by Jason Fry
Hope flickered in Stax. Was the Champion coming around, and remembering how he’d earned that lofty title?
“I don’t think there is an answer, not with Fouge,” Stax said. “For him, the cruelty is the point. I think he enjoys that as much as the valuables he steals. And that’s why he has to be stopped.”
“And if he is stopped?” Abel asked. “There will just be another one like him. That’s what being a hero—or whatever they call me in all those little towns—has taught me. There’s always another one. If I get rid of this Fouge, the Overworld won’t thank me. It won’t care. It will just demand to know what I’m going to do about the next Fouge. When do I get to say I’ve done enough? When do I get to enjoy the time I’ve earned?”
Stax felt the anger rising again. He tried to snuff it out, but it rose up again and he knew he wouldn’t be able to.
“But the Overworld does thank you, and it does care,” Stax said. “That’s how I heard of you in the first place. And the Overworld needs you. You could walk out of here encased in diamond armor, swinging that sword of yours, and no one would dare face you in battle. You could help me, but you won’t help anybody, because you’ve decided there’s a limit to kindness. You won’t risk any harm to your little playground, so you just sit here surrounded by beauty. Which doesn’t do anybody any good but you.”
Abel got up from the table and Stax thought he looked sad. He peered down at the fish below the glass floor for a moment, then walked slowly to the window overlooking his gardens. He stood there for a long time.
And then Abel spoke, so quietly Stax almost didn’t hear him.
“I think you’d better go,” said the man once known as the Champion.
“Yes,” Stax said, getting to his feet. “I think I’d better.”
Stax discovers his own code * A return to a not particularly beloved house * Surprising news
It was after noon when Stax reached the bottom of the stone road and the meadow where Hejira was sitting cross-legged at the foot of his sleeping tree, examining the golden helmet he’d taken off a zombie’s head.
Hejira sat calmly, his face serene, as Stax told him of the Champion and his decision.
“So what will you do now?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Stax said, and slumped into the grass next to Hejira. “Finding the Champion and convincing him to help was my plan, and it’s failed. I’ve failed.”
“It is now apparent your path leads elsewhere,” Hejira said. “Perhaps it always did.”
“What does that even mean?” asked Stax, his frustration boiling over. “If you see my path somewhere in this, this…disaster, could you please tell me, instead of tossing riddles in my general direction? Because I sure don’t see my path. Or any path.”
“That is against my—”
“Your stupid code,” Stax said, and let out a bark of laughter. “Of course it is. You know what, Hejira? My path goes back to Tumbles Harbor. I hate the idea, but it’s the only thing I can think of.”
Hejira nodded and got to his feet. “We should go, then.”
He tossed the golden helmet into the grass and began walking west.
“You’re just leaving that?” Stax asked, scrambling to his feet and picking up the helmet.
Hejira turned. “It would just weigh me down. Like many people, I find gold beautiful. But it is also heavy.”
And with that he kept walking. Stax studied the ancient helmet for a moment, then placed it gently on the ground and hurried after his companion. He wondered if the warrior would tell him to find his own way home, but Hejira just nodded at him, apparently having forgotten Stax’s outburst.
As the meadows gave way to the sand of the Endless Dunes, Stax felt his churning emotions subside. Hejira said nothing, but simply walked along beside him, and Stax found his presence comforting. He didn’t ask Stax for more details about the Champion’s refusal to help, or pester Stax about his path, when Stax had no idea how to even think about picking up the pieces. He let Stax be, and for that he was grateful.
It was late afternoon when Hejira stopped, holding his hand up.
“What is it?” Stax asked, scanning the horizon. “Do you see something?”
“I hear something. We are near Patannos. Let us climb to the top of that dune and take a look.”
Hejira gracefully ascended the dune, his bare feet finding solid zigzag pathways beneath the sand, while Stax struggled along in his wake. Before he reached the top, he could hear the sounds too: the tolling of a bell, the din of metal on metal, and yelling.
Hejira stood atop the dune, peering down at the orange cluster of buildings that was Patannos.
“Pillagers on a raid,” he said. “An ill-tempered people, not to be reasoned with. They will loot Patannos and leave it empty and lifeless.”
Stax could see the pillagers now, gray-skinned and dark-eyed, carrying banners and crossbows. The villagers were running in all directions, trying to organize a defense.
“What is your code telling you to do?” Stax asked. “Is this a destiny you’d interfere with?”
That came out with a little more bitterness than he’d intended, but Hejira took no offense.
“The villagers of Patannos lead simple lives,” Hejira said. “They care for their animals and crops and try to make a better life for their children. The Overworld would be a better place if more people found that a worthy path to follow. But enough about my code, Stax Stonecutter. What is your code telling you to do?”
“My code? I don’t have a code.”
“Everyone has a code. The difference is most people never think about what it is.”
Stax watched the pillagers advance, crossbows raised. He wondered if they were the same ones Abel had shooed away from the boundaries of his estate. He looked at the neat lines of crops and imagined them erased, the houses sitting silent and empty.
“Someone has to help them,” Stax said. “And there’s no one here but us.”
“Very well then,” Hejira said, and drew his sword. “I would suggest going in aggressively. We can catch the pillagers from behind, and use surprise to our advantage. It will be a tough fight. Are you ready, Stax?”
“I think so,” Stax said, and Hejira looked over with an eyebrow raised. “Yes. Yes, I’m ready.”
Hejira moved down the dune in a swift silence that Stax found both exhilarating and frightening. He hurried to keep up, wincing at the sand he kicked up and the noise it made. Hejira’s long strides carried him to the edge of the buildings, and his sword flashed in the late-afternoon sun as he reached the rear ranks of the pillagers.
Stax heard them grunt in surprise and anger, struggling to turn in the narrow confines between a pair of houses. Then Stax had reached them too. He heard himself yell and an arrow zipped past his head, so close that the feathers on the shaft grazed his ear. He swung his sword, trying to remember Hejira’s lessons about balance, and a pillager fell.
The villagers cheered at the unexpected arrival of allies, but soon fell back again, intimidated by the pillagers’ ruthlessness and their weapons. Hejira had scattered the party of raiders they’d taken by surprise, and crossbows littered the ground around him.
“Stax! More are coming!”
Stax, breathing hard, followed Hejira’s outstretched finger with his gaze and saw more of the raiders storming across the plains, marching beneath gray banners. An arrow struck Stax in the side, spinning him around. He clutched at the wound, wincing.
“Are you hurt?” Hejira asked.
“I’m okay,” Stax said, wondering if that was really true. He drew his bow and lined up a shot, reminding himself to empty his lungs of air. The arrowhead kept wiggling in his vision and Stax stopped, forcing himself to breathe in and start over. It was a lot harder to keep still with arrows filling the air around him than it had been in the jungle, where the
cocoa pods hadn’t been shooting back.
He let an arrow fly and saw it hit home, knocking a pillager backward, but his next shot was high and went over their heads. Hejira smashed a pillager’s crossbow aside with his sword, stepping into Stax’s line of fire. Stax put his bow back over his shoulder and joined the fight, forcing himself to close the distance with his enemies so they couldn’t shoot him from a distance. He didn’t know what the pillagers were shouting at him, in their deep, gravelly language, but their breath was foul.
Hejira and Stax dispatched the pillagers, leaving their banners strewn on the ground, but Stax heard growls and a tramp of feet—yet more reinforcements. Stax charged at them, his breath loud in his ears. He was soon too tired to keep track of how many pillagers they’d fought, or how long they’d been battling. His arms and legs were heavy and his side hurt, but he couldn’t worry about that, or let his emotions get the better of him. There was only his balance, and watching the pillagers’ eyes and limbs for clues about what they would do next, and staying alive.
Until he whirled around and found no one aiming a crossbow at him, just the wreckage of battle. The sun had set and the first stars were out, with the moon peeking above the horizon. Was it over? No, Hejira was nearby, pressed by three pillagers.
“Heji! I’m coming!”
As he hurried to Hejira’s position, the black-clad warrior risked a look over his shoulder and stiffened in alarm.
“A creeper, Stax Stonecutter. Look there, by the village smithy. I can handle these three. You must deal with the creeper.”
Stax saw the creeper now, a green pillar of black-spotted flesh, scuttling forward on its multiple legs. He brandished his sword, trying to read the monster’s unfamiliar body language.
“No, Stax,” said Hejira, his voice strained with effort. “You must shoot it. Before it gets too close.”
“Right!” Stax fumbled with his bow. He’d always thought of creepers as slow, but this one was moving far too quickly for his liking. He nocked an arrow and sighted down its length, but his arms were tired and the point of the arrow made crazy circles in the air.
He fired and the shot went wide. The creeper didn’t even react. Stax hurriedly drew another arrow and forced himself to breathe out.
The arrow struck the creeper low on its body, knocking it backward and making it shudder. But after a moment’s hesitation it kept coming, its alien gaze fixed on Stax and Hejira.
“Stax, keep firing,” Hejira suggested.
Another arrow. Stax tried to calm his nerves, to breathe out, but he was so tired. The arrow went wide. So did the next one. He could hear the creeper’s feet scrunching through the sand.
Breathe out. Breathe out breathe out breathe out.
Another arrow struck the creeper, but it kept coming. Stax fired wide, then high. He reached for an arrow and froze. He had only one left.
He drew back the bowstring, trying to keep his heart from hammering. He emptied his lungs, but the arrowhead wouldn’t hold still in his vision.
The creeper hissed. Stax closed his eyes and opened his fingers.
There was a clatter of metal behind him and a grunt that turned into a gasp.
“An excellent shot, Stax Stonecutter,” said Hejira. “Ramoa would praise you as a fine student.”
Stax opened his eyes. There was no sign of the creeper except a little mound of gray powder. Hejira had his hands on his knees and was breathing hard.
Behind him, the villagers of Patannos peeked out through doors and around the corners of their houses. After exchanging glances of disbelief, they hurried forward, surrounding Hejira and Stax. Stax was buffeted by claps on the back and spun around in hugs. Villagers pressed gifts into their hands—pies, and blue nuggets of lapis, and a single brilliant red poppy, offered shyly by a child.
“They are asking us to stay for dinner, it seems,” Hejira said as a villager ushered him toward a house with a delicious smell wafting out from its window. “Are you hungry, Stax?”
Stax’s side hurt and he could barely lift his arms. But the smell of pumpkin pie made his mouth water.
“I could eat,” he said with a smile, tucking the poppy behind his ear.
* * *
—
The feast lasted until late in the night. When Stax finally convinced the villagers that he couldn’t possibly eat another pork chop or slice of pie, they showed him to an empty house where he could sleep. If Hejira battled any monsters that night, Stax slept through the noise.
In the morning they said farewell to Patannos and headed across the dunes. After half a day’s walk, Stax found the emotions of last night ebbing, replaced with anxiety. He was returning to the little sod cabin outside Tumbles Harbor, and he had no idea what to do once he got there. The Champion had failed him, and he didn’t know how to find Fouge, let alone defeat him if he did.
Hejira was silent, but Stax sensed that this was a different silence than yesterday’s. Rather than let Stax be alone with his own thoughts, Hejira kept glancing over at his fellow traveler, as if he expected him to start talking and was disappointed that he hadn’t.
Finally, Stax couldn’t take it anymore.
“What is it, Heji? I can feel you over there, wanting to tell me something.”
“Me?” Hejira asked. “I am simply walking across the Endless Dunes, and thinking about whether we should skirt the Rain-Jungles of Jagga-Tel or go through them.”
“Sure you are. I’ll make this easier: I have no idea where my destiny lies right now. So if you see a path for me, and think I’ve strayed from it, by all means please give me a little nudge. Even if your code says you shouldn’t.”
“You fought well in Patannos, Stax,” said Hejira. “Well and wisely. It can be difficult for someone who has not been in many battles to realize that. I hope that you do.”
“Thanks,” said Stax. “But I don’t think that’s what you’ve been waiting all these hours to tell me.”
Hejira said nothing for several minutes, but Stax could tell that he was thinking—or wrestling with the knotty demands of his code. But then he turned and smiled at Stax.
“You have spent a great deal of time and effort, and were prepared to spend a great deal of money, to find a champion. But you did not need one at Patannos. You were that champion. And you do not need one to bring Fouge Tempro to justice. Your path is to be your own champion. And you are farther along that path than you realize.”
“Oh, how I wish that were true,” Stax said. “But that’s kind of you to say. Thank you, Heji.”
“You are welcome, Stax Stonecutter,” said Hejira and they continued their journey in silence, because now it was Stax who had something to think about.
* * *
—
Hejira suggested they go around the borders of Jagga-Tel, to make their journey shorter. The days passed pleasantly enough, with Hejira not pressing Stax about what he would do next and Stax asking him about adventures from his past. When night drew close, Stax would carve a shelter out of a cliff or hill, while Hejira found a tree—or, sometimes, spent the night roaming around testing himself against the perils of the darkness.
After several days, they found themselves once again amid the acacia trees and grasslands of the savanna where Stax had set up his homestead. Stax thought he recognized the shape of the hills to the west, in the direction of Tumbles Harbor.
He was correct; from the top of a hill he saw a familiar pattern of trees, and even the little square of his sod house. There was home, or at least the closest thing Stax had to one now. Except the sight of it made his heart sink.
Stax peered at the little square below them. Perhaps something else was there too?
Hejira had seen it too.
“That is a horse,” he said. “And I believe that is Ramoa.”
“It can’t be her,” Stax reminded his friend.
“She doesn’t like horses.”
“No, she does not. Nonetheless, that is Ramoa. I am curious as to what this means.”
They hurried down the hillside and across the grassy plains, with Stax falling behind Hejira’s long strides. Ramoa ran to meet them, hugging Hejira and then all but jumping into Stax’s arms.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in Karamhés, guarding a caravan?” Stax asked, once they’d disentangled themselves.
“I was,” Ramoa said. “But then I heard something that you’re going to want to know, Stax. I think I found Fouge Tempro!”
A project for Osk * Surveying a caravan town * Directions are offered and promises are made
Stax looked at Ramoa in astonishment.
“You what? Did you see him?”
“No,” Ramoa said. “Not him. But I…look, it’s simpler if I just tell you the story from the beginning. I was at the caravanserai, and the innkeeper there said that a couple of months ago, the place was overrun with bandits who’d come back from looting and stealing on the seas to the west. She said they’d thrown around money and gems, going on a real spree. Most of them had moved on, but their leader was still around. She said he was a big bruiser with a black beard, named Miggs, and he was waiting for new orders from his boss. Miggs, that was the name of the raider you told me was Fouge’s right-hand man, right, Stax? Please tell me I didn’t come all this way—and on a horse, no less—for nothing.”
Stax felt slightly dizzy, like he couldn’t get enough air. Miggs was Fouge’s lieutenant, and supposedly he was waiting for word from the man who’d destroyed Stax’s life. And Ramoa could bring Stax to him.
“Miggs was his name,” he managed. “Thank you, Ramoa. I…I can’t believe it.”
He needed a minute to process what he’d heard, and what was now possible.
“I’ve never been to Karamhés,” Stax said. “Where is it?”