The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Broken Barriers

Fear lanced Able's consciousness from slumber. There was someone in his room. He cautiously turned to peer into the dark towards the rustling and let out a slow breath when he realized it was only his messenger roommate getting dressed.

The fellow finished lacing up his boots and had shouldered his bag when he noticed Able and froze.

"Everything all right?" Able mumbled, his mouth still half-asleep even though his limbs were abuzz.

"Yeah." His roommate seemed to relax. "Just getting an early start. Sorry I woke you."

Able nodded and rolled over as if to go back to sleep. From the stars visible through the window, 'an early start' meant about midnight. He waited quietly until his roommate had closed the door behind him.

Then he was up and sliding into his jacket. He slipped his satchel over his shoulder and, boots and belt in hand, crept into the hallway. He heard the door to the common room close, so dispensed with the sneaking and hurried down to the window to watch which way the fellow went while he pulled his boots on.

Once the guy took a turn out of sight, Able darted out the door and continued to follow at the longest distance he could manage without losing sight of the guy. As he pulled his belt around to keep his trousers up, his common sense argued fitfully with his curiosity. Someone sneaking out at midnight didn't want to be followed. Was probably up to no good. And someone up to no good wouldn't think twice about doing bad to those who compromised them. Especially if they thought the thing they were up to was, in fact, the greater good.

And in fact, they were heading north, towards the barricade. Able's common sense gave up arguments in favor of sabotage—he began trembling on weak knees, and he nearly lost the messenger he was tailing as he slowed to compensate.

His caution potentially saved him, as now he heard voices. Sweating despite the chilly air, he pressed himself to a wall with his hands over his mouth while he breathed low in his belly and tried to hear them over his pounding heart.

"Good, that's four to go," muttered one man. "How much longer?"

"I wouldn't wait more than ten minutes," replied another. "If they've run into problems, we can't afford to catch them ourselves."

Able looked around for somewhere to hide. If the group was expecting more people to join them, there was no reason to believe they wouldn't be coming this way. He sidled behind a rain barrel and sat beside a sandwich sign that had been folded up for the night and hoped that would do. He kept himself as still and silent as possible as he listened. The group of strangers didn't say anything revealing, only grumbled nervously about how dark it was and how much time they had left to wait.

Then Able heard footsteps coming up the street towards him. He had already been sitting as still as a stone, but redoubled this effort. The sign was blocking his view as the footfalls loomed larger and larger. They trudged past the barrel and on to his exposed side, allowing him a glimpse of the four men in plain coats.

They resembled a four-headed beast, hulking along together with their hands in their pockets while scanning their surroundings independently. Swiveling their heads this way and that. But none of them peered into the dimness below the eye-level, so they overlooked Able as they turned the corner to join the others, who didn't say much more than that they were relieved to see them and they should get moving.

Able remained where he was as he listened to over a dozen sets of feet fade into the night air. He hadn't the foolhardiness to follow them. ...not when he suspected he knew where they were headed, anyway. Satisfied that he was alone, he crawled out of hiding and disagreeably brushed at the wet spot on his backside. He wasn't the best at navigating these winding Borealund roads, but he had enough view of the sky to keep him oriented and eventually made it down to the north road.