by RM Wark
“No, Minister.”
“Does anyone know where you are? Your family? Your friends?”
Fallon shook his head. The knot in his stomach tightened. “No, Minister.”
“Do you suppose they are looking for you?”
Fallon had never considered the possibility that his family – or anyone else for that matter – might be searching for him. In his dreams they had always remained behind in Reed.
“I cannot say, Minister.” But if they are, Koman would be the last place they would look.
Silas sat back in the chair and was quiet for some time.
“How old is the Steward of Reed now? What did you say his name was?”
Fallon frowned. “I did not say, Minister.” He did not feel comfortable speaking of the Steward, but he also did not want to anger the Minister. “Steward Isaiah celebrated his 80th year in Triarch.”
Silas raised his eyebrows in surprise. After a lengthy pause, the Komanite leader spoke again.
“So, tell me Fallon, what exactly is the nature of your dreams of my daughter?”
Fallon immediately felt his face go flush. “It is nothing … inappropriate, Minister, if that is your concern.”
The Minister’s expression made clear that he did not take any comfort in those words, so Fallon continued.
“In my dreams she is waiting for me upon a horse. I am leaving Reed – I do not belong there – and somehow I know that she is the one that shall guide me—”
“Guide you where?” interrupted Silas.
“I do not know, Minister. To wherever it is I am supposed to be.”
An uncomfortable silence settled upon the room as the Minister considered Fallon’s words.
“What do you know of Koman and the Komanites?” Silas finally asked.
Fallon lowered his head. That the Komanites raid our village and that you tried to kill the Steward. “Nothing, Minister.”
Silas appeared irked by his response. After studying Fallon for some time, the Komanite Minister asked, “Do you know anything about farming?”
Fallon was relieved by the change in subject. “I suppose, Minister. I grew up on a farm – until I started my training, that is.”
“Good. I shall see to it that you are put to work then. If the Village is to feed and house you, then it is only fair that you give back.”
But I did not ask to become your prisoner, Fallon thought. He forced the anger out of his voice and replied, “Aye, Minister.”
“You shall work from sunrise to sunset under the direction of the guards, every day save Heptaday. I imagine the fresh air shall do you some good.”
“Aye, Minister.”
Silas remained sitting in the chair, pensive.
“Is there anything else, Minister?”
“No.” Silas stood up to leave. When he reached the door, he turned back around. “Might I see your mark?”
Fallon nodded at the unexpected request and slowly raised his shirt.
Silas’s expression remained blank as he looked upon the mark. He nodded at Fallon and left.
*************
“Is he the one, my love?” Zahara asked.
Silas had just returned from the Keep, and they were settling down for an evening cup of tea.
“No, I do not believe so,” he replied, “though I cannot say for certain.”
“So you have seen his mark?”
“Aye.”
“And was it not the same?”
Silas shook his head. “No. I have never seen a mark like his before.”
The couple sat in silence for some time before Zahara spoke again.
“What do you plan to do with the Reedite then?” she asked.
Silas regarded his wife thoughtfully. “I do not know, my love. Though he does not bear the proper mark, he is still marked. Perhaps he is the one. It would not be the first time, after all.”
“Aye,” Zahara conceded. “But does he remember?”
“No,” replied Silas, shaking his head. “If he did, he gave no indication. He says he has the gift of dreams.”
Zahara frowned. “Then he is not the one.”
Silas shrugged. “Not necessarily, my love. He does not hail from Koman.”
Zahara remained unconvinced. “Do you think it is some sort of ploy by the Reedites to spy on us?”
Silas shrugged. “It is possible, I suppose, though unlikely. I did not sense any deceit from Fallon when he said no one knew he was in Koman.”
Zahara sipped on her tea, a troubled expression upon her face.
“For now, he shall remain our prisoner,” Silas assured her.
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes,” Silas replied. “I must know for certain whether or not he is the one.”
“And if he is not?”
A deep frown formed on Silas’s face. “If he is not, then I shall likely kill him.”
“Kill him?”
“Aye. He is a Reedite … and he dreams of our daughter.”
*************
She had considered her throat, as well as her heart, but quickly rejected both out of fear. Instead, she brought the thin blade to her wrist, pressing the cool metal against her fair skin. Selma could see the blue of the delicate veins beneath.
“I shall lose my will at the first sight of blood,” she lamented, withdrawing the blade. She looked up towards the small window opening in her bedchamber. There was no way to block out the light. Even if I waited until nightfall, the moonlight would betray me.
Selma’s eyes filled with tears for the thousandth time since learning of her brother’s passing. A dull ache filled her heart. She had never known such despair, such loneliness. She just wanted the pain to end.
She kept thinking how much easier it would have been had she been able to purchase the potion she had sought from the peddler. It would not have been difficult at all for her to swallow the contents of the vial and await death.
Selma recalled with bitterness the peddler’s stern refusal.
“I do not sell such things!” he had whispered angrily in response to her request, looking about to ensure no one else had heard. “And even if I did, I would never sell such potions to someone in the Emperor’s court!”
“But it is not for the Emperor!” she had tried to protest.
The peddler paid no heed and made it clear he wanted nothing more to do with her. “Be gone, woman!” he had cried.
Selma wiped away her tears. A desperate sigh escaped her lips as she looked upon the small knife once more.
“I must find a way.”
*************
“You must stay away from Fallon,” her father said one night as they were finishing dinner.
“Why?”
“You know why, Jezebel. He is a Reedite.”
Jezebel remained unconvinced. “If he is so dangerous, then why do you allow him to leave the Keep and work the fields?”
“You have seen him?” Silas seemed genuinely surprised.
“This is a small village, Father,” Jezebel retorted, crossing her arms. “Of course I have seen him.”
“Did he see you?”
“How should I know what the Reedite sees?”
“Stay away from him, Jezebel.”
“Aye, Father.”
But when her father left the dining hall, she found herself questioning his wisdom. She had been watching Fallon from afar. The Reedite did not seem dangerous at all. In fact, he seemed rather intriguing.
*************
Emperor Jarek is dead, his armies are no more.
The East shall be punished for starting this war.
And so the East shall suffer for three hundred days,
For the three hundred Reedites who perished in the plague.
That was what the unsigned note had said. The singsong rhyme in which it was written was particularly insulting. Lord Etan remembered throwing the note onto the fire and cursing the Western Wizards. He remembered the grief that filled him upon confirmation of the
death of his father. He remembered the three hundred days that followed.
Swarms of locusts descended upon the East on the first day. The swarms were so large that the sky turned black, and the sun remained largely hidden for nearly a month. The insects disappeared as quickly as they came, but they left a wake of devastation in their path. The crops were ruined, and even the mightiest of trees had been stripped of their foliage.
Next, the fish began to die. The rivers and streams became choked with rotting fish of all kinds, rendering the inland waterways unnavigable and filling the air with a putrid smell that clung to every sort of fabric no matter how often the garments had been washed. A mysterious red tide had also cursed the shorelines, driving the saltwater fish away. Fisherman would go out each day – venturing farther and farther away from the shore – but their nets were always empty when they returned. If they returned.
Beasts of burden started dying in mass quantities, many without any hint of previous sickness or injury. The meat of the dead was always rancid and infested with maggots. Only the milk cows and goats managed to survive, but this was of little comfort as their milk was spoiled. Anyone foolish enough to drink the sour milk spent days upon days vomiting and wishing for death themselves.
And then the rains came. At first the rains had been a welcomed sight, for they washed the dead fish out to sea and cleansed the air of the rancid smell of rotting carcasses. But the rains did not stop. The rivers soon swelled beyond their banks, flooding many a village and town. The floodwaters did not recede for several weeks, and there was nothing of value remaining when they finally did.
The flood-ravaged villages and towns had barely started the process of rebuilding when winter came early. Ice storm after ice storm pelted the region, toppling trees and making any journey by horse or foot a risky dance with death. And when the ice storms finally passed, snow would fall for days on end. As the Easterners shivered in the cold, they lamented over the stacks of wood and coal that refused to burn. There had been no recourse other than to dress in layer upon layer, huddle under blankets, and pray to the heavens for an early spring.
Spring eventually did come. Exactly three hundred days after the first of the locusts arrived.
More than a decade passed without any further incident. In that time, Lord Etan quietly plotted his revenge. Before any action could be taken, however, peculiar events began to happen once more.
In much of the Eastern Territories, rainfall had become scarce during the spring and summer months – leaving the crops to wither and die. At first, the Easterners would rejoice when the rare summer storm would finally darken the sky. But now they knew better. The ominous clouds rarely ever brought rain – but they did bring thunder and lightning. The Easterners quickly discovered that a single bolt of lightning could spark a fire that would rage for weeks on end, destroying everything in its path.
With autumn came torrential downpours that washed away the fertile soil no longer held in place by crops or the cover of forests. And with winter came bitter ice and snow storms that never seemed to end – until the sun returned in the spring. But the sun only served to melt the snow and flood the region once again. When the floodwaters finally receded, the farmers would once again try to plant their crops, but it was all for naught. The rains did not come, and the crops withered and died.
This cycle repeated itself year after year until large sections of the East were left starved and barren. Although the Eastern Wizards had been working tirelessly to protect some towns and villages from the full brunt of the elements, even their spells would fail from time to time.
In addition to the odd weather, Easterners were disappearing at an alarming rate. It was true that some had fled west over the Divisidero Mountains. But many others simply vanished. Entire villages had been deserted. Rumors of Chindi were rampant. Lord Etan did not believe in such evil spirits and refused to speak of them, but the whispers continued regardless.
*************
The night had ended much like all the previous nights: he ate his porridge and bread and retired to bed. But this night there were raised voices outside the front door of the Keep.
Fallon rose from bed and walked towards the door to listen more closely to the argument, but the exchange of words had ceased by the time he reached the sitting room. At the sound of gentle knocking, he slowly opened the door. The girl with the jet-black hair stood before him.
Only she is not so much a girl anymore ….
“Are you going to invite me in? Or would you rather I catch a cold?”
Fallon remained frozen in a state of disbelief.
“Well?” she asked with a tone of both playfulness and impatience.
Fallon beckoned her inside, cast an uncomfortable glance at the scowling guards, and shut the door.
“How … how did you get here?” he asked.
“I grew up in Koman,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“No,” Fallon said, shaking his head. “That is not what I—”
Her laughter cut him off. “I know. You do not have much of a sense of humor, do you?”
Fallon blushed.
Jezebel smiled and explained. “I happen to know certain things about the guards … things they wished I did not know. I offered to keep that information to myself in exchange for a little visit with you.”
“You bribed them?”
Jezebel feigned offense. “No. Not at all. I only encouraged them to see the wisdom of my offer.” She looked at Fallon with all seriousness. “And I promised to scream loudly if necessary. You do not intend to hurt me, do you?”
“No. Never!”
Jezebel laughed at his emphatic response.
“Hello, I am Jezebel,” she said finally, extending her hand.
The Reedite accepted her soft hand, somewhat surprised by her firm grip.
“Hello, I am Fallon.”
*************
Their conversation had been brief, but it echoed in Fallon’s mind for days afterwards.
“Are they treating you well?” Jezebel had asked.
“Aye.”
“Do you need anything?”
“No … though I am curious about my horse, Attawan.”
“I assure you he is being well cared for.”
“Thank you.”
Jezebel had bid him farewell and headed for the door.
“Shall I see you again?” he asked.
Her only response had been a playful smile.
It had been more than two weeks, and Jezebel had yet to return. Fallon started to entertain the thought of escaping, if only to see her once more. In truth, the Keep was just an old house with guards posted at the front door. It would have been easy enough for him to escape if he tried. He was still able to open the windows, and he had noticed that the guards only bothered to walk the perimeter of the Keep every hour. Alas, he did not want to risk getting caught. He did not want to risk angering the Minister.
I belong here – for reasons I do not yet understand, he thought. So he waited.
Several days later there was another knock at the door. Fallon’s heart raced with anticipation as he opened it. His face fell when he found Silas standing there, with Jezebel seeming to cower behind him.
“Hello, Minister,” Fallon offered weakly. Did he find out about the other night?
“Fallon.” Silas nodded a curt greeting and stepped inside, motioning for his daughter to follow.
Fallon looked towards Jezebel, hoping for some indication of the purpose of their visit, but she kept her head lowered.
“Jezebel,” began the Minister.
“Aye, Father?”
“This young man is of the opinion that you are supposed to be his guide, to show him where he belongs.” Silas looked at Fallon and then at Jezebel. “So tell me, dear daughter, have you any idea where Fallon should be?”
Jezebel shook her head, her eyes still focused on the ground. “No, Father.”
“You may leave now.”
Fallon watched
as Jezebel closed the door behind her. She did not even look at me.
“Well, it seems you are mistaken, Reedite. Jezebel has no answers for you. I would not waste any more time dreaming about my daughter.”
Fallon was at a loss for words.
Silas turned and left.
CHAPTER TWO
The Chase
You are a fool, Gentry, he thought to himself. You should be home with your wife and child – not on this wild goose chase. Gentry took another swallow of dark brown ale and set down his pint glass.
Fallon had been so enamored with Bartow – and the life he might have had if not for the Steward’s sign – that Gentry was almost certain he would find his missing friend enrolled in the university. He lifted his head and scanned the pub. If Fallon is a student, he does not frequent the Toasty Scholar.
Gentry let out a sigh. He had spent the better part of two weeks searching for his friend. There was no sign of Fallon at the university, and the innkeeper at the Cornerstone Inn and Tavern had not seen him in quite some time. Gentry sighed again. He knew it was possible that he might never find Fallon, even if he wandered the alleyways of Bartow for the next ten years. One man can easily hide amongst twenty-five thousand.
The bartender set another pint in front of Gentry without having to be asked. Gentry raised the new glass and smiled in thanks. The smile quickly faded once the bartender walked away, and Gentry’s thoughts turned back to Fallon.
Bartow was an expensive town. Gentry knew it would not be prudent to stay much longer, but he could not give up his search so quickly. His only hope was that Fallon was somewhere else.
If not Bartow, then where?
Gentry thought back through all their conversations over the years, trying hard to recall if there had been any hint as to where Fallon might have gone, or why he might have left.
“Fallon always did have a soft spot for Jessum,” he mumbled aloud. Gentry had not been back to the mining town since he purchased his wedding rings of gold from Saul two years ago.