The Price of Progress and the Promise of Water

One day later, Anna returned to Hradec, her face beaming with joy.

Noren gazed after the warhorse, a faint haze clouding her eyes as it galloped away, kicking up dust.

She slapped her cheeks with firm resolve, then inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, her expression settling back into composure.

Yet, a tumultuous mix of emotions churned within her, for the scene from yesterday was etched into her memory, indelible as if carved by an axe and knife.

After standing rooted to the spot for a long moment, the young woman descended into the cellar once more.

Her medical research remained unfinished.

Though the blacksmith had suggested employing water torture, such a punishment would only torment the prisoner without bringing her any pleasure; it was far better to hone her butchering skills instead.

Finally, after three days, Ogmund perished.

Noren had stained three leather aprons crimson, and a large basin of blackened, foul blood now sat in the cellar.

[Noren – Stress -50]

[Stress normalized.]

[Trait: +Novice Doctor.]

****

“Tolke, pick a horse you like!”

The young woman cradled a foal, stroking its mane.

The little horse slept peacefully in her arms, occasionally twitching its legs as if galloping across vast grasslands in its dreams.

Tolke paced back and forth, irresolute, as he surveyed the fourteen horses housed in the hastily erected stable.

He asked, “Which one do you ride, Noren?”

“The grey one.”

The boy had also wanted that grey horse; it was a magnificent stallion, its withers taller than his shoulder, its limbs strong and thick, and it had not yet been gelded.

Instead, he chose a white horse that lay resting on its side in the straw.

“This one!” he declared.

The white horse, sensing it was being spoken about, lifted its head to glance at the two of them.

Seeing nothing amiss, it lay back down and soon began to snore.

“Are you sure? That white horse doesn’t look very bright,” Noren commented.

The boy nodded.

“I want it.”

Noren gently roused the foal, set it on the ground, and then stepped into the stable, walking across the straw to deliver a swift kick to the lazy white horse.

The white horse startled, scrambling to its feet as if to bolt, but the young woman swiftly slipped a bridle onto its head.

After a moment of powerful struggling, it gradually calmed down.

She handed the reins to Tolke.

“Congratulations, you have your own horse now.”

A smile blossomed on Tolke’s face.

“You too.”

“Our training might need to change after this.”

A large question mark seemed to materialize above Tolke’s head.

She continued, “First, we must practice horsemanship, and also learn to fight from horseback.”

Tolke’s eyes widened in understanding.

“Lances?”

“No,” Noren shook her head, then spoke earnestly.

“You’ll train in mounted archery, and I’ll train in throwing spears from horseback.

The true path to mastery lies in being able to both fight and flee.”

****

The abacus of time clicked and clacked, and in the blink of an eye, three months had passed.

Now, summer was in full swing; the vegetation flourished, cicadas chirped incessantly, and the wheat had ripened, with farmers toiling amidst the golden waves of grain.

This year promised a bountiful harvest for Opava, and most people wore smiles, anticipating that every household would enjoy a hearty meal.

However, Noren, Tolke, and Frey were huddled together, their faces etched with worry.

They were covered in grime, their clothes, faces, necks, hands, and feet caked with mud, and the ground behind them was pockmarked with numerous pits of varying sizes.

“Sister, there’s no water! How many holes have we dug already?” Frey complained.

Noren picked up a pinch of soil from the ground and rubbed it between her fingers.

‘That doesn’t make sense,’ she thought.

‘The grass around here is so lush, and the soil is damp.

It even feels cool and firm when you lie on it.

It doesn’t seem like there’s no water…’

She raked her fingers through her hair, turning it into a tangled mess.

‘Why did Svein have to go to Opava at precisely this moment? Damn it!’

Frey suggested, “Why don’t we wait until Father returns to dig again?

He’ll definitely know where to find water.

Besides, I need to forge some farm tools; with Father gone, I have to keep the blacksmith shop running.

You, Sister, surely have other things to do and won’t be forging iron.”

Noren’s delicate brows furrowed.

After a moment of silence, she made her decision.

“One last one.

We’ll dig just one more hole.

If we still don’t find water, then we’ll wait for Svein to come back.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“Where should we dig then?” Tolke asked the young woman, glancing at the numerous holes scattered across the blacksmith’s backyard.

Noren cracked her finger joints, ‘snap,’ and a flash of inspiration struck her!

“I’ve got it!”

Everyone craned their necks, awaiting her words.

“We’ll go to that dilapidated shack where the wizard was imprisoned,” Noren announced, revealing their next digging spot.

“When I was burying the bodies, I discovered a dry little pond in the woods nearby.

There might be water hidden beneath that land.”

“Let’s eat lunch first, everyone,” Freya said, arriving in the backyard.

She carried a basket filled with bread, cheese, and dried salted meat, and three pouches, all containing homemade fruit wine, hung from her waist.

The group had been toiling all morning, and two shovels had already broken, so they were indeed quite tired.

This, of course, did not include Noren; she had exerted the most effort, and the shovels had snapped because she dug too quickly and with excessive force.

Now, she simply wanted to reach the next digging spot quickly, so she urged them, “Eat fast.

The sooner we finish digging, the sooner we can rest.”

Frey grumbled while chewing, “You get to rest, but I still have to go forge iron.”

The young woman shot him a glare, asserting her older sister’s authority.

“Hurry up and eat!

Can’t even food keep your mouth shut?”

Freya pulled out a cloth and gently wiped the dirt from the young woman’s face.

She asked, “Sister Noren, why are we digging a well?

The village is so close to the river; isn’t it convenient enough to fetch water from there?”

To their surprise, she simply offered a mysterious smile.

“You’ll find out when the time comes.”

Tolke glanced up at the mysterious-looking Noren, then continued to chew his bread and drink his wine.

****

“Water!”

Noren stood in the thirty-foot-deep pit, and with a single scoop of her shovel, water began to seep from beneath her feet.

Frey and Tolke lay prone at the edge of the pit.

Below, it was dark, and Frey could only make out vague shapes, but Tolke clearly saw muddy water spreading over the young woman’s instep.

“The bucket!” she shouted from the bottom of the pit.

A rope-bound wooden bucket was lowered.

She wielded her shovel and began to dig, quickly filling the bucket with wet mud.

“Pull!” she tugged on the rope.

The bucket was hoisted up.

She continued to deepen the well, transporting mud and stones out of the pit via the wooden buckets.

Her digging was rapid; no sooner was one bucket pulled up than another was immediately lowered, the two at the pit’s edge barely keeping pace with her.

Noren rolled her pant legs up to mid-thigh, where the gushing muddy water left a ring of dirt around her shapely legs.

Seeing that the depth was sufficient, she prepared to climb out, but upon seeing her hands covered in slippery mud, she realized that one wrong move would only soil her further.

In the end, she had Tolke and Frey lower a rope, which she passed through her groin and wrapped around her waist, allowing them to pull her up.

Frey looked at Noren, who was covered head-to-toe in mud, and asked, “Finished digging?

I’m not touching those other holes we dug, alright?

I’m going to forge iron now!”

Noren nodded, then twisted her waist and rubbed her hips; the rope had been tied too tightly, making her groin itch.

“Well… I’m going to repair the shovels,” Tolke said, holding the two broken tools, before making his own swift exit.

Noren knew they were utterly exhausted, so she returned to the blacksmith’s backyard on the slope and refilled the deep pits they had dug earlier.

‘Done!’ the young woman thought, gazing at the refilled holes and flexing her aching wrists.

‘Next, we’ll widen the well opening and build up the well walls.’

She then looked down at her mud-caked body.

‘Time for a bath, and then I should practice my Nianhua Finger (TL Note: A martial arts technique or finger dexterity exercise, literally ‘Flower-Plucking Finger’).

It’s been so long since I practiced it; my skills are getting rusty.’

Having finished her soliloquy, the young woman hummed a little tune and skipped away.