Chương 7: The Warning Problem

Ren slapped the mattress again until Tessa whispered for him to stop before Mama came. Mama came anyway. Elna entered with a candle stub in one hand and worry already awake on her face. Tessa sprang back from the crib like guilt had bitten her ankle. Ren lay on his side, chest heaving, palm damp from effort.

"What are you two doing?" Elna asked.

"Nothing," Tessa said. Elna looked at Ren. Then at the mattress. Then back at Tessa. The answer had not improved during translation. Ren gathered every shred of focus and lifted his head. His first target was Elna. He had to warn her, he had to warn his Mom. He opened his mouth to say the cursed word. Goblins! His tongue rose too high. His lips rounded wrong. Breath escaped early.

"Gob." Elna blinked. Hope struck hard enough to hurt, and Ren forced the next piece. Lin. Lins. Green men. Road. Raid. Dawn. Fire.

"Gobba." Elna's face softened.

"Hungry?" No.

"No," Tessa said at once. Elna turned.

"You know what he means?" Tessa hesitated. Ren slapped the mattress once. Door. Road. Danger. Please! Tessa looked from him to Elna, then lost courage under adult attention.

"He was being strange."

"He is tired." Elna lifted him. The room shifted. Strategy became shoulder, cloth, warm skin. Hunger, having heard the word hungry, woke like a traitor under his ribs. No! But his little baby body disagreed. Betrayal of the highest order! Ren's mouth rooted against Elna's nightdress. His mother laughed softly, relieved by a problem she understood.

"There it is." He had tried to say goblins and produced gobble. The household had answered with food. … His emergency warning system was a message where every word somehow became milk. By morning, Ren had a plan so small it barely deserved the name. Repeat. Refine. Attach sound to target. Use Elna's patterns, not his hopes and dreams, shattered by baby whims. The skill he had unlocked the night before waited at the edge of thought, cold and plain. Planning would not give him words. It would not move his hands.

It would not make Elna believe him. But it might help him stop throwing terror at the nearest adult and calling the mess strategy. The main room became his battlefield. Elna moved between stove, table, cradle, door, and wash basin. Each route had timing. Each task had interruptions. Warning attempts died when she picked him up, wiped his chin, changed cloth, fed him, or laughed with tired affection.

"Go," he said from the blanket near the hearth. Elna kneaded dough.

"Go."

"That's good, love. Go where?" Road. He pointed toward the door. His arm extended. His finger almost obeyed. The effort pulled his shoulder forward, twisted his middle, and rolled him onto his face. Rug dust entered his mouth. Elna turned at the thump.

"Oh, Ren." The rescue arrived before he could complete the message. Hands lifted him. Cloth brushed his lips. His terrible, urgent pointing became another baby attempting movement and losing to gravity. Observation caught the pattern. Elna responded to falls faster than sounds. She responded to hunger sounds faster than repeated syllables. She responded to Tessa's fear faster than Ren's fear, unless Ren cried hard enough to erase all nuance. Crying was true power! Crying was also a club with no handle.

Ren tried it once before noon. He looked at the door, slapped the blanket, and cried sharply enough to make Elna leave the dough. She came at once, wiping her hands on her apron, eyes wide.

"What is it?" Door. He slapped again. Elna followed the motion, saw only the door, then saw his wet face.

"Did the latch frighten you?" No. She lifted him before he could point again.

"Poor love. The house makes noises sometimes. It's alright." …It wasn't alright. The warning dissolved into rocking, milk smell, and a kiss on his hot forehead. Elna's comfort calmed the baby body while ruining the message. Ren identified the true failure point. Crying could summon his mom. But it could not steer her. On the second day, a woman's voice cut through the front window before Ren saw the woman herself.

"Elna, I left Bren's sleeve by the latch. Tell him he owes me two copper or one proper apology." Elna looked up from the hearth with the tired smile.

"Nela," she called back, shifting Ren higher on her hip.

"If the sleeve is fixed, he'll claim that is apology enough."

"Typical! Then he can claim it while paying me." Elna opened the door. Cold air brought lane mud, lavender soap, and a tall woman wrapped in a blue shawl stitched with white thread. She had a basket hooked over one arm, a sharp chin, and eyes that took in the room quickly: Elna's face, Ren on her hip, the hearth, the bread, and the folded shirt near the latch. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Their neighbour maybe?

Seamstress or mender, judging by the basket and Bren's sleeve. Familiar enough to shout through windows, practical enough to notice three things before finishing a greeting, and loud enough to carry news farther than she meant to. Ren's mind went into overdrive. … Potentially useful?

"Come in or close the door before you freeze us," Elna said.

"I'm not staying. I only came to return the sleeve and insult your husband."

"That's very efficient of you!" Elna chuckled.

"Nela Voss does not waste daylight!" Her eyes dropped to Ren. Ren stared back. Nela noticed.

"Your little one looks like he's judging me."

"He does that a lot," Elna said. Nela leaned closer.

"Well? Am I guilty?" Yes. Of being available. Ren aimed both hands toward the road beyond her.

"Go. Gob. Gob." Nela's brows rose. Elna bounced him once.

"He wants breakfast."

"I heard gob," Nela said. Ren froze. Finally a useful adult! Then Nela smiled.

"Maybe he wants a goose. My cousin's boy said 'duck' for a month straight and meant every bird, shoe, and spoon somehow!" Elna laughed.

"He does like sounds." Nooo! The channel of understanding collapsed into an anecdote. Darn it. Nela glanced toward the road.

"Tovin was by the west ditch this morning. Men love staring at mud once given authority." Elna's smile thinned.

"More tracks?"

"Old ones, he said. Rain brought them up plain enough to make him stand there with that spear of his and frown at dirt like it owed him money."

"Tovin always frowns at dirt."

"He is the road watcher. We let him have his pleasures." The words struck harder than the joke. Ren stopped moving. Elna and Nela kept talking in the easy rhythm of people passing news across a doorway. West ditch. Tracks. A man with a spear frowning at mud. This was not memory leaking from a dead loop. This was current gossip, current mud, current tracks. It was happening here too. So the signs arrived early! That was good, he only had to– He leaned toward the open door until Elna had to tighten her hold.

"Careful," she murmured. No. Listen! Nela was still speaking, still casual, still wasting the only useful sound in the room on tone and gossip. Ren reached for her with both hands. His arms shook before they made it halfway. Nela looked down and smiled.

"Strong little grip." Ren's fingers closed on air. Strong would have pulled the words back out of her mouth. Strong would have dragged Elna's attention to the road, the ditch, the tracks, the spear, and the morning waiting ahead. He had nothing that strong. Nela left with her basket. The door closed behind her, and the room lost the cold smell of mud from outside. [Skill Level Increased: Listening Lv. 4 -> Lv. 5] The message helped. Just a little bit.

The next two days ground him down. Go. Gob. Goblin. Green. Road. Fire. Each sound required a mouth that preferred milk and a throat that tired after six attempts. Discipline held the target, then hunger dragged it sideways. Memory kept the things in order, then sleep stole the active thread and returned it smudged. Elna heard progress as babbling. Nela had heard curiosity as a household charm. Tessa heard more, but uncertainty made her quiet when adults watched. When words failed, Ren turned to labels.

Appraisal could not explain goblins to Elna. It could not make his mouth obey or force adults to hear urgency in a baby's sounds. But it gave him something repeatable, and repeatable meant trainable. And the System rewarded that. [Door] [Road Cloak] [Hatchet] [Firewood] [Cradle] [Window Latch] [Herb Bundle] The labels became anchors: door plus slap, hatchet plus stare, window plus road sound. He tried to build a path Elna could follow. Door.

"Go." Hatchet.

"Da." Window.

"Gob." Elna crouched in front of him on the third afternoon, flour on her cheek.

"You are working very hard at that." Yes.

"Gobble?" she asked. No.

"Are you hungry?" No. The body, malicious and punctual, made his stomach growl. Elna smiled.

"Ah, you are hungry, little spark!" … Betrayed by digestion. [Skill Level Increased: Expression Lv. 6 -> Lv. 7] Ren glared at the window until his eyes watered. The System had counted the failure as progress. Of course it was progress. Of course progress still left the house standing on the same road, with the same door, the same window, and the same morning waiting somewhere ahead, with goblins lurking somewhere beyond. … Easy Ren, one baby step at a time.

If he couldn't be understood now, he would grind until he could.

Later, after a nap he had not chosen, he woke to evening light spread orange across the room and Tessa sitting too close to the crib.

"You keep saying gob," she whispered. Ren turned his head toward her. Tessa glanced at the door.

"Mama thinks hungry, but I don't!" Good, his sister was smart! He slapped once. Tessa's mouth tightened with fear and pride. Then footsteps came from below, and she straightened so quickly her wooden horse thumped against the crib. Elna looked in.

"Tessa?"

"Nothing." The word was becoming a family disease. Elna's gaze moved from Tessa to Ren, and Tessa went still. Ren kept his hand flat on the mattress while Elna looked at the door, then back at both of them. The kettle hissed downstairs, but Elna waited another moment before she spoke.

"I'll be right back," she said. Elna left. Tessa exhaled. Ren had learned another failure point. Tessa believed him the most when no adult was asking her to explain. He kept on training.

On the fourth morning, rain tapped lightly on the shutters. The sound folded itself into Memory and pulled forward smoke, wet road, Bren's boots, and the first scream near the well. Ren breathed through it. One beam. Two. Door. Elna. Warning. Elna set him on the rug with a wooden cup and a cloth ball.

"I need both hands for the wash. Be kind to me." Kindness was impossible! He had time, but not enough to waste. Ren pushed the cup away. He looked at the door and slapped once. Elna glanced over. He looked at the hatchet and slapped once. Her hands slowed. He looked at the window and slapped once. Tessa, from the table, whispered, "Mama." Elna followed the sequence with her eyes. Door. Hatchet. Window. Ren forced the sound through his mouth.

"Gob." Elna did not laugh. For one breath, he thought he had it. [Skill Level Increased: Observation Lv. 5 -> Lv. 6] …Only for his hopes to get crushed. Elna's eyes moved from door to hatchet to window, then to Tessa's tense shoulders, then back to Ren. She had noticed the repetition rather than the truth – no goblins, and certainly no raid – but she had noticed his intent. Tessa had seen more. Elna lacked the missing word. Ren said it again.

"Gob." The sound collapsed in his baby mouth before the second half could manifest. [Skill Level Increased: Language Lv. 7 -> Lv. 8] And better still failed to be enough. Elna reached for him slowly this time.

"Ren, what are you trying to tell me?" The entire warning. But his mouth kept betraying him. His throat worked. Saliva gathered. His hands opened and closed, furious little stars. Planning tightened the pieces into a cruelly simple order. Elna responded to patterns. Nela carried gossip. Tovin watched roads. But Ren could not reach any of them directly. … But he could reach Tessa. His older sister had words he did not. And was able to reach farther places than he did.

And she had already learned wrong meant a real warning. Uneasy enough to listen and stubborn enough to speak. Ren needed another mouth. Elna watched Ren's hands. Tessa watched the warning. Ren pressed his palm to the rug and held still. If he slapped again, Elna would see another pattern. If he cried again, Nela would have another story to laugh over. If he reached for the road, Tovin would remain a man in someone else's gossip. Mara would not come unless an adult sent for her. [Skill Level Increased: Planning Lv. 1 -> Lv. 2] Ren looked at Tessa. She looked back, pale and wide-eyed. Door. Hatchet. Window. He slapped once. Tessa swallowed.

"Danger," she whispered.