Hila and Mordecai 5
Today we come to the last of the stories I’ve written in Hila and Mordecai’s world. While they’re fun to explore, and teach me a lot, there’s a lot more to worldbuilding, especially for stories that take place in a completely made-up world.
I’ve always used a specific template for worldbuilding, but I recently purchased a new template from J.M. Frey, an author whose work I really admire. I’m going to try this one for filling in the details for this new novel.
In the meantime, here are the last two stories I’ve written for Hila and Mordecai. They go together. They also contradict something stated in one of the earlier stories. Such are the vagaries of discovery. I don’t know which, if either version will make it into the book, most likely this one. I don’t have images for these, as I didn’t write them to publish on Medium. Only my friend, Sylph, has seen them before. Enjoy!
Burning
Days turned into weeks, bled into months. As Hila’s body hardened, her spirit weakened. Having eschewed the company at several campfires this night, she sat in front of her own, small blaze, with only Mordecai’s company.
Hila stared, unblinking, into the dancing flames, seeing only their destruction of the wood she had fed them. Burning the logs, as this never-ending war burned soldiers—women and men Hila rescued from death’s edge, only to feed them back to the fighting.
She healed them and sent them back to die another day. A day when she would not be there to save them. No matter how hard she tried, she could not be everywhere at once. With all the good will in the world, there were not enough witches to ease this war’s suffering.
The most bitter pill of all was the looks of gratitude, the offers of gifts, the naming of children after her. The pedestal on which these people raised her, as she healed them so they could fight again and die.
“It’s not right.”
Mordecai, who had seemed to be dozing on the log next to her, opened one eye. “It is not.”
“When I was little,” Hila said, offering the fire another log-sacrifice, “I thought it noble of our people to volunteer to fight. I imagined it so different from this wretched truth.”
Mordecai’s head, both eyes open, swiveled to observe her, though he did not speak.
“A hundred years and more, our people have slaughtered and been slaughtered by theirs. What for? No one wins. There is no prize. Only death.”
“The end comes,” Mordecai said. “We will leave this place of destruction soon.”
Hila turned from the fire to face him. “What do you mean?”
“This is not our path. I have told you this before.”
Hila snorted, smiling without humor. “Do all witches have to put up with their familiar lecturing them?” She reached out to scratch under his neck feathers, softening her harsh words.
“Only those who do not listen,” Mordecai replied, his whistled laugh, finally loosening the knot binding Hila’s heart, if only slightly. “You are correct that our work here serves no ultimate good. Our path lies elsewhere.”
“Then why…”
“You will understand soon.”
Mordecai turned his head away and closed his eyes. Hila understood she would have no more from him tonight. She returned her gaze to the fire.
Death Deferred
Something felt different as Hila entered the medical tent, followed by those gathered to give of their lives so others might also live. Mordecai’s sense of expectancy spilled over into her own psyche, as though he knew something she did not. Well, that was hardly unusual. However, this sense was heightened, somehow more important than on other occasions.
“Are you going to tell me?” she asked, knowing the futility of the question.
Mordecai surprised her, leaving her shoulder. “Follow me.”
He led her to a pallet, deep in the center of the tent. On it lay a bearded, dark haired man, his face half-covered in bandages. His wound was grave, though not the worst here. Mordecai settled on the ground, next to the man, rather than on Hila’s shoulder. She knelt beside him, placing a hand over his bandages.
“Who gives of their days…” Hila began.
The man’s hand shot out, grabbing her hand. “Hila, no. I am ready.”
Hila’s heart caught in her throat, tears choking her. She had not recognized his bloody and battered face. There was no mistaking the voice. “Father?” She squeezed his hand, falling to her knees. “Why are you here? You should be at home, leading our people.”
Aram closed his eyes, his own grip weakening. Hila panicked, feeling his life slip further toward the abyss. “Father, you must let me heal you. We can speak later.”
“I am ready.” Aram’s voice was barely a whisper.
“But I am not. I have only just found you. You are the reason I am here.” The certainty of this fell like a cloak over her shoulders, strengthening her resolve. This was what Mordecai had been waiting for.
“You must consent,” she commanded, healer, rather than daughter. “You have work yet in this world. It will not relinquish you today. Consent. Now.”
Tears making fevered eyes bright, Aram searched his daughter’s face. “Aye.”
The word was defeat, more than agreement. But it was all Hila needed. “Who gives of their days so this man may live?”
As voices raised behind her answered, Hila willed life into the body before her, fearing the story she would hear when this day’s work was complete.
I have notes on what happens next but have not managed to get to writing it. Hopefully soon. I hope you’ve enjoyed a glimpse into Hila and Mordecai’s world. I know much more than has appeared in these stories now, having been kept awake many nights as more and more of it has revealed itself to me. Maybe one day, you’ll get to read the entire thing. First, though, I have to write the book. Here’s to the journey!