Silent Hall by NS Dolkart

let him wake up on his own. He’s lost so much blood.”
    â€œIt’s a good thing it’s still dry,” Hunter reflected. “We have no tents and no shelter.”
    â€œHe needs to drink,” Bandu stated. “He needs more for blood.”
    They coaxed some water down Narky’s throat and then settled down around his body, as if by sitting on all sides of him they could protect him from further harm.
    â€œWhat do you think happened?” Criton asked.
    â€œI guess it was Narky Ravennis was after,” Phaedra said. “He must have repented for whatever it was he did. Ravennis wouldn’t have let him live otherwise.”
    Hunter looked down at Narky curiously. “Where did he get that necklace, I wonder?”
    Narky woke up once during the night, while Phaedra was taking watch. He was mumbling deliriously, and seemed to be under the impression that he had died. He whispered that he wished he could have been their friend, and apologized repeatedly for something that he could not quite explain. If his eyes had not been open, she would have thought him to be dreaming.
    The next day, they decided that it would be safe to move him. With Hunter on one side and Criton on the other, Narky staggered along until they came out of the forest at a small village on the edge of a plain. There were only some forty villagers in total, but they were kind and hospitable, and they let the islanders stay with them a whole two weeks while Narky recovered.
    Phaedra was beginning to question whether she would ever become a weaver in Atuna. They had all been on the verge of parting ways when the ravens had changed their plans – could the timing really be a coincidence? She had the uneasy feeling that the Gods were watching all five of them a little more closely than They ought to be. Ravennis had clearly taken an interest in Narky for some reason, and His oracle was responsible for saving Hunter. When the fishing boat had been delayed over and over again, Phaedra had felt as if the Gods were conspiring to make her wait. Now she wondered if they really had been.
    The Gods must still have been watching over Narky, because he recovered quite nicely, without any trace of infection. When he could once more walk independently, he recruited the others’ help in building an altar.
    Phaedra was going to offer to buy a goat from the villagers, but rather than sacrificing an animal, Narky placed his crossbow and his quiver of bolts upon the altar and set them ablaze. “Let my cowardice burn,” he said, and placed the silver symbol of Ravennis around his neck.
    Toward the end of Narky’s recovery, the villagers became noticeably nervous. The few elders seemed to be sadly shaking their heads every time Phaedra looked at them, and the
    younger villagers whispered urgently to each other and looked often at their children. Phaedra asked one of the grandmothers about it, as the woman came to inspect Narky’s final set of bindings. She was in her forties, her hair just starting to gray. Like the others of her generation, she shook her head sadly.
    â€œThe young ones want us to leave the village, before the Gallant Ones come back.”
    â€œThe Gallant Ones?”
    The woman nodded. “You can ask old Garan about them, she knows all ’bout history and them things.”
    Garan was the oldest woman in the village, a crone of seventy-some years who walked with a stick. When Phaedra found her, she was rendering a small pot of chicken fat.
    â€œThe Gallant Ones?” she repeated. “Eh, I can tell you ’bout them.”
    She stirred her pot contemplatively. “Started in Atuna, some forty years ago. They had a king there once, just like the Ardismen did before they rose up and gave themselves a war council instead. Well, in Atuna the king was no good, the way kings is, and their people up and killed him and put a council in his place, like they have now. But there was a