Chapter 4: Chapter 4 – Old Man Gale

Just by looking at the way old man Gale limped – it was possible to tell he was a man who had lived more life than most. Everything from his stooped back and blackened fingertips appeared rugged and worn.

From a glance, Bo could see everything there was to see about him. Gale was a man that got back up – no matter how many hits he took.

"But isn't he kind of…." He searched for the right word, "A recluse?"

"Yeah, I've never seen him talk to anyone other than Elder Ethron," Leo chimed in.

Fran nodded slowly, "Yes… I suppose you could say that."

"Then how do I get him to help me?" Bo asked the obvious.

Smiling, Fran patted Bo on the shoulder, "The thing with Gale - is that he'll do anything you ask…."

"Anything?"

"Anything. But he won't work for free,"

 

***

Bo left his sledge with Leo and cut through the procession, running across the loose sand as though it were solid rock. He never seemed to slip or lose his balance on the uneven surface - almost gliding across it.

As he made his way over to Gale, Bo was keenly aware of the many curious gazes levelled at him. Although, he supposed that this was to be expected.

Life in the desert was many things – brutal, relentless, and lonely. But primarily, it was boring. Not much ever changed, and aside from the biannual gathering of tribes, there was rarely any gossip of substance.

So, for most of the Karak, Bo's little rebellion was welcome entertainment.

Another gaze pricked Bo's back - It was frigid and downright furious. Frankly, he didn't even have to look to know it was Ethron, but he did so all the same. Turning to the old man, Bo gave him a smile and a nod before continuing on to Gale.

From the very beginning, Gale seemed to have noticed Bo's approach. In general, he seemed to be keenly aware of almost everything going on around him. His gaze never settled, as his eyes constantly flickered from place to place – moving with an intensity that bordered on paranoia.

"That's far enough," Gale rasped – holding his palm flat out towards Bo.

Despite being asked to stop, Bo was still 10 metres away from the old man. In fact, now that he was paying attention, Gale seemed to be keeping an unusual amount of distance between him and the nearest tribesmen.

Where most Karak walked relatively close together, he remained isolated – on the fringe of the procession.

"Sir, Uhm, Mr Gale…" Bo paused, feeling slightly uncomfortable, "I was just-"

Gale raised a bushy eyebrow at Bo, his leathery face crinkling like rolled-up parchment, "Is it the Sarpa?" He asked, his tone dripping with unwavering confidence.

Bo nodded quickly, "How did you know?"

The old man pointed at his rather large ears. "I listen."

After taking a deep breath, Bo thought about how he should approach this. The old man spoke with what could only be described as purpose. He didn't mince words or dance around the topic and likely wouldn't appreciate Bo doing that, either.

"I want your help," Bo said simply – observing the old man's reaction closely.

With every step he took, Gale's huge backpack rattled, clanked, and rustled. His every movement made a sound different from the last - as pots, pans and various mechanical gizmos clattered together in his bag.

"My help will cost you." Gale's voice was somewhere between a wheeze and a cough. Every word sounded like it had to be dragged, kicking and screaming from his throat.

Bo frowned, "I have nothing to trade you for the moment," He watched for any change in Gale's impression but found the old man's face frustratingly placid. "But, I can do errands or chores! I'll even give you my word to act as your servant for the next six months - if that's what it takes,"

Gale laughed suddenly, making the hair on the back of Bo's neck stand on end. "What use are promises from a boy who will soon be dead?"

Bo sighed glumly, "So you don't think I can do it?"

"I didn't say that."

Bo raised his head, eyeing the old man with a narrowed gaze, "What do you mean?"

Gale snorted, scratching his leg with the end of his hook, "You, as you are now, will be dead by next week. But if you heed my advice… then maybe, just maybe, you might live to see fox mountain,"

Pausing, Bo examined the old man. He was certainly eccentric but seemed to have an air of confidence surrounding him. Gale was Isolated from the tribe, but clearly by choice. He wore a rucksack rather than the widely adopted sledge and had never been seen eating a Horus plant.

For the moment, Bo wasn't sure whether the old man's foibles were a result of simply strangeness – or rather, Gale knowing something other people didn't.

He supposed that it couldn't hurt to hear the man out and resolved himself to at least listen to what Gale had to say.

"What is your advice?" Bo asked firmly, locking eyes with the old man.

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Gale smiled, revealing irregular yellow teeth. His lips were so dry and cracked that when they widened as he smiled – Bo feared that they might split apart.

"It's simple; I know a guaranteed way you can kill a Sarpa,"

"You do!?" Bo blurted, leaning closer to Gale.

With a nod, Gale reached around behind himself, rummaging in his backpack. He searched for a few seconds before pulling his hand back out again, with a leathery hide in tow. Gale tossed the hide to Bo, who stumbled to catch it before it fell to the ground.

It was aged leather, stained a dark brown colour that made the black ink barely readable. But what little Bo could make out, he didn't understand.

The drawing seemed to be of a pipe divided up into various sections. The smudged ink made the descriptions hard to read – but from its appearance alone, the pipe looked thoroughly unthreatening.

"What is it?" Bo asked uncertainly.

Gale's cracked lips spread into an even wider smile, "I call it a fire stick,"

"Can it… Can it really help me kill a Sarpa?" doubt laced Bo's question as he tried to re-examine the drawing. For all intents and purposes - it looked like a regular pipe with a few pieces attached.

"It can do more than that." Gale scoffed, "You could kill a dragon with one of these."

This caught Bo's attention, and he began studying the drawing even more intensely. Every weapon he had pictured that could wound a dragon was either extremely sharp or exceedingly large. This, however - appeared to be neither.

"I don't understand…." Bo frowned, wondering if maybe Gale was simply just mad after all.

But Gale's confidence never wavered; he simply locked eyes with Bo – his intentions clear. "I have every piece I need to make these fire sticks, except for one,"

Bo could see where this was going and nodded. Now he was finally getting to the critical part of the conversation – what Gale wanted from him.

"Have you ever seen the rock that glows at night?" Gale asked suddenly. "It's black and glitters even in the darkest of caves. To me, it has always looked like a little piece of the night sky has been buried under the ground."

Bo had never heard of such a rock but nodded along as his curiosity grew – He was always more than happy to learn a new thing or two.

"I call it Borealis. It's extremely beautiful and equally stubborn." Gale described the rock with a burning passion that made his eyes shine.

"How can a rock be stubborn?" Bo asked curiously.

Gale seemed to wince slightly, rubbing the elbow of his missing arm. "Borealis doesn't like to be mined," His words were laced with bitterness.

"Is it dangerous?"

"Very. I wouldn't ask this of you - if I didn't think you were going to die anyway," Gale's tone was cold and yet, refreshingly straightforward.

Bo understood that – even though he still didn't know the specific risk that came with mining Borealis, it should be almost equal to that of taking on a Sarpa, unarmed. Gale's solemn expression and missing arm conveyed that as clear as day.

"Will I be able to mine it and get back in time to complete my challenge?" Bo asked stubbornly.

"You will. I know a spot two days' walk from here. We can get there in one and a half if we move quickly. And one if we don't sleep."

"And…" Bo glanced back at Fran, "What are my chances of dying?"

What Gale said next was without pause – which made it all the more frightening.

"It's almost guaranteed,"

"Almost?" Bo echoed, "So there's a chance I won't die."

"It's slim, but yes,"

Bo frowned, calculating the risks. If a team of hunters – who already had a god's blessing - struggled to kill a single Sarpa. What chance did he have... alone? Even if he managed to get advice from one of the veterans, would he really be able to improve enough in one week to get what he wanted?

No. The answer was obvious. He knew it. Ethron knew it. Which was exactly why the old man had given him such an impossible task in the first place.

Holding up the drawing, Bo squinted at it, "And you're saying that this thing will really let me kill a Sarpa?"

Gale didn't pause this time, either. "Guaranteed,"

Taking a deep breath, Bo calmed himself. He would have liked to take more time before making his decision, but then again, he would have liked a lot of things he didn't have at that moment. All he had to go on – was his gut. And his gut was telling him that Gale might just have the answer he was looking for.

He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, "Alright then, I'll get my stuff ready. When should we leave?"

Gale licked his cracked lips in anticipation, "Yesterday. If that was possible."

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