Famines
(Day 20 of @thewatchauâs Annual Prompts! Ending stretch now!
tw: vomiting, but itâs the last line)
Rufus was young, but he remembered the First Great Famine. He was one month away from turning seven years old when it struck.
He was big enough to help in the fields, if not with the sheep. He remembered the horror he felt when he pulled up a carrot and it was black, rotten and reeking of death.
His scream had attracted his Da, who took one look at the carrot and picked up Rufus, letting the boy bury his face into his shoulder so he wouldnât have to look at it.
His Da told him to go back to the house and help Mam and Dunla and he couldnât run fast enough.
He couldnât explain in words why it spooked him so much. It was just a rotten carrot, it was probably the only one. He turned out to be wrong on that.
Dunla was doing some weaving while Rufus went over the farm numbers with Mam. Or rather, she did the numbers and Rufus tried not to fall asleep.
Da came back into the house, and Rufus perked up, glad for something else to do.
âNeed a hand Da?â he called out.
Da didnât seem to hear him, instead slumping into his armchair by the fire.
Mam stood up, ruffling the Rufusâs hair as she passed, and stood beside the chair.
âBrian?â
Da shook his head, running a hand under his eyes. Mam turned to Rufus and Dunla, the latter of which had stopped weaving.
âDunla, go check on the uplands house. Take Rufus and one of the dogs with you.â
âMam!â Dunla protested, but a look from their Mam made her shut up. âCome on Rufus.â
Rufus got up to follow his sister, looking back as his Mam comforted his Da. Why he wouldnât learn until later.
Every single crop they had pulled was black and rotten.
Rufus knew Mam and Da werenât telling them the whole story, but he knew enough. He wasnât good with numbers, but he could tell they were going down. He noticed there was less food on the table. Breakfast was the only exception, because they had a brownie, and what they offered in return did not depend on what they could find in the market.
They had it better than most. Rufus could see it when they went to Slinad for market. They had sheep and wool to sell, while those who only grew crops had nothing.
He hated going. He hated seeing people that hungry, that scared.
Everyone hoped it would get better next harvest. It did not.
They couldnât keep all of their farmhands. They simply didnât have the money for it. He hated seeing them go, many of them were his friends. He cried to his Mam, who tried to show him the numbers and how it made sense, but that had made him cry harder.
After nearly a year and a half of failed harvest, Rufusâs little brother Liam was born.
Normally this would be a great thing, finally Rufus wasnât the baby anymore! But, there was less food than before, and Mam was always hungry, matching the baby in appetite.
When Rufus was supposed to be asleep, he overheard his parents arguing. Da was worried that the baby wouldnât survive, and bring Mam down with him. Mam wasnât as convinced.
Rufus didnât stay to listen to the argument, running back to bed before he heard more things he didnât want to hear.
Liam survived, as did Mam. They werenât always strong, but they were alive.
Rufus was coming up to nine when he went out harvesting in 1595. He hadnât been as badly affected by the rotten crops after the first one, but there was still the churning of dread in his stomach.
The parsnip came out, dark from the earth and white underneath. Rufus just stared at it before scanning the field and running for his Da.
âDa! Da!â
Rufus missed that Daâs cart already had a small bundle of healthy parsnips, but that didnât stop his Da from ruffling his hair before swinging him up into hug. It was over. It was finally over.
Heâd almost forgotten about it until he was nearly 21, autumn 1606. He was pulling up a turnip this time, but when the smell hit he turned away, gagging.
It had to be just the one. It happens sometimes. It couldnât be happening again, not with the raids as well. It couldnât it just couldnât!
He pulled another, the same result. The root slid off the stem and plopped wetly onto the ground into mush.
âHoly shit!â a farm hand cried. âWhat the fuck?!â
He wasnât the only one. No no no no no.
He heard a lot of the farm hands sounding confused as he turned and walked away. He walked calmly until he was behind the tool shed, where he couldnât control his nausea anymore and emptied the contents of his stomach.
(As implied in this, the Masonâs are primarily shepherds. Losing the crops wasnât as big of a blow to them as many, since the crops were supplementary income. It was enough to make an impact.)
