Dark Ones invade their homeland, feast upon their noblemen here, they see that the only way—in their eyes—to destroy the beasts is to cut off their food supply. And that food supply is the Irish.”
The room was silent for a second as everyone considered Ward’s opinion, and then once his answer was comprehended, the entire group exploded in raucous laughter, as if his words were the most ridiculous theory anyone had ever posed.
Aaron and Kian did not laugh, however, and Ward, who looked uncomfortable but not deterred from his believes, took another sip of his water, and then quietly slipped out the door. Catching Kian’s eye, Aaron gestured for him to come along, and they followed Ward out into the street.
“Ward!” Aaron hollered after him as he saw his figure begin to disappear behind a building.
The man heard him and stopped, leaning against the stone wall of the shop, crossing his arms and waiting. Once Aaron and Kian had caught up with him, he said, “If you’ve come to poke fun at me, you may as well go on back inside. Nothing you say will bother me.”
“On the contrary,” Kian assured him, “that was an interesting theory you proposed back there.”
“Did you think of it yourself?” Aaron asked, stepping out of the glare of the sun so he could see him better.
“No,” Ward answered, though after such a firm answer, the rest of his response began to waver. “I heard it… somewhere else.”
“Where?” Kian asked, glancing at Aaron and then back at Ward.
“I’d rather not say,” he replied. “Listen, the pair of you look like intelligent young men, but there are things you do not know about at work here—things this village chooses to ignore. I do not know you well enough to say more at this time. Only know this, the Order means nothing; there is no agreement. If you have family members you care for, do all that you can to protect them.” With that, the mysterious man turned on his heel and began to walk away, leaving Aaron and Kian staring at each other, both confused and bewildered.
It was Kian that recovered first, and rushing after Ward, he grabbed him by the shoulder and attempted to spin him around. He was strong however—surprisingly so—and before Kian knew what had happened, Ward had pulled his hand off of him and pushed him away so that he found himself several yard’s distance, bumped up against another stone wall.
Aaron checked to make sure his friend was unhurt and then attempted to catch up to Ward himself, but the other man was too fast, and before he even knew where he had gone, he was out of sight, leaving Aaron standing in an alleyway, shaking his head.
