Kharla exploded. “What? We just sit around and do nothing, hoping for the best?” She pounded a fist on the table.
“What would you have us do?”
Tovi expected more argument from Kharla. Instead, she clenched her jaw, glared for a moment, and then lowered her gaze.
Myhrren continued, “The need for action will indeed return. But it is wise to wait and see what action is required. The darkness that comes could take different forms. We will know what to do when the time comes.” The tone of his voice signaled that this particular line of conversation was over.
Klunk, silent up to this point, cleared his throat as he set his cup of brandy aside. “Then we will return home?” His tone made this a question more than a statement.
“Yes. Return home to your families.” Myhrren paused and looked over at Tovi. “Well, except for you, my friend. As much as I know you miss your family, I regret that Klunk’s kraal must be your home for now.”
Tovi nodded and lowered his head. He’d figured as much, but it still hurt to hear the old man say it.
Kharla spoke up, her tone softer than her last outburst. “I would like to see the mine where Papaw worked.” She glanced at Klunk. “If you could go with me, I would be grateful.”
Chapter 37: Tovi
The trio gathered outside Myhrren’s hut before the sun made its appearance for the day. Klunk stretched and yawned as he gazed toward the east, where their destination lay. Kharla busied herself adjusting her pack while Tovi kneeled and ran his hands along River’s neck. The old man had stocked them with extra food before saying their goodbyes.
“How far to the mines?” He glanced up at his friend.
Klunk chuckled. “For me, it would be three hours maybe. But as you walk, five or six.” He squatted down beside Tovi. “I’m sorry. I meant that to be a joke.”
Tovi, for his part, hadn’t taken offense anyway. He was used to being the little one.
“Come, we should be on our way.” Klunk stood and took the first step.
Kharla, who had remained quiet after her heated exchange with Myhrren, turned to the pair. “What? No song for the road, Klunk?” Tovi was certain that he saw a slight smile find its way onto her lips.
The group settled into the clomp, clomp, clomp of the march, and within minutes, Kharla got her response.
Day is dawning
morning near
Sun will rise
to chase our fear
Sometimes fighting
sometimes fun
Always friends
when day is done.
Kharla challenged him. “That doesn’t sound like a walking song.”
Klunk’s response came as a thoughtful explanation rather than his usual jovial retort. “It is a song about friends. We travel, yes. But what is important is that we travel as friends. Huh.”
◆◆◆
“Papaw loved working in the mines.” There appeared to be a tear gathering in the corner of Kharla’s eye. “He used to come home and talk about all the beautiful crystals and how everyone who worked with him were like friends, even if they all came from different kraals.”
Tovi had noticed that sometimes she was sad and sometimes angry, but never really friendly, at least not like Klunk was. The band had settled in under an oasis that Klunk said was about an hour’s walk from the mine. They nibbled on dried meat and topar nuts. After filling their leather water skins from the pool, they settled back to let the sun relax into the western sky a little before continuing on.
“Does your kraal use the crystals like coins to buy things?” Tovi recalled his conversations between him and Klunk about the shards.
“Yes. What else would you use them for?” Her question came out as more of a curiosity than a challenge.
“I don’t know. Like we told the kraals, though, there seems to be something strange about them, the way you can put animals in a trance, and that kind of thing.”
“We never did that. Our hunters train pets on their own.” She smirked.
If Klunk took offense at the slight, he didn’t show it. He sat staring out at the desert in the general direction of the mine. His words came softly, as if spoken to himself. “I wonder if my Papaw is working there now. It has been so long since….”
Tovi’s attention wandered to the crystal-clear pool. Pangrove had nothing like it. There were some ponds and streams, but none as clear as these were. Sitting in the oasis, he could make out the details of rocks on the bottom. Shadows danced on the surface as the sun found its way through the date palm tree fronds.
And then a glint caught his eye—something in the pool. “Look at that.” He pointed down into the water. “Something shiny down there.”
Klunk stretched his neck and leaned over, searching with his eyes. “Where? I don’t see anything.”
Kharla stood and eased over to the very edge. “I see it. Right there.” She also pointed.
And so, the three of them stood over the small pond staring down. Tovi was the first to speak. “We should go in and get it.”
Klunk’s voice sounded alarmed. “No, Tovi. That is water and it is dangerous. We cannot live in water.”
Tovi nearly doubled over in laughter. “I don’t have to live in it. I’ll just go in and get that, whatever it is, and get out.” He turned and faced the other two. For the first time since arriving, it appeared that he could do something they couldn’t.
Kharla added her caution, “I agree with Klunk, Tovi. We should not go in there. Besides, it’s just a shiny rock or something.”
Tovi took off his leather jerkin and boots, keeping his trousers on out of modesty. “Don’t worry, I got this.” He sloshed into the water. The cold shocked his body momentarily. As the effects wore off, he took a deep breath and upended himself, kicking with his feet to propel himself to the bottom—toward the shiny object glistening in the rippling light.
The pool was deeper than it appeared. He worried for a moment that maybe Klunk and Kharla had been right. The water might be too deep, and he might run out of breath. By the time he reached the bottom, his chest felt as if it were going to explode. He grasped the object, which was partially covered in sand. His need to breathe convinced him to wait to examine it. He kicked himself upward, looking with anticipation at the light above him. About halfway to the surface, a dark area on the side of the pool caught his attention. Keep swimming up. Don’t stop. Still, that dark area looked interesting. It could be something important.
He broke the surface and breathed deeply. Climbing out of the water, he held the object up in front of him. “I got it.”
Klunk and Kharla stared, transfixed, at “it.”
Tovi breathed hard as he plopped down on the side of the pool. “And there’s something else down there, too.”
Chapter 38: Jarek
The three left the farmer’s house before dawn, traveling in the near dark with the only light coming from a waning crescent moon in the east. Mathias led the way followed by Jarek, with Burns bringing up the rear.
After the visit from the king’s rangers, Jarek had spent a particularly fitful night. “Why do you think the farmer helped us? It would seem that, given everything that’s happened around here lately, he would have been better off turning us in. That would have at least put him in the good graces of the king.”
Mathias smirked. “One thing you can count on—being in the good graces of Wyndred doesn’t get you much. He’d step on a friend just as easily as an enemy. He’ll do whatever he needs to do to get what he wants.”
“And what do you think he wants with us?”
“Most likely heard about our comment on Aristan, probably from the tradesman.”
Jarek felt vindicated in his concern about that encounter. “Maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to invoke the name.”
Mathias stopped and turned to the Azyrean. “And just how would you go about looking for this brotherhood without mentioning the god?” He smiled and shook his head. “I know it’s scary. But there’s no other way that
I know of. We need to keep moving and avoid being predictable.”
“Right, but right after you mentioned Aristan to the man, you told him we were headed north. That seems pretty predictable to me.”
“It might seem so, except that I have no intention of going north. There’s nothing up there.”
Jarek reached under his hood and scratched an ear. “Oh. And so, when you told the farmer, Martin, we were going north in search of land, that was a deception as well?”
“Yes. We speak freely about intentions, but we never reveal what we’re actually doing.” Mathias resumed the trek.
“So now we’re headed west, in the direction the farmer told us to go.” Jarek had trouble making sense of Mathias’ logic.
“I know. But remember, if he had wanted to turn us in, the visit by the rangers would have been the opportune time. Ergo, we can trust him, at least in terms of informing the king. Besides, the town of Ebon Lake lies to the west. More people means more opportunity for information.”
“And a greater possibility of someone turning us in.”
“Give it a rest, Jarek. We have a long day ahead of us.” Mathias picked up the pace.
◆◆◆
With the rising sun, temperatures rose and Jarek once again began to feel discomfort from the hood. He continually wiped rivulets of sweat that made their way down the side of his face. The group stopped for breakfast about an hour after sunrise. The bread sent with them by Rona proved a tasty addition to the smoked turtle meat.
As they sat beneath a large leafy tree, a slight breeze kicked up. Jarek took a quick look around and then threw his hood back. “Sorry. There’s no one around and I need some air.”
Mathias stood and surveyed the horizon to the south and peered into the woods before resuming his seat. “Okay but stay alert. Any sounds out of the ordinary and the hood goes back on.”
About a half hour later, Mathias stood, brushed the crumbs from his clothes, and donned his pack, signaling that it was once again time to move on.
Burns, who had remained silent until then, spoke up. “Hey, Mathias. I’ve been thinking. Maybe Jarek has a point about people turning us in. Remember, the king has forced most families into service, either in the army or the mines. It seems to me that most of the ones left in their homes may have some kind of loyalty or at the very least, favor with the king.”
“Maybe. Nothing we can do about that, though. We’ll just have to watch and listen carefully.”
Burns prodded him. “You know that you can’t keep using the story about looking for farmland, at least not this close to Ebon Lake. All the farms in this area have been taken over or burned out by Wyndred.”
“Yeah, I thought of that. I’m going to switch tales. I’m looking for work as a blacksmith.”
“You don’t know anything about blacksmithing.”
Mathias shrugged. “Then we’d better hope the locals don’t either.”
They stopped at the first place they came to, a small house amid rocky ground. This was clearly not a farming household. Mathias started the routine. “Good morn, Ma’am. Would you have any water you might spare? We’ve been traveling since before sunrise and exhausted our supply.”
The woman, standing on the stoop, nodded toward a hand pump in the side yard. “Help yourself.” She turned to go back in.
“Is it always this hot in this part of the realm?” Mathias probed.
She stared at him for a moment, shrugged, and went into the house.
“No point in pushing it here. She’s not talking.” Mathias led the group to the pump, where they filled their nearly full skins. “Let’s move on.”
House after house, they had similar experiences. Everyone seemed wary and unwilling to engage in conversation. If there was a bright spot, though, none of the them seemed terribly interested in the traveling party.
By late afternoon Jarek was rapidly becoming demoralized. All their effort and exposure had yielded not a single shred of information. In fact, the group had not even had a good opportunity to invoke the name of Aristan. They were lucky to get so much as a nod at most places.
Then they came upon a relatively well-maintained home with a sizeable garden and several shade trees. When they knocked on the door, a man answered. “Good afternoon.” His gaze drifted from Mathias to Burns and then came to rest on Jarek. “What have we here?”
Mathias removed his hat and bowed. I’m Terrance Broadlake and this is my wife Anita.” He gestured toward Jarek. “And our son Milton. We’ve traveled from east of the Ebon Hills looking for work and housing. I’m a smithy.”
With his eyes fixed squarely on the Azyrean, the man responded, “Welcome. I’m Bartholomew Canfield. Bart, you can call me.” He rubbed his chin. “Come from the hills, do you? Hmmm. Two kilometers farther and you’ll come to an old metal shop. It’s got a forge and anvil. Not sure what shape it’s in. Owner up and died about six months ago. His widow still has the place. Maybe she’ll let you work it for a cut of your take.” He shifted his gaze to Mathias and offered up a broad smile. “Come in, please. You must be hungry and tired. I just took some sweet cakes off the fire.”
Mathias bowed. “Indeed, we are, good sir. We appreciate your hospitality.”
Bart gestured toward some chairs around the central table. “Have a seat. Before I get the food, let me write a quick note and have my boy deliver it to the widow Preekmore so she’ll know to expect you.” He hastily scribbled some text on a piece of paper, folded it, and handed it to a boy who looked to be about fifteen. “Here, take this to the place down the road, you know, the one right before the road cuts to the south.”
“Yes sir.” The kid shoved the note in his pocket and bounded out the door.
“Now, about those refreshments.” Bart clapped his hands together once and rubbed them, grinning all the while. “Let’s get you fed and on your way. By the time you get to the widow’s house, she should be ready for you.”
Chapter 39: Jarek
Jarek savored the food—chilled carrots and greens, wild game jerky and fresh bread. It wasn’t the flat fried bread to which he had become accustomed—this bread had a yeasty taste and was soft and fluffy. After all that, Bart brought out a sweet cake with candied fruit sauce, but, unfortunately, the three travelers were too full to partake.
After he cleared the table, he served small glasses of brandy. “I know that you have to be on your way shortly, but I would like to hear of your travels, if you have a few moments.”
Jarek shrunk back into his chair, trying to keep his distance from the conversation.
Mathias cleared his throat and set his glass on the table. “There is little to tell, my friend. We come originally from the south, where a combination of the heat and locusts have made life all but unbearable. We ended up to the east of here, but with farms failing and families moving on, there is little work for a man with my skills.”
“And what of the rebels in the south? We are told that they routinely raided homes and killed the citizens, at least those that would not go along with their machinations.”
Mathias cast a glance a Burns, who very discreetly shrugged. Turning toward their host, the de facto leader responded, “Who can know who is doing what? We hear about rebels. We hear about the king’s men. The struggle that they carry on is between them. I find it all I can do just to manage my family’s life. I will leave the fighting to others.”
“Well said.” Bart nodded in Jarek’s direction. “And your son. You said that he has a rare skin condition. How did he come by this malady? Was it a contagion of some sort, or was he born with it?”
Burns responded before Mathias could speak. “He has been afflicted since before he could walk. But I think… we think that it was a contagion or infection of some sort. This, then, is the reason we are so cautious as to the safety of others around him. We could never forgive ourselves if another family suffered as we have simply because we ignored the condition. So, as much as it pains all of us, his head must remain covered.�
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Bart nodded, as though considering the answer. “Yes, I take your point. I suppose it is a miracle that the two of you have not contracted the sickness.”
Mathias smiled. “Certainly, a miracle—by the grace of Aristan.”
The host offered a broad smile, although a brief darkness passed over his face. “Credit where credit is due, I suppose.” He paused and continued, his voice softer, “It is rare, yet somehow comforting to find others who praise the name of the one true human deity. I am honored to find myself in the company of true believers.”
At that moment, the door opened, and the young lad who had taken the message entered. He nodded to Bart but didn’t speak.
“Well, as you can see, my son has returned, and I am assured that the widow Preekmore awaits your arrival. I fear that I have kept you overly long in the selfish pursuit of news.”
Mathias stood and bowed. “Nonsense. It was an honor to take the meal with you. If, as you say, our destination is but two kilometers distant, we shall be there well before the sun goes down. Thank you again and may Aristan be with you.”
◆◆◆
Burns’ voice caught up with Jarek, although the Azyrean was sure the question was meant for Mathias. “He seemed to know something about Aristan. Do you think he might know something of this brotherhood we seek?”
“Quite possibly. Let us speak with this widow lady. Maybe she knows something as well. If we remain in the area, we can ease into these discussions slowly.”
But something bothered Jarek. “It seems to me that we put a lot of trust in that man. Not only did you speak to him of Aristan. You also told him where we were going. That doesn’t seem a little risky to you?”
Mathias shook his head as he continued to stride forward. “I come from this part of the realm. I know these people well. Bart Canfield is typical of the honest, hard-working folk in these regions. We can’t distrust everyone we meet.”
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