by Travis Smith
“Ye look fit to sleep for a lifetime, too. My son’s away, so yer welcome to use the spare bed as long as ya need.”
The Stranger offered another wan smile. “I’ve been rushing forward for quite a time and have naught to show.” He paused and glanced out the window. His eyes saw only trees, but his face suggested that his mind was gazing worlds away. He thought for a moment more before concluding, “I could use a good rest …”
“As long as ya need,” Kinnae repeated, turning to tend to a small fire in her woodstove. She continued with her back turned. “Then I may know where to find a better vessel.”
The Stranger smiled again and pondered the peculiar woman’s kindness. “I am uncertain …”
“Ya seemed right certain to’ve cracked off in that tiny hunk o’ scraps that washed ashore.”
“I told you, I was a fool.”
Kinnae paused the exchange to retrieve a pot filled with some sort of stew and place it over the flame. “Well, there must be some reason ya went off lookin’ for trouble.”
The Stranger swallowed hard as his wife’s unrecognizing face swam into his mind. “I—” he stammered. “I’m not certain that I wouldn’t make matters worse.” He stood and walked to the front door. He stared out the small window while Kinnae prepared the meal, their backs to each other.
Kinnae stirred the stew in silence for a moment before speaking. “I’m sure that whoever ye thought ye needed so badly still feels the same about you.”
The Stranger turned from the door and looked at her in surprise.
“Yes,” she said without turning, “I know that look in your eyes.”
He smiled painfully and looked back outside. “It is more complicated than that.”
Kinnae shrugged. “Ain’t that complicated. Ye need what ye need.”
The Stranger nodded slowly as he stared down the path through the woods and into the center of town.
“I know yer thinkin’ o’ runnin’,” she said, her back still to The Stranger. “But ye may’s well stay t’ eat.”
“No,” The Stranger said, trying not to sound defensive. He turned to face her and watched her stir the stew for a time. “I’ve been running far too long. It has only cursed me further.”
“Besides,” Kinnae continued as if she wasn’t even listening to her guest, “town’s not much to see these days. They got scouts in every major village.”
The Stranger dropped his eyes to the floor. He had spent his entire life dedicated to his royal bloodline. It pained him to see his society in such turmoil, but he couldn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t save the world. He couldn’t even save his family. “Who has?” he asked.
Kinnae shrugged. “Whoever’s behind all this. They take prisoners of the weak and turn ’em to slaves. Take on the strong, too—anybody who stands to oppose the changes.”
“Shame,” The Stranger croaked after a long period of heavy silence.
“Mmhm,” Kinnae agreed. She picked the pot off the flame at last and walked back toward the table with it in hand. “Come ’n’ sit now. Let’s eat.”
11
After The Stranger had eaten three helpings of Kinnae’s delicious beef stew, she showed him to the spare room and bid him a good eve.
The Stranger questioned her naive kindness for allowing someone such as he to sleep in her home.
“Yer tired, ’n’ yer hurt. Who am I to turn away a stranger in need?”
The sun had just begun to dip below the tops of the trees surrounding the small cabin, but The Stranger slipped into a serene, dreamless sleep.
When he awoke again, the sun was already high in the sky on the following day. He sat up, groggy, and rubbed his eyes as the familiar rock settled in his gut. The blissful numbness that could come only in sleep and death melted away like frost from a pirate’s beard, and all the pain and doubt and helplessness of his journey redoubled itself.
He sat for a while and contemplated how to proceed with his quest, or whether to proceed at all. On one hand, Kinnae had offered him a ship that could traverse the tumultuous Great Sea, but on the other hand, the only place lower than his current state would be to make it back to Reprise only to find himself a stranger to his loved ones …
“And no craft will withstand the wrath of that beast, should our paths cross again,” he said to himself, his voice a hoarse, sleep-stricken groan.
He made his way out of the bedroom and outside to the latrine to do his morning business. On his way back to the quiet, empty cabin, he found a pair of shearing knives and pondered his matted beard that now hung below his chest. There in the woman’s garden, he used the shears to saw long, dirty clumps of hair from his chin and allowed them to scatter in the wind. With no proper instrumentation or reflection, the end result was only passable for semi-maintained. For a vagabond such as he, that would have to be enough.
As he walked back to the cabin’s door, he heard a rustling around the corner. He peered around to find Kinnae tending to her garden on the other side.
“Mornin’, sleepybeard,” she called when he walked into view.
The Stranger nodded in response.
“I trust ye rested well? Night’s slumber seems to’ve made ye more presentable somehow …”
“I did. And I thank you, Kinnae.”
“Kin,” she corrected.
He nodded again and stood in an uncomfortable silence.
“But … ?” she prodded. “Time to be off on yer secret adventure?”
He offered another troubled smile and nodded once more.
“Well lemme finish up with the garden, ’n’ I’ll take ya to yer new boat.”
“Actually, I may have to decline your kind offer,” he said.
“No one’ll miss it. Trust me …”
“No, no, it’s not that—”
“Still scared they won’t take ya back?”
The Stranger winced as though this notion pained him physically. He gave no response for a long while. “There is much to fear,” he said at last.
“Whatever done yer last skiff in?”
The Stranger stood silently.
“Punishers ain’t what they used t’ be.”
“Indeed they are not,” The Stranger mused.
“Evil runs these lands now. Kinda makes their purpose obsolete.”
“It should make their purpose more integral than ever before.”
“Yah, but who they gonna target? Everyone?”
Not me, The Stranger almost said. But maybe that was wrong now. Maybe he was a fit target.
“Anyway,” Kinnae said, leaning back to tend to her cabbage, “where ye gonna go then?”
“That remains to be seen,” he said distractedly.
“Well, I won’t keep ya, if yer dead set on headin’ out. Pretty used to havin’ no company these days anyway, but if ye care to stay, ain’t no need to rush.”
“Again,” The Stranger said, “I am more grateful than you know, but … I need to do some self reflecting, then perhaps I may go to my family.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised. Ye got the look of a man overcome with determination,” Kinnae said. “Got ya a pack o’ supplies on the kitchen table.”
A lump rose in The Stranger’s throat as he stood before his kneeling host. She wasn’t exactly the warmest of individuals, but after all the sneaking away in the dead of night and fleeing captivity he’d done on the island, he deeply appreciated being left to his own devices with a host who refrained from prying.
His gratitude and her aloof nature made him almost uncomfortable about leaving as he shuffled off toward the front door.
12
Kinnae had supplied The Stranger with a small canteen of fresh water, a lukewarm jar of her beef stew, and plenty of fresh fruits and nuts.
He walked a northwesterly course away from the coast. Of course he still battled a vicious sense of urgency, but he’d done naught but struggle and scramble thus far and had only gotten himself damned—nearly gotten himself killed. If he veered toward the coast now, he ran the r
isk of encountering more of The Baron’s corrupted henchmen that ruled this land for Bernard. He had no intent of being thrown back into someone’s cellar. He could take Kinnae’s ship and sail north along Fordar’s coast until he reached the frozen land bridge that spanned the Great Sea, but he would still risk being spotted and accosted all along the way. His stomach churned with concern for his wife and son, and it doubled with each passing moment, but if he could travel safely through the mountains to Fordar’s northern coast, he could sail from there along the land bridge with far less risk of being spotted from major coastal towns. Perhaps the old man had been right, if only about that one thing …
He walked for what remained of the day. His path veered through the sparse woodlands that skirted the center of Sudere. The forest was by no means as dense as that through which he’d bumbled on Eugene’s island, but even during his short day’s hike, he could note the trees and brush already starting to thin. The coastal humidity slowly transitioned to a cool, arid evening as The Stranger found a soft bed of sand to nestle into for the night.
13
The Stranger made good progress the following day. With consecutive nights’ rest and reasonably frequent meals, he found his mind much clearer and his pace far steadier.
By late afternoon he found a fresh stream and refilled his canteen. He slung the jug back over his shoulder by its strap and set off again. A small group of rabbits scattered out of the thin underbrush and startled him. He watched at least six of them flee in every direction. He was raised in a royal family of fishermen and could adapt to find food in almost any maritime setting, but he hadn’t the slightest inkling how to trap a rabbit or any other woodland creature. He eyed the pack of food—maybe enough for another two days—and began to second-guess his decision to avoid coastal routes. But his logic had been sound. He ran less risk in the mountains. He would either find another kind soul in a small mountain town, or he would adapt and find a way to trap or hunt for food.
The forest continued to grow thinner and thinner, and just as the sun began to dip below the distant horizon, The Stranger stepped out of the trees to a breathtaking sight.
A vast sea of sand and tumbleweed spread across the land before him. On the horizon, standing tall and holding the weary sun in the sky, was the expansive Klippa mountain range. To the east a dense black cloud drifted across the sky. A stark contrast against the brilliant sunset, the cloud appeared to glide at head-height above the far-off desert. A hazy wall of heavy rain trailed beneath the cloud. As The Stranger watched, the cloud flicked a bolt of lightning toward the earth like the tongue from a serpent’s mouth. He saw the entire bolt travel from cloud to earth and never heard a sound.
The whole scene was unlike any The Stranger had ever beheld. It may as well have been from another world. Even having gazed across the limitless sea, The Stranger would still swear his sight had never reached so far. His family should have been with him. Laura and William, Robert and Diana … They should all have been safe and at ease beneath the desert sunset.
A familiar voice broke his daze.
“Ay, Stranger!”
14
The Stranger turned to five unfamiliar faces an arm’s length away. A rugged man with a haggard goatee reached out and took The Stranger’s wrist before he could react.
“’At’s him,” said the familiar voice.
“Thanks, Kin,” the man said. He stepped aside, revealing Kinnae standing several paces behind the small group.
“What’s ya name, vagabond?” one of the men asked as he slapped a heavy shackle to The Stranger’s wrist.
The Stranger never took his eyes from Kinnae as another of the emissaries approached her and handed over a small pouch. Kinnae opened the drawstring bag and retrieved a small, round piece of metal from what seemed to be several others clinking around inside. After inspecting it for a moment, she returned it to the pouch and nodded to the guard who’d handed it to her.
“Bitch,” The Stranger growled.
Kin looked at him without concern and shrugged.
The other guards sniggered, and the one in charge spoke. “Okay, Bitch, we gon’ hike fer quite a time now. You gon’ give us any grief?”
“Kill me,” The Stranger said.
“Kill ya?” he chuckled. “I jus’ paid fifteen paga for ya!”
Three of the men carried small, black weapons like the one The Stranger had mistaken for a firestarter another lifetime ago with his brother outside Krake. The other two carried similar devices, but much larger. The metallic weapons were as long as an arm, and the men wore them slung over their shoulders with a strap.
The Stranger closed his eyes and struggled only minutely as the guard pulled his arms and secured them behind his back. “Kill me now,” he choked again, his voice a low, defeated whisper.
“Thanks, gentleswine,” Kinnae said with a tip of her head before setting off back toward her home. “I was trackin’ ’im fer days.”
“Thanks to you,” the leader replied in his western drawl. He took the long, black weapon off his shoulder. He wedged the end of it into his right armpit, gripped the barrel with his left hand, and prodded The Stranger in the back painfully. “Off ya go.”
The group marched their prisoner across the desert toward the Klippa Mountains for three nights and three days. By the time the dead of night had fallen on the first evening, the guards had built a small fire to rest around.
“A’ight, boy,” one said as his comrade pulled a small pouch out of his pocket.
The Stranger lay numbly and watched as the scruffy man pinched out a portion of ogras and sprinkled it onto a bit of rolling paper. He touched the tip of the finished product to the fire and drew it to his lips. The crew passed around the cigarette and laughed until The Stranger rolled over to face the other direction. Poisoned smoke descended down around them all.
“Wha’s wrong, Bitch? Don’ wanna toke?” one of the men sneered. He took a deep puff and leaned over The Stranger to blow smoke directly into his face.
The Stranger’s heart raced. He grit his teeth, and his entire body stiffened in the shackles. This made the guards laugh harder.
“Better watch it, Zazo. He’s liable t’ bust out them chains ’n’ squeeze the smoke out yer lungs ’imself.”
“I’m shakin’,” Zazo chortled.
The Stranger struggled to hold his breath amid the clouds of smoke. He could feel his head starting to swim as the vile spirits of the evil passed worked their way into his mind. They may well have been the very souls he’d delivered to this fate from Eugene’s island not long ago. After a long while, he slept an uneasy, paranoid sleep broken by laughter and, eventually, the sounds of far-off desert creatures once the guards had fallen asleep.
A distant yelp startled The Stranger from a light slumber. He opened his eyes and rolled over to find one of the men standing watch for the night.
“Don’ even think ’bout it,” he warned, tightening his grip on the large weapon.
The next day The Stranger collapsed. They were walking through a seemingly endless sea of low bushes and dirt, a matrix of small hills bucking like waves in the Great Sea.
“Come on,” the one called Zazo groaned, sticking a heavy boot into The Stranger’s ribcage. “Boss, we ain’t got time for this.”
They had already plucked the pack of food and water from The Stranger’s side and passed around portions for each to devour. Now everyone was exceptionally hungry and irritable.
Boss turned and rolled his eyes. “Bitch, come on, we can be at the outpost in another two days’ time.” He indicated toward the still distant mountain.
“Leave me,” The Stranger rasped, his face half buried in the sand.
“Drag ’im,” Boss ordered one of the other men, who walked over and splashed a dash of what little water remained in The Stranger’s face.
“Come on, now,” he pleaded.
The Stranger made no reply, so the man looped a short rope through the shackles and set off, dragging his p
risoner through the dirt behind him. The Stranger’s frayed mind could not accept that he would spend the rest of his foreseeable future in a prison in Fordar. He stared up at the sky as he was dragged along and hoped against hope that the birds circling above were not a hallucination and that they would swoop down and peel the flesh from every man on the desert beneath them.
He allowed himself to be dragged for much of the day until his smock was in tatters, and his back was shredded and raw from the hot sand and sharp bushes.
“Ready to walk again on yer own, Bitch?” Zazo said.
“No,” The Stranger replied, standing and dusting himself off anyway.
The men chuckled and continued on their way beneath the hot afternoon sun.
15
By the third evening, the distance left to traverse began to seem less impossible, and the Klippa Mountains actually appeared to be coming closer rather than hesitating on the horizon. An infrequent series of railways ran through the hills, in and out of the mountains and canyons, and northeast through the desert back toward the coastal towns.
On the fourth day, the group approached the base of the mountain range and stopped at a small cabin. Four of the men went inside while one stood guard over The Stranger outside. After a while, the men returned with their canteens refilled and their pouches stuffed with food.
Boss approached The Stranger and offered him a draw of ice-cold water from a canteen. He cut the dehydrated prisoner’s time short by yanking the flask away mid-gulp. “Not much farther,” he said, turning and walking along one of the wooden tracks.
They reached an area along the tracks where a large metal cart sat abandoned near a cave entrance, an old pickaxe leaning against it. The track disappeared into the darkness of the cave. In the other direction, it ran along the flat desert and disappeared at the horizon.
“We’ll stop here fer the eve,” Boss announced. While the rest of the tired guards began taking their packs and weapons off their shoulders and settling in, Boss nodded to one of his men and flicked a thumb over his shoulder toward the dark cavern. The man nodded in return and set off on his own into the cave. He first approached the metal cart and leaned into it, struggling to push its rusty wheels along the tracks.