Lakhoni

by Jared Garrett

  Pointing with his chin, Regg indicated the low building where the merchants had gone. “They’s comin’ out.”

  “Boy! On your feet. Help unload so we can leave this foul place.” Paztar’s voice was slightly muffled by a thick-looking mask of blue cloth. He gestured at the wagon, spun quickly, and hurried back into the building.

  Lakhoni followed Regg to the back of the wagon.

  “Take lots an’ we’ll be done quicker,” Regg said. Paztar’s other ox-tender, Jeno, had already leapt into the wagon and was moving stacks of dye-cakes to the end of the wagon where Lakhoni and Regg stood. “But leave two rows at the front for the city.”

  By way of acknowledgement, Lakhoni reached for a stack of at least ten dye-cakes. Flexing in preparation, he was so surprised when the stack came off the wagon easily that he stumbled and almost lost his balance.

  “More!” Regg called from behind a stack that reached the top of his head.

  Lakhoni snorted a laugh. “I see.”

  When the wagon was nearly empty, Lakhoni realized that it was just him and the ox-tenders working. The guards had moved off and joined a group of brick field guards. They were all hunkered down in a circle. By the shouts, Lakhoni assumed they were playing some kind of game.

  With the last load of dye off-loaded into neat stacks, Regg moved back to his seat, brushing his hands against his pants, leaving light swaths of red behind. So that was why the man’s pants had stains of so many colors.

  Red dye covered Lakhoni’s hands as well. He looked around for something to clean them off on. Or maybe I should use my pants. The stains should serve to make him look like a legitimate caravan worker once he got to Zyronilxa. He copied Regg, but found that no amount of scrubbing would remove all of the red.

  “Will it ever come off?” he asked.

  Regg chuckled. “Soon enough. It’ll wear away.”

  Lakhoni found the rock he had been sitting on and his bag. He grabbed the bag and slung it over his head and across his torso. “Are we leaving soon?”

  “Soon enough.” Regg faced the buildings that held the merchants. “They’s gonna have some more work fer us.”

  Remembering, Lakhoni sighed and dropped his bag again. The merchants were going to be picking up some bricks to sell in the city. He wished they would come out soon so they could get to work. Even after the effort of unloading the dye, he was beginning to feel jittery; the palpable misery of the brick fields was seeping into his bones.

  The merchants eventually emerged, the other men leading them. Some final conversation passed. Then Zello produced a knife from a soft-looking sheath at his side. Tingles of shock covered his skin when Zello stabbed his own hand, then proffered the knife to one of the other men. The man accepted the knife, jabbed his hand, and returned the knife to Zello. Each man made a fist with their wounded hand. Lakhoni saw several drops of blood drip to the hard-baked earth. Finally, the two men clasped hands for a few seconds.

  The deal complete, Zello, Hezeron, and Paztar returned to their wagons and gave orders to follow one of the brick field guards, skirting between the buildings and the ovens. Lakhoni followed, noticing that Yed and the other caravan guards were approaching the wagons, their game done. The wagons soon came to huge, neatly arranged pyramids of bricks and roof tiles. Next to the pyramids stood a structure that looked like a large tent, but had no walls. In the center of the structure there were arranged a table and several chairs.

  Each merchant gave orders, then moved under the structure to relax in the shade. Lakhoni helped Regg and Jeno load Paztar’s wagon. The bricks weighed more than the dye, making for harder work. But the labor felt good to Lakhoni; the sweat dripping out of him gave him the feeling that he was being cleansed of the awful miasma of the brick fields. He, Regg, and Jeno were done first, partly because Paztar’s wagon was partially filled with the food and water supplies, as well as the front two rows of dye cakes. Lakhoni followed Regg to the next wagon and helped there too. The wagons were loaded quickly and then the large, woven-cloth covers were arranged over them and tied down.

  Finally, the ox-tenders prodded and coaxed the oxen to move forward. Clearly everyone in the caravan had their fill of the brick fields, because the wagons moved faster despite the heavier loads.

  Lakhoni glanced to the sky. They were heading south now. The road stretched ahead, bending somewhat to the right to follow the line of the hills surrounding the valley containing the brick fields. Lakhoni fought the urge to look behind him as they left the miserable place behind. He never wanted to see that mud again.

  After less than an hour had passed, a new smell filled the air, something different and cleaner smelling. “Regg,” Lakhoni said, stepping up to walk next to the man. “What’s that smell now?”

  Regg said nothing, but tossed his head to the left as they crested a foothill.

  Frowning, Lakhoni followed the motion. And for the second time that day, shock froze him where he stood.

  The road ran just east of the mountains as it wound south toward Zyronilxa. East of the road rolled low, sandy hills. And east of those hills—

  An expanse as vast as the sky stretched past the world and into the unknown. It was as blue as the sky as well, the color before the terrible spring storms. Somehow every part of it was moving. Lakhoni had no idea what he was seeing.

  Once again, Yed came up behind him and prodded him. “Pup. This is getting old.”

  Lakhoni quickly caught up with Regg. “What is it?”

  “What’s what?”

  Lakhoni pointed, his eyes wide.

  “You ain’t never seen it before?”

  “No.”

  “It’s the sea.”

  First Fathers! Lakhoni couldn’t tear his eyes away. The sea. The many waters that the First Fathers had crossed to come to this land.

  “And Zyronilxa’s less than a day away,” Regg added.

  From my village to the end of our lands. And I’m not done yet.

  Chapter 35

  Plans

  Heat reflected off the tightly packed dirt and gravel of the road, baking Lakhoni’s feet and legs. It didn’t approach the sweltering, blanket-like heat of the brick yards, but it was enough to make Lakhoni long for a cool forest brook.

  Weaving like a gigantic summer serpent through the foothills, the road took the caravan away from the mud bog and ever closer to the city of the king. As they crested each hill, Lakhoni squinted, peering into the rolling distance. Hours passed and the city never appeared.

  “Regg,” Lakhoni said, walking to the deeply tanned man’s left. “You’ve been to the city before?”

  “Yep.”

  Considering each word so that he didn’t give away his intentions, Lakhoni asked, “What’s it like?”

  A moment passed. Lakhoni was used to the strange rhythm of conversations with Regg now, so he bore the silence as stoically as he could.

  “Big,” Regg said. He snorted and spat into the dust of the road, brushing his prod gently against Dara’s left shoulder. “Really big. Smells too.”

  “It smells? What do you mean?”

  “Lots o’people in one place make fer a big, bad stink.”

  “What kind?”

  “What kind of what?”

  “What kind of stink?” Lakhoni asked.

  “Think about’t.”

  Lakhoni thought about it. Lots of people. Probably lots of houses. But all in one place. There had to be animals there, and crops. “So it smells bad? Like people and animal dung?”

  “That ‘n more. They’s got too many people, and too many people ain’t got nothin’. People with nothin’ don’t much care about t’smell.”

  “People with nothing?”

  Regg gave Lakhoni a long, strange look. “Where’re you from again?”

  Bewildered, Lakhoni gestured behind them. “West. Far to the west.”

  “You never seen poor people?”

  Oh. Lakhoni mentally rolled his eyes. “Sure I have. But why would somebody live in a
city if they have nothing? There’s plenty out here.” He waved a hand at the hills and, a few miles to the west, the living ocean.

  “Good question,” Regg said. He chewed on the idea for a moment. “City’s like a baby ox. It comes out, stands up, and looks like it’s got a future. That ox c’n make a man rich nearly over night, if he works it right. But if that ox goes lame, it’s all over. And you can’t always control the laming of that ox.”

  It took Lakhoni a few minutes of pondering to figure out what Regg meant. “So . . . people go to the city because they think there’s a promise of money or a good life?”

  “Yep.”

  “But it doesn’t always work out?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then why don’t they just leave? Go back or find a new place to live?”

  “Dunno, really,” Regg said. “You figger it out, let me in on it.”

  Lakhoni tried to understand what would make a person, or a family, stay in a smelly place if they had a terrible life or no home. The way Regg talked about Zyronilxa gave the impression he was talking about a different people than the ones Lakhoni had grown up with. Everyone in the village had an important job, an important role, in the life of everyone else.

  Nobody was poor there.

  “It’s prob’ly about comfort.” Regg snorted and spat again. Lakhoni followed suit. The dust was growing worse. “Or fear. Or both.”

  “What else?” Lakhoni asked. “How do people live?”

  “In houses. Sometimes two or three families to a house.”

  “The king lives there, right?” Lakhoni worried he was being bold, but he reminded himself that there was no way anybody could suspect what he was about.

  “Yep. Old Zyron’s in his big temple.”

  “King Zyron lives in a temple?”

  “Sure. Big place. Three, mebbe four levels, mebbe more. Like a pyramid with t’top cut off.”

  Four levels? That had to be immense! “But is it really a temple?”

  “The priests live there with him. They do rituals there. He preaches from a big stand at the top.” Regg squinted at Lakhoni. “They call him ‘Holiness.’ Sounds like a temple to me.”

  “Does he ever come out?”

  Regg gave Lakhoni another look, making a face. “Out of his house?”

  Lakhoni thought fast. “Yeah, I mean, to hunt or something.” He adopted a reverent voice. “It would be great to see the king.”

  “Sor’d’fars, course he does.”

  When? Lakhoni thought. “Maybe I’ll see him some time.”

  “Maybe.”

  Lakhoni suppressed the urge to ask more about the king. He had to think of something else to talk about.

  “Regg, what does ‘sordyfars’ mean?

  Regg grunted and broke into a small laugh. “Can’t yer unnerstan’ yer own lingo?”

  Lakhoni tried to think of a way to answer diplomatically. “I guess not.”

  “Sor’d’fars. You know. Firs’ Fathers had dem a sor, special ‘un.” Regg spat. “Came from a wicked man name’a Nubal.”

  “The Sword of Nubal?” Lakhoni remembered the tales told around his village fire. Understanding dawned. Regg was just cursing when he said those things. Sword of the Fathers.

  Lakhoni laughed. “Sorry. I should have known.”

  “Not t’worry.”

  Lakhoni thought for a moment. “And if I want to find work there, or a place to live, what should I do?”

  “Yer fixing to stay there?”

  “I have nothing else,” Lakhoni said, sticking to his story.

  “Don’t rightly know,” Regg said. “Never tried it.”

  Lakhoni noticed the sun had dropped significantly. “Any advice?” They would have to stop and set up camp soon. It would have to be near grass, for the oxen. He began to look around to see if he could predict where the next campsite would be.

  Regg took a while to answer. “Well, if yer determined to stay, best bet is to learn a trade.”

  “A trade?” Lakhoni kicked a loose stone. “You mean like building houses, or cooking, or something like that?”

  “Yep. Only, cooking’s done jes’ by the women in the city. Men do the other stuff. Make weapons and such, tables, clothes.”

  That shouldn’t be too hard. He just had to find someone who was looking for help. And Lakhoni didn’t see why he would need to work for money—just food and somewhere to sleep while he made his plans. There had to be somebody in Zyronilxa who could use him.

  “Or you could be a servant t’the rich,” Regg said, a smile creasing his face.

  “I already do that,” Lakhoni said. A thought came to him. “Does Paztar live in the city? Do you think he would take me on permanently?”

  “Nope. He’s got hisself a big home somewhere southwest of th’city. Plenty of servants there,” Regg said.

  Shoving disappointment aside, Lakhoni shrugged. “I’ll find something.”

  Regg gave no response.

  Lakhoni continued peering into the distance at the crest of each hill, but by the time dusk had painted the world around him with silver and shadows, there had still been no sign of the city.

  The wagons were angling off the road before he spotted the campsite. Lakhoni unloaded the food supplies while the other men went about their work and the merchants lounged, waiting for their tents to be set up.

  “Soup again?” Razo sneered and bumped none too gently into Lakhoni as he passed the fire pit.

  Lakhoni grunted, deliberately ignoring the guard.

  “Better than cured salt meat,” Yed said from the north side of the cleared ground. Yed bent to hammer a stake for Zello’s tent into the ground.

  Conversation during the meal of soup and tough bread was louder and more energetic this night. As Lakhoni ate, he listened in, hearing what sounded like plans for their time in the city. It appeared that Febol and Lem had families in Zyronilxa, for they spoke of home-cooked meals and children. Three of the ox-tenders also spoke of families and how they would spend the next evening.

  Tomorrow. Lakhoni gazed up at the darkening sky and noticed the stars glimmering into view at the eastern edge of the deep blue blanket. One more evening spent on the road. Regg had said they would arrive in the morning, but they couldn’t possibly be all that close to the city, since Lakhoni still had seen no sign of it. Not that I really know what the signs would look like.

  “Piece o’ gristle?”

  Lakhoni turned and noticed Regg seated on a box that he must have dragged over. “What?”

  “You look like yer chewin’ on a tough piece o’ meat,” Regg said.

  “Oh.” Lakhoni swallowed. “No, just thinking.” He wondered what had prompted the usually taciturn Regg to initiate a conversation.

  “So, yer thinkin’ to stay in the city?” Regg asked.

  Lakhoni searched the man’s face, feeling as if Regg was holding something back. “Yes. Nowhere else to go.”

  “Well, ya’ done good on this soup,” Regg drawled. “You could probably work as a caravan cook, if ya wanted.”

  Lakhoni grunted softly, not sure how to respond to the compliment.

  Regg worked a bite of hard bread around in his mouth. The man was clearly nervous about something. After near a minute of awkward silence, the man spat a small chunk of bread into the darkness. “Listen,” he said, his voice a low mutter. “What I’m gettin’ at is that yer a good worker, a good cook. I run ox direct, never stop. Live on t’road. You could do the same.”

  After a moment spent figuring out what Regg was saying, Lakhoni leaned back in surprise. “You mean work with you. Not stay in the city but stay on the road. Like a team.”

  Spots of darker color appeared on the man’s cheeks. “Got it in one.”

  Lakhoni pondered the offer for a few moments, unsure of what he could say that wouldn’t offend Regg and also not reveal too much. Why would Regg make such an offer? In the two days that Lakhoni had been with the caravan, Regg hadn’t talked to any of the other men. He hadn’t eve
n talked to Jeno, his partner with Paztar’s oxen. Am I the only person he’s talked to for his entire trip?

  Finally it dawned on him. Regg’s got no friends. Lakhoni had to duck his head and focus on his breathing for a moment as a wave of emotion rolled over him. Regg had an idea of what Lakhoni was going through, how he was alone in the world, and Regg was trying to reach out and be a friend.

  I have to say no. I have to leave another friend behind. How much was this journey going to take from him?

  Regg had to have been working himself up to inviting Lakhoni to work with him, it had obviously taken an effort. Lakhoni couldn’t bring himself to deny the man.

  “That’s a really nice idea.” Lakhoni cleared his throat. “I’ll need to think about it.”

  “Fine,” Regg grunted.

  Of course the answer would be no, but that didn’t mean Lakhoni had to say so right away. The silence expanded, filling the space between Lakhoni and Regg.

  Regg stood, cleaning his wooden spoon on his trousers. “Good soup,” he said, stepping into the darkness beyond the light of the campfire to make his way to the stream.

  ***

  Stars glimmered like dewdrops on a field of black. Lakhoni lay on his back, eyes searching the sky for guidance. The king. How would he get to the ruler of the people of Zyron? He ought to have a plan in place, some kind of approach that he should take when he arrived in Zyronilxa. How could he find Alronna in a city that he had never visited and in which he knew nobody? Tension filled him; he needed to move, despite the hard work and long walking of the day.

  He resisted the urge, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He glanced to his left, around the campsite, seeing that Febol was on first watch. The large, scarred guard sat on the bench of fat Zello’s wagon. Lakhoni watched as the complete silence of the night stole over the campsite and settled into Febol’s bones. The guard hunched slowly until he held his chin in his hands, his knees supporting his elbows. Soon, the man was completely still. Lakhoni wondered if he was sleeping.