The day after the talk with his mother, Thalos was feeling better. He woke up early in the morning to help his father before he left for the hall again.
He learnt of the truth afterwards. The village was terrified.
It started immediately after they returned.
First, there were rumors.
Many people saw the massive light, and when the search party returned,
Thalos's group was blamed immediately, the first meeting was called, and information began to spread.
But it was misinformation.
Brynn dragged both Orin and Garrick into the forest.
The fairies appeared.
They tried to take Brynn, but Orin was caught instead.
Garrick was left injured.
Eryndor took it upon himself to go and save them.
Thalos pressured Elara to go into the woods and almost got her killed.
They lost Eirik and Orin.
The search was called a failure.
Thalos was helping put bundles of old cloth and clothing away when his mother spoke.
"Do you know why your father has to go to the Great Hall every day?"
He looked up and shrugged.
"Because he is trying to figure out what's happening in the forest?"
His mother let out a quiet. "Hmmmmm."
"That may be part of it. But he is there trying to protect you."
Thalos squinted his eyes. "Protect me?"
His mother set her rags down.
"You know the elders are blaming your group for what happened."
Thalos shrugged again. "They have always blamed us."
She looked into his eyes.
"This is different. People died this time. They are saying Brynn brought the fairies to Frosthelm. Elara's parents are angry, and the elders are demanding change."
Thalos remained silent. He hated remembering what happened, but he promised himself he was going to be stronger.
His mother moved to a woven basket and took out his cloak, placing it on the table.
"I think you should go to the Great Hall. You should see for yourself, and I think it would be good for you to go outside."
He nodded slowly as he walked to the table. He picked up his cloak and tossed it over his shoulders.
"Thalos."
He turned to his mother.
"I think your father may need your help."
His father needed his help? He doubted it. And it's been so long since he had been outside. The thought twisted his stomach.
Would they judge him? What would they say about him?
What if he were… No. Who cares what they thought? Who cares what they say?
He wasn't going to let them stop him.
He put on his boots and swung open the door, and he ran toward the Great Hall.
Liriel sat down at the table in the common area, looked up at the glowing antler, and smiled.
"Eryndor. He is much like you when you were young."
The wind whipped past him as he ran down the streets of Frosthelm, his boots kicking up flurries of snow.
Some people turned as he passed. Others scowled, narrowing their eyes at him.
He heard the whispers of some.
"That's Eryndor's boy."
"He was with them that night."
"They are all a curse to Frosthelm."
Thalos clenched his teeth and ran faster.
He could see the Great Hall up ahead. Multiple people were gathered outside of it, waiting.
As he ran past, he ignored the stares and didn't listen to what they were saying.
The doors slammed open. A strong gust of wind rushed inside, whipping at Thalos's cloak as he stood at the entrance of the main hall.
The Great Hall fell into silence, and every head turned toward him.
The arguments stop instantly.
Then someone yelled out with a sneer.
"Oh, would you look at this?" The older man turned to Eryndor.
"It looks like we have one less missing child."
Another voice shot out, a woman in her mid-thirties.
"Oh, the runaway shows himself."
Another voice.
"What?! Did you spend your time thinking of another way to disgrace your family?"
Thalos was made the target of their fear and anxiety the moment they saw him.
He clenched his fists. He felt a heat rise in his chest. He was angry, and he looked at the large room.
It was rearranged. A massive table was placed at the center, directly underneath the massive antler.
He saw the hunters sitting and standing on the left. The elders and citizens were sitting on the right.
He saw his father, who was sitting at the center left. And in the furthest right corner sat Elara and Orin's parents.
Their eyes reflected the flickering deep red of the firelight against the strong, dark blue pulse of the antler above.
It made everyone feel hostile.
More voices rose.
"He hides while his friends die!" ...
"The cursed boy shows himself..."
"This is what happens when the hunters forget their place!"
"Enough" One of the hunters yelled back.
He could see a figure standing by the fire. A broad-shouldered man with a deep scar running down the left side of his face. Hagan.
"You all sit here, tossing blame to a child."
The elders didn't respond, at least not with words.
They narrowed their eyes, sat up straighter and started whispering.
The air in the room felt still. Thalos could feel it. He hadn't moved. He didn't want to let his anger show. He would have loved to scream at them. To tell them how stupid they were.
He felt a mix of emotions: shame, defiance, and anger. He wanted to let it all out. But that wouldn't help.
The fire cracked loudly, and one elder pounced.
"You had no right to go to the forest!"
A standing hunter slammed his palm down on the table.
"Leaving them to die is cowardly!"
Two opposing voices collided. "We don't… you should have… leave – left – our own – them!" All the voices overlapped with each other.
"You had no right!"
A voice cut through the chaos. Elara's mother was standing, her hands pressed against the table.
Beside her sat her father. His hands were folded, and he sat straight up with his eyes closed.
Elara's mother hit the table with her palm.
"You call yourself a leader, Eryndor? You put my daughter in danger!"
Eryndor didn't reply. He was watching everything unfold.
She turned toward Thalos.
"And you."
He froze. He had never seen a woman look so angry before.
"She would have never been in the forest if not for you! Elara has a future. Stop trying to drag her down with you all!"
Elara's father put his hand up to silence her, then slowly rose, his posture composed.
Thalos was never sure of Elara's father; he barely saw him. But whenever he did, he always felt judgement from behind his eyes.
"The Halcroft name is sacred in our family. Its meaning is to guide young children forward in Frosthelm. We are not meant to be warriors or hunters. But we are there to guide new ones."
Nolen sat down slowly.
Just as Thalos thought it was quieting, another voice rose.
"And what of us? What of Orin?"
It was Orin's mother. She too turned to Thalos.
"If it wasn't for you and your group, Orin would still be here!"
Some elders closed their eyes and nodded in agreement.
Thalos wasn't sure anymore. He ran here to clear his name. But what was he supposed to say?
Eryndor must have noticed.
"That's enough."
His father stood. His eyes narrowed at the group across from him, studying each of them.
Elder Verran leaned forward. "You finally spoke."
He didn't back down. "But it's a little late for that."
Eryndor studied Verran for a moment. He was an old skeletal man. His face was sunken in, and his blond hair was thinning to almost nothing.
"You blame everyone but yourselves. These discussions are of no merit."
The other side of the table started to murmur. Then one of the citizens spoke up.
"So you don't want to find a solution?"
Elder Marek limped forward, toward the table, cane in hand.
Thalos knew his name. Almost everyone did, but they were mostly legends and stories.
"Well… Well…"
He spoke slowly.
"Failure, after failure."
Eryndor knew this man well.
Marek was almost double his age. He was once a powerful hunter, using the beast gear like none had ever seen.
An army of frostwolves wouldn't have made him sweat. And his body showed that, even in his mid-eighties, he was toned, his arms were strong, and the hulking man towered over the others around him.
His most notable quality was his salt and pepper hair, tied in a ponytail that reached down to his lower spine.
His eyes were a shade of green that resembled poison, and in his prime, it was said that his gaze would stop a wolf in its tracks.
Marek very rarely intervened in these matters, choosing to sit by the fire and listen. Politics never interested him. He was forced to retire. After losing the use of his leg.
His cane tapped on the floor as he approached.
"Even after all these years, you've learnt nothing, Eryndor."
Eryndor narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Thalos saw his father's expression tighten.
Marek smiled softly. "What's wrong? Nothing to say to your old mentor?"