by A. C. Cobble
“B-But…” he stuttered.
“Ben, hurry up and wash,” she insisted. “You think too much.”
That evening, as the sun began to set, Myland took them to the common house. It wasn’t any more than an open dirt space with a high, thatch roof.
“We have community meetings here, the occasional feast, and anything else that requires a lot of room,” he explained.
Earlier, he told them that the village was called Free State and it was a community of people who were sick of living under the thumbs of lords and ladies, so they found their own place. There was no government and no leadership, he said, but as they arrived at the common house, it was apparent Myland was at least an informal leader.
With quick commands and gestures, he organized the few early arrivers.
Soon, there were long tables in place and people placing a disorganized jumble of food on them. It was simple stuff, game that could be caught in the surrounding woods, rich-smelling stews, rough grained breads, and piles of vegetables that Ben recognized would be easy to grow with minimal cultivation. A bored looking boy was turning a whole hog on a spit over a fire in the hearth.
“It’s not fancy,” Myland said with a grin, “but it will fill you up.”
“It’s better than we’ve been eating recently,” muttered Amelie.
“You haven’t seen the best part.” Myland beamed. “My own contribution.”
He took them to one side of the pavilion and showed off two large jugs containing a clear liquid. He unplugged one and lifted it up to them. “Smell,” he encouraged.
Ben inhaled deeply then stepped back, coughing. His eyes watered and he felt a tingle at the back of his throat. Amelie looked suspiciously at Myland, who held the jug toward her, a broad smile plastered across his face.
She sniffed delicately at the jug then frowned dubiously at Myland. “What is that?”
“It’s made from corn. Want to try some?” he asked.
“No thank you,” she answered abruptly.
“Come on. It’s good for you!” insisted Myland.
His enthusiasm for the brew was infectious. Eventually, Ben and Amelie gave in and let him pour some of the concoction into three battered tin cups. He clinked his against theirs and they took a tentative sip. The solution tasted just like it smelled, like liquid fire scorching its way through the mouth and down the throat. Ben got nervous about what it would do when it hit his stomach.
He coughed and spluttered. “That is awfully strong.”
“Have a few more and you’ll start to like it,” defended Myland. “I tell everyone it’s the third cup that tastes the best.”
Eyes watering, Amelie choked, “Do you have any water?”
Myland sighed. “I think we can find some water. Let’s go over and I’ll introduce you around.”
The common house began to fill up as the sun dropped below the trees and darkness fell across the village. The hearth on one end of the open structure and a roaring fire in the middle provided the light.
Myland’s brew set a warm tingle in Ben’s body. He found himself famished when scents of the food drifted to him. They gathered a flagon of water and piled heaping plates with the simple but hearty fare the villagers were carrying in. Myland led them to a table and bench. Before long, people crowded around, tentatively asking questions. Ben tried to answer between mouthfuls of food, but as soon as he answered the first question, more people pressed close.
“Let them eat. Let them eat!” barked their stout host. He stood up and shooed people away so Ben and Amelie could finish their dinner.
“He wasn’t kidding about them wanting news,” whispered Amelie.
“I don’t mind telling them a few things in exchange for this,” answered Ben before tearing into a steaming shank of venison. Juices dripping down his chin, he added, “Of course, we can’t tell them anything about our situation or who you are.”
“Of course,” she agreed.
As soon as Ben mopped up the last of a puddle of gravy from his plate with a slice of bread, Myland reappeared with his jug of spirits and refilled the tin mug.
“If you don’t mind obliging us, some of them are desperate for news,” he said with a smile.
Ben turned on the bench to face a crowd of people who were shuffling closer.
The young man with the scar and missing eye who spoke to Ben earlier that day was the first to draw close.
“You remember me from earlier?” he asked quickly.
“Yes. Bartholomew, right?” answered Ben.
The man nodded eagerly and blurted, “Can you tell us about Argren’s Conclave and the Alliance?”
Ben and Amelie exchanged a worried glance.
“It’s okay if you don’t know anything about it,” continued the man apologetically. “The last visitors we had said it was happening soon. A great force was to be raised to meet the threat of the Coalition in the east. We’ve been hearing about the Coalition for years now. How it’s growing, taking more territory.”
“Ah,” said Ben, relaxing and leaning back against the wooden table. “Yes, we do know a little bit about that.”
“Just what has been told on the streets,” added Amelie quickly. “You tell them, Ben. You’re better with stories.”
Bartholomew sat down on a nearby bench to listen. Several other villagers drew close.
Ben took a sip from his tin cup and winced at the burn. He thought about what to say while the fiery liquor leaked down his throat.
“Well,” he started, “what you heard is correct. There was a Conclave in Whitehall and King Argren did form an Alliance. As you say, they plan to oppose the Coalition. Most of the cities on the Blood Bay and along the Venmoor River joined. Northport, Venmoor, Fabrizo, and of course the Sineook Valley. I’m probably forgetting a few…” he trailed off.
“What about the City?” blurted a young woman. She looked down sheepishly when the group turned toward her. “My sister lives there.”
“I heard the Sanctuary had a representative at the Conclave,” said Ben slowly. “They didn’t sign the agreement though. From what I understand, the mages try to stay out of these kinds of things. I couldn’t tell you what their intentions are.” He looked at Amelie who shrugged. “Who knows if they really support the Alliance, or if it was just an act,” he finished, a bitter note creeping into his voice.
Myland snorted from the back of the crowd.
“Will it be war then?” asked Bartholomew.
“It may come to that.” Ben nodded. He was certain it would be war if he and Amelie made it to Whitehall and informed Argren what the Coalition and the Sanctuary had attempted, but they couldn’t tell these people that. “I would say it is a strong possibility.”
“Of course it will be war,” growled Myland, glaring around the group. “It’s always that way. That’s why we live out here. Why I live here at least.”
After that, the villagers asked less dangerous questions and ones frequently Ben and Amelie couldn’t answer. They wanted to know what was happening wherever they came from or had family. Most of the places they asked about, Ben had never heard of. He certainly had no details on whether long lost loves ended up getting married or what people’s parents were doing.
Before long, the questions tapered off and Ben was able to ask a few of his own.
“So, what exactly is this place?” he asked. “I think you called it Free State?”
Myland turned up his tin cup and gulped the liquor. He splashed another measure into his cup and offered to refill Ben’s. Ben nodded. Once he was topped off, Myland answered, “We don’t call it Free State because we’re a bunch of creative geniuses, I’ll tell you that. When I first arrived, they were already saying Free State. When I suggested they change it, well, people around here are stubborn. They call it Free State because we are free here. We are free from the influence of any lord, lady, mage, or whoever else tries to tell us how to live our lives.”
“That’s not so different from how I grew up,”
responded Ben.
“Is that so?” asked Myland. “It’s not common these days, being able to tend to yourself and make your own decisions. Where are you from, if I may ask?”
“A little mountain town called Farview. It’s a long way from here,” responded Ben. “I guess technically, we were part of Issen, but I never knew it until I left.”
“You’re lucky then,” replied Myland. “Growing up truly free is a gift, one that is getting too rare. I’m told it was different years ago, but now, you can’t find many places that don’t have some lord trying to put a boot on your neck.”
“Not all lords are like that,” objected Amelie. Ben shot her a warning glance but she continued. “If it wasn’t for lords, then who would build the roads? Who would supply irrigation for crops?”
Myland spread his hands wide and replied, “We seem to be getting by okay here without some lord building our roads. And for irrigation, that is subservient thinking. Why does some lord have more of a right to water than I do? Who are they to decide which field grows and which withers and dies? Every man has equal right to nature’s bounty, including water. The stuff falls from the sky!”
Amelie flushed. “What about protection then? King Argren, for example, is forming his Alliance. Don’t you want protection against enemies like the Coalition?”
“Girl,” snorted Myland. “Why do you think the Coalition is my enemy?”
Amelie blinked in confusion. “You support the Coalition?” she gasped.
“Of course not,” explained Myland. “I’m just saying, why should I consider them my enemy? Are they trying to do something in Whitehall that Argren himself doesn’t already do? I hear he rules that place with an iron fist. A lord is a lord. Doesn’t much matter to me which one you’re talking about.”
“I-I…” she stuttered.
“Think about it,” argued Myland. “The Coalition wants to control resources. They want power. How is that different from what is already happening? How is that different from this Alliance? As you said earlier, lords already feel like they have a natural right to something as basic as water!”
Myland downed another cup of spirits and sat back. “In my mind, it’s not whether you should support the Alliance or the Coalition. It’s why you’d want to support either one of them?”
Amelie frowned and remained silent.
Ben spoke up for her. “There are good people in the Alliance. Lords and ladies who want to do right by their people. When it comes to it, when there is a war, you have to take a side. From what I know, the Alliance is the side I want to be on.”
Myland took another swig of spirits, swished it around then spat into the dwindling fire. It flared momentarily. “That’s the thing people get wrong. You don’t have to take a side. You don’t have to play in their system and serve as a pawn in their games. You can leave. That’s what we did here. Earlier, you asked what Free State was. That is Free State. It’s a group of people who decided to say fuck it and left.”
Myland refilled his tin cup, looked around the common house, and groused, “This is getting depressing. I don’t live out here so I can be sad and serious all the time. Let’s pick it up a little.”
He stood up and called out, “Harold, get that flute of yours. Pica, let’s hear some drums.”
Free Staters scrambled around the common house, clearing space for dancing. The assigned residents brought out their instruments. Myland’s jugs of spirits started making their way around the crowd, though Ben noticed several people turned up their noses at the potent brew.
The flute and the drums started sounding a steady beat and the familiar laughs and squeals of revelry filled the air, just like home on a festival night, or at any of the taverns they’d stopped at on their first journey. It was comforting to Ben, whenever he saw people having a good time and enjoying themselves.
Both he and Amelie sat out the dancing though. They’d been traveling hard and his injuries still bothered him. They were content to watch the action from the comfort of a rough-hewn wooden bench.
Myland sat beside them, also comfortable just watching. He kept silent, neither asking them questions nor making any further attempt to recruit them into his small community.
Several more cups of the powerful clear spirit and Ben’s head was swimming. The dancers flashed by in a low lit blur. The fire burned behind their silhouetted forms.
Ben and Amelie stumbled back to Myland’s dark hut as the fire was dying down in the common house. The dancing had not stopped. In the dim corners of the common space, he saw some of the residents pairing up and practicing their freedom. They might think they are different, he thought drunkenly, but that happened at Argren’s gala too.
Outside in the dark, Ben felt like a baby colt walking for the first time. He and Amelie bumped into each other and stumbled over unseen obstacles. They finally made it back and collapsed in the blackness of Myland’s hut. The world swayed back and forth, rocking him like the gentle waves of the ocean.
Plowman’s Rest
The next morning, Ben woke to find himself pressed against Amelie. His head ached something awful, but he quickly realized he had a bigger problem. They were packed close together in Myland’s small bed. The man assumed they were a couple, which wouldn’t have been a problem, but since that wasn’t actually the case, Ben was in an awkward position.
The night before, Myland’s fiery spirits had put both Ben and Amelie quickly to sleep. Now, with the dim morning light peeking through the cracks in Myland’s walls, Ben’s arms were wrapped tightly around her still-sleeping form. On the other side of him was the rough log and mud wall. Her body was pleasantly warm against him. His front was in firm contact with her backside.
Parts of his body started reacting against his will to her comfortable softness. He knew if she woke up and felt him like that, the opposite of soft, he would never be able to explain it. He needed to move.
To extricate himself from the bed, he would have to pull his arms out from under her then somehow crawl over her. Slowly, he thought. He could get himself out of this and into a less compromising position if he moved slowly.
He started by barely moving his right arm, which was trapped underneath her. A finger’s width at a time, he slid his arm out from under her, slow and steady.
Her eyes popped open and she was instantly awake. A lance of panic shot through his body. He shifted, trying to move before she felt his uncomfortable situation pressing against her.
“What are you doing?” she mumbled.
“Uh, trying to get up,” he answered honestly.
She looked around the room and then back at him, her face a hand’s length from his. “Did we sleep like this?”
“I think we did,” he answered. “I just woke up.”
“Oh.” She stretched and yawned, which caused her to wiggle pleasantly against him. He froze, certain she’d notice.
“It’s nice to wake up in a bed again, isn’t it? But we’d better get up. It’s going to get harder the longer we wait,” she said with a wink.
Ben swallowed uncomfortably. He didn’t have anything to say to that.
Myland served them a simple breakfast of hot porridge and they bartered Amelie’s saber for another week of food.
“Where are you two headed, if you don’t mind me asking?” he inquired.
“We’re headed north,” evaded Ben.
“I understand ya’ll are running from something.” The man chuckled. “This isn’t the place you need to hide it. Like I said yesterday, most of us have been running at some point. If you need help finding your way north, I suggest you talk to Bart.”
“Bart? You mean Bartholomew? The one with the eye?” asked Ben.
“Aye,” answered Myland. “Bart knows these hills better than anyone except me and Athor, and neither of us is leaving. You want someone who can guide you along the quickest path to where you are going, then Bart is your man.”
“Thank you,” said Amelie. She looked at Ben and shrugged.
> “Where is Bart’s house?” asked Ben. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to the man. Worst case, they would leave without him.
“East edge of the village about a stone’s throw from the stream,” directed Myland. “Bart is a good man these days and he has a good head for direction. One word of caution though, he wasn’t always a good man. They called him Black Bart a few years back. It wasn’t for the color of his hair. That’s his story though, and I’ll let him tell it. I thought you should know. When he lost his eye, it woke him up, I think. He’s been living a different life since then.”
Ben reached out a hand and took Myland’s to shake it firmly. “Thank you for all of your help. It was good to have some hot food and a bed to sleep in. We’ve been camping rough the last few days.”
“And thank you for the news,” replied Myland. “We say we live apart from the world out here, but that doesn’t mean we don’t like hearing what’s going on. Always nice to meet some potential recruits too,” he added with a wink. “Remember what I said—just because some lord says ‘these are the rules’ doesn’t mean you have to stick around and follow them. You get tired of that life, you come on back here.”
“Understood,” agreed Ben.
Later that morning, Bart led them along a barely visible game trail that wound up and away from the stream. It was clear of the undergrowth and fallen branches they had been fighting through previously. Ben realized they were making much better time. Enlisting Bart might be the best decision they’d made since leaving the City.
“I been out here about five years now, I reckon,” the man drawled. “I’m not much use hunting with a bow since I lost my eye, but I can set a snare and do a bit of fishing. It doesn’t take much to keep yourself alive if you live simply. I catch enough game to barter with the rest of the folks and try to keep social, but if I’m honest, I prefer to spend time by myself. That’s why Myland sent you to me, I suspect. I spend a lot of time wandering these hills for the peace and quiet.”