#Noak Adraav

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@versus-written | X

Noak tilted his head in what looked like a gesture of understanding. Would he actually consider such a rough touch up to the towering lad? No. Not one hair on Rahel's head would be harmed by his hand.

But he could understand the intrusive thought of it.

"I almost made the mistake of cautioning him. Almost." He exhaled, his shoulders deflating a little. "I know if I told him to be careful it would only add more fuel to that fire."

Though Rahel wasn't particularly in danger. If he set off a violent temper, he had his guardian to shield him... and something in Noak didn't sit right with that... Taru could handle herself, but wearing the knocks aimed at a teenager who didn't have control over his own anger wasn't fair.

Alas, he was only an outsider looking in. There were whisper faint marks scattered across his own skin. His forearm, where he had intercepted lashings. His back, where he had worn the punishments. His cheek, marking a violent reunion.

Noak would have taken every single blow for Enok for the rest of his life. But now here he was, a washed-up guardian tossed into the salt. He didn't even know where he had been, only where he belonged.

"... mh. Enok had his moments. I think the anger was growing in him too. There's only so much you can shield them from, they grow up, and they understand the world for what it is. One day you wake up and realise protecting them isn't enough anymore. You have to guide them through lessons and pray to your goddess that they might even listen."

Noak exhaled a small laugh, chased closely with a pained wince. That long fall had not been a kindness. It was a miracle he had survived.

[madeofthreads]

@enokvirkow | Noak Adraav

There was a heaviness as Noak came to. He had been fading in and out, treading that delicate thread between life and the brilliant light of beyond. He struggled to make out anything in the dim and the damp.

«"He's alive!"» An unfamiliar voice announced in shock. Their words were familiar, though their accent was a far cry from the harsh northern isles he called home. It belonged to the south where seafarers often exchanged words and goods with farflung trade ships.

He attempted to sit and found himself supported by the stranger's arm. «"Where am I?"» And why did he feel like he was being weighed down by an anchor...?

«"No one knows."» The stranger answered him cryptically. It was the honest truth. «"Foreign trade ships have captured us, we are at the mercy of the mother's seas. She has been fighting but she doesn't wish to claim us in her anger."»

A frown etched across Noak's brow. His memory failed him, a great darkness shrouded whatever had led him to this ship. The last thing he remembered, the very last, he returned from the local market a few fish lighter and with enough rice to share for a feast. He... would meet the Virkow's... but what had happened?

There were few more questions. He was offered what precious water still remained, and bit by bit he realised how dire the situation was.

He was surrounded by fellow islanders, most of which had been beaten down and left to lament as prisoners below the massive deck of a foreign trade ship. If there were any familiar faces, they were distant ones, people he had met in passing.

Apparently this wasn't the only ship. There was talk about people being separated, an act Noak couldn't possibly recall when he wasn't even certain when everything had gone wrong.

The days bled into weeks. Their rations were few, and already there was the stench of death around them. Little wonder there was a great wariness when the doors were thrown open to blinding sunlight and orders were barked down upon them. Slow shuffling quickened at the crack of a whip and one by one the heavy collar around their necks were shackled to a body in front and behind until they were splintered into small, dazed groups.

They had landed on a beach without sand. There were small smooth rocks instead, something Noak had never encountered before. His attention drifted to the fleet of ships anchored off the coast. Others were being shackled into groups and sorted out in a first wave of activity.

Where they were headed, not even the goddess could know.

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The words tumbled out carelessly, without any hesitation or doubt. It would be easy to assume that Noak was a trusting man — he was not. The years had built up. Stone by stone, he had a decade of mistakes that governed who he was and how he presented himself.

Quietness was a skill that kept him alive. Better to be good at saying nothing, and here he was spilling words that dripped with fever and delusions like a wild man.

But there was a deep comfort in medicine. Not every touch could be a soothing one, he knew, though all of it contributed to him being in better health than he arrived. Taru taking her time to clean and dress his wounds meant she was worthy of trust. She didn't have to help him. He was a man of no reputation, he had no coin, nothing of value to trade, everything had been stripped of him. And still she helped. Selflessly.

All it took was for that gentle touch on his arm to anchor him again. Noak followed Taru's guidance and sat back down. He looked at her masked face in earnest. He didn't apologise for his outburst or try to take any of it back, he waited for her response, even if it meant he had to sit with an uncomfortable feeling for a little bit.

Her hesitation wasn't anything to fear. His lips spread into a half-smile, equal parts boyish and amused. That was the first time in his adult life someone asked whether he could do something.

"So long as I don't have to make haste there, I'm certain I can survive the walk." Noak tipped his head, his smile growing a little. He was probably going to eat those words. "You would invite me to your shrine just like that?"

It felt almost surreal.

Even back in Galahd, if a stranger landed on the northern isle he called home he wouldn't invite them so readily to his private shrine to Mahasra.

That was a sacred place. A deeply personal one. He couldn't place his trust in a complete stranger to treat it with the respect it deserved, and here Taru was, offering a visit to her shrine of Maea so quickly. He really must look beaten down.

And suddenly the man just leapt to his feet. Taru could barely keep him from tossing over one of the little bowls at the sidetable. His talking could be interpreted as being delirious – some headwound finally getting the best of him… but Taru listened.

Her hands folding in her lap, still holding onto the gauze she had planend to apply to some of his scrapes.

He thought Mahasra had held her hand over him and saved his life. Protected him at the cliff, in the ocean and brought him all the way to tehri shores… if Taru was anyone less spiritual, she might have scolded him to lie down again immediately.

But she had her own connection to Maea… so, why shouldn’t she believe in the one Noak seemed to have to Mahasra.

Nevertheless, getting up, her hand found his arm and she tried to gently guide him to at least sit down for the moment. Her eyes cast down for a moment, before she looked at him again. She seemed to hesitate with her own words.

“We can go and pray to Maea together… there is a shrine I built in the forest. But can you make it to there? You still are weak and by what I heard and saw… you shouldn’t even be alive. It’s no planked walkway deep into the forest.”

Of course she wanted to help him. And if he put his trust into her goddess this easily… how could she deny him? It was worth a shot, yes.

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Noak dipped his head. 'We should find him', she said, as though it were something possible. He couldn't give voice to his own doubt. Not to the person diligently cleaning his wounds. Though the doubt was there, loud and immediate, challenging that such a task was too big for a man with so little.

He didn't have a network to communicate with. No coin to his name. Not even a hint to help himself out.

Then Taru spoke again, offering a prayer. He slowly perked up at that. His brow creasing as he thought over her questions. There had to be something.

Before any helpful thought came to mind, Taru spoke some more, offered an apology for his sorry past. His lips tugged in a smile that was stained with sadness. "The last of my blood family died in the attack. Though my village may yet have surviving members. Some that may even like me." he half-joked, brows raised at the mention of a Captain. "... goddess, I would love to meet her. Maybe she'd accept a busted up crew hand."

... oh.

He had a thick head. The thickest in the world. Eyes widened, Noak suddenly rose to his feet while Taru was in the middle of her work still. "Mahasra!" Oh, goddess bless his heart, he had been slow to figure that important detail out. He turned to face Taru looking like the desperate man that he was.

"I was in the ocean! I had been thrown from the jagged cliff, should have hit the rocks — somehow I hit the water." These were some of the details she already knew, but there was one piece he hadn't connected. "She was there. Mahasra. I... I can't have imagined that. Maea, your goddess, maybe she can help seek her sister out."

It was a start. The gods understood the lands differently to them. But surely they could help with this.

"It's worth a shot, right?"

So. No trace. No hint. Not even an inkling about where this young man could be. Sixteen years, that was almost more child than man at times. At least that was the impression many youths left on Taru. She never judged them for it, for surely she had been similarly a spitfire with far too many ideas to better a world that couldn’t be changed like this.

Galahd. She knew where those islands were and what had befallen them years ago. Her goddess’ sister had cried for many moons over it. Mahasra’s most loyal followers shaken up and tossed into the seas. The witchhunterking was merciless and knew no shame, a vileness that had been rare, even in history books.

Cleaning out another abrasion on his skin, Taru glanced to the few lines and dots on Noak’s skin. He had been stolen away after he had already become a man apparently. If she had to guess, they were a similar age. And he spoke that way too. Though his experiences surely could fill two lifetimes already.

“We should find him, if he is hurting and alone, enslaved under the witchhunter.”, she stated bluntly, though she was aware of how hard that feat was. If she imagined her Rahel would experience something like that and then find himself all alone… he’d get into deeper chaos and trouble – deadly ones.

“I could pray to Maea for any whispers on the wind. Can you tell me what you saw last?  What you smelled. What animals you saw. Anything can be a hint.”

Maybe it was futile though… shaking her head a little, Taru finished bandaging another part of this broken man.

“I am sorry for what happened to your people… I know it broke Mahasra’s heart. From what I heard the islands have hardly been the same since. But there still are survivors there. Do you have family there? Friends? If you healed fully, we could also try and bring you there. There are rumours of a fearless Galahdan Captain sailing a ship named Chainbreaker. She is freeing and collecting your stolen people to bring back home. I saw her once. So very young but with a fire inher eyes like lava at the ocean#s shores.”

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The slow march offered no comforts. Those who were tired and hurting had no reprieve when the iron shackles around their necks began to chafe and weigh heavier with each drudging step forward. It was a pace that could be kept, but a cruel one that dragged out their sorrows.

Noak wasn't coy. He blatantly stared up at the monstrous fort perched atop the cliff as though he might discern its reason. As with everything else in recent days, he drew a blank. The guards took no issue in the wandering looks, so long as no one looked directly at them. There was almost a sick pleasure in watching their captives puzzle over what was to come.

Every now and again he was reminded of the young presence behind him. Those small hands hadn't left his clothes once, he felt small tugs at random steps — sharp incline, to step up a rock in the pathway, uneven footing. They served as reminders that anchored him.

Otherwise he felt adrift. Even the freshly gained niggles of pain felt distant, the concussion that had swallowed his memory whole was still adding its brand of havoc to his life.

If only he could think straight... he could do something... something more than simply plodding along the same path as everyone else... but he wouldn't act a fool, wouldn't risk bringing any harm to those surrounding him.

Especially not the boy.

No sooner had they seemingly arrived at their bleak destination more orders were bellowed upon them. The kind of orders that made it clear, they were destined to keep enduring a path of tears. One that extended far beyond a long climb up a mountain.

For the first time, Noak's gaze lowered firm to the muddy slop beneath their feet. His kneel was one that kept a scrap of dignity, only his feet touched the wet ground, he didn't take a knee even if his muscles practically screamed for him to cave and rest.

The little lad at his side reached for him. He was about to muster the boy — then he spoke his name.

Noak's gaze leapt to stare at the little one's face for the first time. It hit him like a bolt and his eyes widened with the realisation. Enok! The Virkow's boy! It had been him all this time.

He felt a squeeze in his chest. It was a fresh heartache. This changed everything...

«"Enok, listen well."» he whispered, casting a quick look around. «"These men separate those who know each other, so we have to trick them. We will pretend we have only met today... and we mustn't let them catch us talking in our mother tongue."»

There was so much to warn him about and so little time. The guards were circling, walking up and down the rows, staring down at them like hawks. "We have to remove the beads from our hair first." Noak instructed, less of a whisper as he placed an encouraging hand on Enok's back. Surely he was allowed to guide a child through this madness.

So many things had happened at once. Enok could barely tell what and why. For one part he still had his face buried in the clothes of the stranger – just like his hands. Holding on tightly, he felt the man moving. He heard the horrible cracking of the whip, heard him talking, he sounded strong and… familiar. And then he talked to him. In a language Enok understood. It immediately calmed the boy.

Looking up at him finally, Enok held his breath. He knew him. He knew him!

“No-“

The guards’ attack cut that reaction off, Enok falling alongside Noak, though he had no fists or whips to fear. They were for the brave one who had talked back. Who defended those that couldn’t do it themselves.

Enok understood little of the reasons and rules around them being built up with this. He just wanted it to stop. The dull sounds, the final lash of the whip again.

His fingers unfurled and tightened into Noak’s clothes again, following the man as close as possible. Keeping his head exactly the way the man’s hand had guided it down. Low and quiet. Low and quiet. Like a tiger. He just had to be that way…

Maybe then they could go home again soon?

Noak was here. He surely knew how to get home. He knew everything. He was a teacher. And everyone wanted to learn from him. Enok had always listened to what lessons Rika and Bo had brought home from their training with Noak with big eyes and an open mouth. Eager to one day be ‘big enough’ for this kind of training, too.

There was a march ahead. Up a hill towards a fort, dark and cold cut out of the same stones as the surrounding cliffs. Enok had never seen anything as big as this before. The biggest house at home was the great hut, where the village came together for all festives and important things…

The boy was lucky that most of the prisoners were tired. Many wounded. And their sheer numbers walking in a seemingly endless row like ants up the hill meant he had no issues keeping up with the slow pace.

Their path was lined by more guards and Enok only dared looking up again when a shadow fell over them all as they passed one of the walls’ gates. Swallowed up by bleak stonewalls and a cold that stuck to them. New orders barked at them, repeated for every load of newcomers pouring into the barren and muddy plaza. There were no decorations, barely any banners. This place served a purpose and it wasn't to look presentable.

“Kneel down in rows! Leave damn space in front of you! You will get rid of all you own! Lie it down in front of you! No exceptions! That shit in your hair, around your arms, your ankles! Any clothes above the minimum! It’s your meager tax to your new and benevolent ruler! Your thanks to his Majesty for keeping you alive! Anyone who gets caught smuggling anything, will be punished according to the law of the Kingslands… and thieves here lose their hands, you fucking heathens…”

What that all meant was lost to Enok. But he only had eyes for Noak anyway, as they were made to hunker down. Imitating whatever Noak did. Looking to the man, Enok could see the fresh red blood trickle from his cheek. It was a stark contrast against dirt and skin.

That had been the whip. Because he had not been quiet.

Enok felt as if his tummy was filled with cold water. Shame. When he was caught being naughty – but worse. Reaching out, he tried to gently tap against Noak’s arm.

“Noak. I’m sorry, Noak… I didn’t want them to be angry at you... I will get you Minja herbs so it doesn't hurt so much! Like Mama uses!"

[madeofthreads]

That gentle, steadying hand was an unfamiliar touch. Though not an unwelcome one... Noak didn't shy away or puff his chest up to appear more stoic. He was comfortable enough to allow himself to have a vulnerable moment with the person who dragged him out of the shimmering rosy gold waters that carried him here.

His gaze shifted to study Taru's masked face. Like this, she was shrouded in mystery. Only small hints of her emotions could be conveyed through her eyes.

She pitied him. Not unkindly, but it was something uncomfortable. Something she didn't quite know how to handle. How could he be upset at that when he didn't even know the right path himself.

"... Enok is some years older, aye. He reached an age where he would be adorned with his first tattoo as a man. Though I always argued it was the first step towards being a grown warrior, sixteen summers and they think they know it all, and yet there is still so much more to learn." That was a sly answer among his reminiscing. The stubbornness with Rahel was only beginning.

"I was kidnapped from Galahd. To where, I don't know. Their crest was a pointed cross. Their King's name Emmanuel. The soldiers never explained things like where we travelled, what a forest's name might have been, they told us nothing about the terrain. That was tactical. They kept us confused for so long, and it worked. Even though I want to go back now that I have been freed of my chains, I have an entire Kingdom to cover. Enok could be anywhere."

Anywhere, alone, thinking he had no one left. "My lad was betrayed. He made a friend, the kind that trouble followed, he didn't want to hear the warnings because he never got to make friends his own age. Then she told a lie to put herself in a better lot and here we are. Wherever he is, I know he's hurting, and I know he's going to act without clear thought."

Noak was a smart man. Careful in how he acted and what he said. He knew how others ticked – an amount of empathy that came very rarely.

It made Taru smile a little, a quiet amused hum under the mask. He knew how Rahel would just spit more at being “threatened” with any correctional consequences to his behaviour. Only his mother could do that and he’d hang his head. Taru herself… sometimes.

Sure, sometimes Taru had to pray to Maea to give her more strength and patience in silence. The boy was challenging.

But Noak seemed to understand that very well.

Though Taru had very little context to what had happened to Noak in these past years. The branding on his arm spoke for itself… but what had happened exactly?

Dipping another cotton swap into water to clean around the wounds, Taru laid a hand on his side, as if that could settle the pain that his own laugh had caused. Surely a few ribs were broken. It was a miracle he was still drawing breath anyway…

“… it sounds like you had a way harder position to be a mentor and guardian than me, though.”

She had her own rooms. She had food, clothes, water and all amenities and luxuries that came by associating of the Naa of this tribe. And times were peaceful – at least here, so far. The wars had been far off, on the horizon yet, but passed them by.

Noak’s life was very different.

“Your Enok was older than Rahel, right? That means you can tell me whether this boyish stubbornness will end soon. And I am sure if he followed just half your lessons, he will be fine… at least somewhat.”

It was hard to try and be encouraging and Taru felt the guilt on her own tongue. How could she sit idle, if his own charge was far away?

“Do you know where the witchhunter king’s troops were heading? I could try and find yours.”

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There wasn't a lot of rise to fight. Not here. Not with the odds stacked against them so severely. Former warriors, starved and disoriented, questioning who of their most cherished were still alive... still free.

Noak didn't flinch when strange hands grabbed onto him. Sized up his worth. Pried open his mouth like a compliant mutt, the earthy taste of leather pressing down on his tongue. He was listless. Had accepted that he could not change the tide, but could go along with the flow. Fighting against losing odds probably meant losing.

He would have kept his head down too had it not been for an explosion behind his back.

A small voice screamed, the guard yelled, and little hands suddenly clung to him. Surprise bled to anger — not only from the hand that had been bitten. There was a strong rise within himself as he manoeuvred in a slight turn.

Noak held out his arm and took the lashing of a whip to his skin. There was an immediate burning pain, but nothing burned more fierce than the fire that had ignited in his chest. "You attack children! Little children! The lad has lost his entire world as he knew it, have enough heart to let his countrymen guide him to the right path before you brutalise a frightened little boy!"

That outburst was already going to bring him a new measure of pain. It was already going to be bad, so he spoke to the clinging boy in a familiar tongue. «"Low and quiet like a tiger. You have to sneak now, you don't want their eyes on you because this is what will happen."»

The next blow wasn't from a whip, but a fist that took the air right out of his lungs. Then another. And another, which brought him down on his knee, jostling the string of prisoners chained in front of him. The whip was a final blow, one that split open the skin on his right cheek, a lashing 'for talking back'.

Honestly, he expected more of a violent blow out, one that would end in an unchained walk with the other unfortunate souls being led to their doom.

Though another guard stepped in. Words were exchanged about not wasting what slim pickings they were left to sort through, then more direct words to Noak. Keep the boy in line, final warning.

He nodded. Regained an initial shaky footing as he straightened himself back up, but straighten up he did. That was when he reached behind himself to wordlessly pat the boy on his head. Keep walking, little tiger. Low and quiet.

Enok didn’t like it here. It was cold. And dark. And wet.

There were so many other people. He didn’t know any of them. But… they had been kind enough. Others from islands like his own. He remembered falling from the small boat, where some adults had gathered all the other children. He had seen Rika on another boat, had waved to her, called for her. But there had been a loud noise. And fire. And suddenly he had been in the water.

He could swim.

But he had been scared. So, when the net first had tangled around him, he had been relieved to be pulled out of the waters. But the ship that had saved him… it was of the bad people.

He had cried a lot. No attempt from the older Galahdans to cheer him and other children up had worked. No blanket around him had made him feel any warmer. And yet… Enok didn’t truly understand how bad their situation was. The bliss of ignorance and childhood just left him confused as to why this all was happening. He knew nothing of any horrors beyond those in fairy tales.

I want to go home.

I want Mama and Papa.

I want tigerseal…

It had become quieter. The girl that Enok had talked to sometimes, had even played with in the darkness, one day didn’t wake up anymore. And the adults said she was with Mahasra now. But where was Mahasra and why did she let all this happen? Had they not been good enough?

The only thing that reminded them of their goddess were the angry waves clashing against a grey and dark coast. Not even the sunlight could make the cliffs seem warm. Enok held his head down. Just looking at the small rocks right on front of his feet as he followed along. Looking up was scary. There were so many bad people. With whips. Enok hadn’t known that whips like these existed. He knew those for the cattle. But those were made from twigs, and just to tap at the animals’ backs to make them go a certain way. Not like this. Loud and scary.

The strange collar around his neck was heavy. It pushed his shoulders down – and made it hard to look at the ground. Forced to look up like this, the boy blinked against the sun. There were so many others. He could hear crying and distant screams. Some called names. But the whips were louder.

Were Mama and Papa here, too? Rika? Uncle and Auntie?

Looking around, Enok stumbled when his group was made to walk over the beach towards where big trunks had been buried into the ground. Fences made of fallen trees with no branches and leaves. Guards on horses with weapons looked down on them like hawks did when they looked for prey. Dogs barked.

Move. Go on. Don’t look at me. Shut up.

Those were the orders. And Enok was too scared to find out what would happen if he disobeyed. Because if you didn’t walk, if you didn’t go on, if you looked up… all the people who dared to do that got beaten with a whip. Or taken away. Kicking and screaming. Or all quietly, their feet dragging in the stone leaving lines like waves.

Some of the guards came close. They grabbed arms and heads. Turned chins. Opened jaws. Determined who was healthy enough to still be worth something. And who was ill and closer to death than life – there was no use in keeping those around. Who was too weak was freed from the iron shackle – and shoved to a slowly growing group that was led away. Out of sight. To the cliffs.

Somehow it was this that made Enok balk. Being grabbed. Having his face held tight. He had been quiet for so long and he had missed being held by someone. But not like this. This wasn’t a warm hug or friendly game of hide and seek.

“Let me!”, he screamed, trying to get away and then bite the guard. His teeth wouldn’t have pierced through the leather gloves anyway, but the surprised yell from the guard suggested he hadn’t expected this kind of rebellion from a child. The surprise quickly turned into anger, but Enok had already buried his hands deep into the clothes of the adult right in front of him. Holding onto the other islander, who had just gotten his teeth checked like he was nothing more than a dog, and hiding his face in the beige garments while still screaming.

“Let me! Go away! I want to Mama and Papa! Go away!”