An Elegy of Heroes

by K. S. Villoso

  “Will you be fine?” Oji looked concerned. “I can ask Aden—”

  “Shit, Oji,” he snapped. “I’ve done this before. You don’t need to have someone babysitting me all the time.”

  “All right.” Oji’s brow furrowed for a moment, but only a moment. Ever unaware of troubles other than his own, he wrapped an arm around big Rok’s shoulder and laughed with him all the way to the tavern, or so Kefier presumed.

  The bells of the single chapel in Cairntown were ringing by the time Kefier got to the market. Even after so many years, the vibrations still reminded him of the Dageian mages’ morning rituals and he had to stop to calm himself. Even after seven years of freedom, that filthy blanket he had spent as a Dageian slave seemed all but impossible to shake off. He closed his eyes, waiting for the last bell to toll as he attempted to calm himself with questions. Did the priest who rang them twice each day cared at all about the conversation they had last summer? Nobody in Kago believed in Yohak like they used to. Who did he ring the bells for? Why do it at all? The old man had given him a long-winded reply; he couldn’t remember a word of it, but he would never forget that look on his face. You don’t see hope on people’s faces often—not around here.

  When it was silent and he could feel himself breathe again, he approached the cluster of shops around the moss-covered statue of Agartes. A pimply faced boy waved at him from the window of their store. “Good riddance to Cairntown, is it?” the boy asked, leaning over the rails.

  Kefier cracked a smile. “Oji passed by, I guess.”

  The boy nodded. “Him and the whole pack. They about consumed a whole bucket of pork skewers. Jin-Sayeng. Are you serious? I know that’s his home, but what would you do there? Work on a fishing boat or something?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged and handed the boy a piece of parchment. “Here’s the list. A fishing boat doesn’t sound too bad.”

  “A fishing boat is a poor substitute for what you do here.” The boy handed the parchment over to his sister and returned to the window. “Won’t you miss the fighting and the adventures?”

  “I don’t know that word. Adventures.” He clicked his tongue. Kagtar was still a strange language to him at times and the young people always talked too fast. Jinan was a lot easier on his tongue. It was closer to his own native tongue, less weighty.

  “I mean the interesting places you go to.”

  “My last job, we helped put up beams for a farmhouse they were building next town.” Kefier wiped a bead of sweat off his face. “Then the one before, tseh. We hammered in some nails, for a fence. But that was in a star-apple orchard so I didn’t mind.”

  “But once in a while, they send you someplace exciting, right?” The boy’s eyes flickered. “I’m going to try my luck next year. Aden says you will need more people soon because of Inigar. Ingur? I think that’s his name. The rich Hafed.”

  “Yn Garr. And why? You’re only fourteen summers next year, if I remember correctly.”

  The boy snorted. “They say you were that age when you first joined.”

  Joined, he thought, scratching his cheek. He had been no better than a dog who was allowed to tag along. A spot near the fire and a warm blanket were the best he could’ve hoped for in years. They didn’t even start paying him until recently. He noticed Gaven, Algat’s right hand, coming up to the window with the usual scowl on his face. Kefier immediately took two steps behind.

  “Two packs of pipe weed,” Gaven said to the boy, slipping a few coins through the window rails. “Fresh ones, mind. Not the moldy stuff from the bottom of your cupboard like the one you gave me last time.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, mister. All our goods are fresh.” The boy wrapped the packs in brown paper. “Your supplies will be ready soon,” he added, glancing at Kefier.

  Gaven seemed to notice him for the first time. The scowl deepened. “Don’t screw this one up. I’m sick of cleaning after your messes.”

  “Are you joining Oji’s party tonight?” Kefier could tell when Gaven was baiting him and the last thing he needed right now was an argument—even if it was the same old, one-sided screaming he usually got from this man. He placed his elbow against the window railing, pretending to look past Agartes’ statue.

  Gaven snorted, his face assuming that expression that went beyond the scowl and said, distinctly, I smell a dead rat. “Maybe, maybe not. Are you carrying the puke bucket tonight?”

  Kefier pretended to grin. “I think there’ll be a fair share of that on the floor.” When Gaven didn’t reply, he quickly added, “You should go. Oji’s farewell and all. He’ll want you there.”

  Gaven continued to ignore him. There was a grey-bearded man walking up to them from the distance and he made a big show of waving in the air. “Thiar!” he whistled.

  The old faction officer crossed the square and grinned at both of them. “I see you’ve got the night off too, Gaven. How did that Muiju job go? I heard the client paid a generous tip. That’s the way it should be, Gaven—keep them happy and we’ll always have enough money for Baeddan’s smokes. Kefier, my boy.” He reached out and grabbed Kefier’s hand. Kefier was too taken aback to pull away. The old man shook it vigorously. “We will miss you. Oh, but you will enjoy your time in Jin-Sayeng. I’m green with envy. They have culture there, don’t you know? The sort of thing this place sorely lacks.”

  “We’ll talk later, Thiar,” Gaven said. He purposely bumped into Kefier before walking away.

  Kefier rubbed his shoulder and sighed. “Thiar, is it true that the faction can’t sign me on my own? I wanted to work extra jobs so Oji doesn’t have to go on this one. Wilderness travel doesn’t sit well with him.”

  “Going to complain till your ears drop off, is he? I’ve been around men like that. An orange, please,” he told the boy who had reappeared with Kefier’s pack. Thiar whistled. “That looks heavy. You’re heading to Hartmur? Two, three days out in the bush?”

  “Yes. Thiar, about what I said—”

  “Algat told you that, didn’t he?” Thiar accepted a dilapidated-looking orange and started peeling it. “There’s some truth to that, but he didn’t tell you the whole of it. You can just as easily fake some paperwork and sign it under a Kag name.”

  “You can do that for me?”

  Thiar coughed. “Hold on, there. I didn’t say I could do it. You’d need—well. Let me think about it for a moment.” He popped a piece of orange into his mouth. “You already talked to Algat, you see. He’s the guy to talk to about stuff like that. And the fact that he didn’t tell you—”

  “I know he doesn’t like me. That’s all right. Is there any way I can prove myself to him? More than I already have?”

  Thiar smiled, his teeth showing. “Well, my boy, you and Oji have been on the donkey end of things. You’ve been given jobs anyone with half a brain could do. And as well as you may have done those, it’s not enough.”

  “But Algat never trusted us with anything harder.”

  “Doesn’t like foreigners, that one. Well, my boy, what a pickle, eh? Can’t advance without proving yourself, can’t prove yourself at all. Hold on a moment. You, give me my money back, I’ve had squirrel nuts that tasted better than this.”

  “They’re not in season, n’uncle,” the boy murmured, pouting. But he handed the coin back.

  Thiar looked through the coin before pocketing it. “Where was I? Right. Proving yourself. As it happens—well, better if I showed you. Come with me.” He walked a few paces.

  “Watch my stuff,” Kefier told the boy, before hurrying after Thiar. “Where are we going?”

  “Not far,” Thiar said, smiling.

  They took the long, winding road north of Cairntown, towards the abandoned quarry which gave the city its name. Kefier knew it as nothing more than a garbage dump and a place where cheap men occasionally brought even cheaper women to have sex with. It was still mid-afternoon and the heat brought along with it a stench that reminded Kefier of carrion. He hesitated at the foot of th
e downhill slope.

  Thiar noticed his reluctance and folded his arms. “I have no idea what you’re implying. If you were with Officer Ro, you can start doubting now, but I happen to like women. Ask Mim Comfrey.” He grinned, showing crooked teeth. “It’s not far. I have to show you or you won’t understand.”

  “I chopped up a guy with this dull sword once,” Kefier murmured. “Just so you know.”

  “Good. Watch your step or you’ll stab yourself tripping on boulders.”

  Dust had caked around Kefier’s boots by the time they reached the edge of the cavern. The stench was so ripe now that Kefier felt it clinging to the back of his mouth. He covered his face with his hand and tried to breathe through it.

  “Look,” Thiar said, pointing. Thick, black sludge dripped from the ceiling. “It’s ah—a type of mineral one of our clients wants to harvest.”

  Kefier squinted at Thiar, wondering if the man took whiskey with his morning coffee. He knew that the fast-paced Kagtar often contained phrases he couldn’t understand, but he also knew that bullshit came in all shapes and sizes. He paused, trying to find the right combination of words that wouldn’t sound downright insulting, and ended up blurting out, “Who are you trying to fool? It looks like blood. It smells like death. Who would harvest that?”

  Thiar looked thoughtful for a moment. “That it does,” he conceded. “But, well, when you dry it up properly, it forms into these ore-like clumps. Our client tells us they’re valuable—they burn a hundred times longer than coal. But difficult to transport. We need men to help bring them to Gaspar.”

  A thick glob dripped near Kefier’s shoe. He jumped back and saw a steaming hole where his foot had been. “As you can see,” Thiar continued. “The material is volatile. Some years ago, we tried bottling them up in containers and they ate right through them, through the crates, and into the ship’s hull. Ended up causing a wreck a few miles south of Cael. Now, the client has given us a better method to handle them, but we need men we can trust to make sure this gets where it needs to go. The pay is very good—more than what you make in half a year, just for this one job.”

  “If that’s the case, why haven’t the men started bidding on this one?” He knew most of the recent jobs that had gone out and who had taken what. None ever made mention of a cavern outside Cairntown or the transportation of “minerals”.

  Thiar looked like he expected the question. He looked like he was even glad Kefier had asked. “Tell me how you feel right now. Do you want to vomit?”

  “It’s unpleasant, but it just smells like dead bodies to me,” Kefier said. “Why?”

  “There,” Thiar laughed. “You’ve answered your own question. The smell is more than what most men can take. Only a few have signed up for it. The rest couldn’t take the stench when I took them here. Keeled over and blew their guts out. Wouldn’t even take more money when we offered it.” He looked smug.

  “We’ve never heard of this job before.”

  “You haven’t? Or Oji didn’t tell you?” Thiar winked. “From what I understand, you can’t read very well.”

  Kefier flushed. “That makes no difference. The other men—”

  “I’m only joking, my boy. Joking! Can’t you tell? So, enlighten me. Does this not look like an easy job? What say you about delaying your trip to Jin-Sayeng? I’ll arrange for your papers and when this job is done we can talk about extending your stay with the faction. In no time you can see yourself with some farmland off the coast or near Muiju, if that’s your fancy.”

  Kefier flushed. He had heard that the faction jobs varied depending on your rank, but what Thiar was saying was beyond his wildest dreams. “How much are we talking about for this job alone?” He tried hard not to let the excitement show in his voice.

  “I told you, didn’t I? Ah, you want the real number. Of course. It’s about, oh, a couple thou of ril.”

  Kefier swallowed. He was not given to dreaming, but even someone like him could not control the rush of visions of what could be. Some farmland, Thiar said—you could get them for a few hundred ril in some places, if you were willing to fight for them. It felt strange to think about having something—a home, maybe even a family, someday? Lisa had told him, once, that if she could get a man who could offer those kind of things she would pack in a heartbeat. He was not very familiar with women’s humour, but she sounded serious at the time.

  He looked at Thiar and slowly nodded. A grin spread across Thiar’s face. “Start off with this letter.” He reached into his robe and handed Kefier a sealed envelope. “Once you and Oji have delivered your package to the foreman at Hartmur, ask him for directions to the Sangut mineshaft. There is a box we use for drop-offs—our client is very secretive. You’ll see it a few feet into the entrance. Deliver the letter and we can proceed.”

  Kefier glanced at the letter. The seal was black and outlined with a wolf’s head. “That’s it?”

  “A start. Show us you can be trusted,” Thiar said. He patted Kefier’s shoulder. “Now, don’t you have a drinking party to catch up to? The sun will set, soon. You don’t want to be here when it gets dark.”

  Kefier looked back at the cavern and swallowed. “Why not?” he asked, watching the ooze bubble and pop.

  “Oh.” Thiar smiled. “It’s just easy to trip. That’s all. Talk to me when you get back, son, and we’ll discuss the rest of your paperwork. And son, don’t tell anyone about this. With what this job is worth, the last thing we want is every Boarshind rank and file thinking they can bid for it. It’s not that kind of job, Kefier. Remember that.”

  Chapter Two

  It was a very long walk back to Cairntown. The dry heat drummed over Kefier’s eyelids and made him so drowsy that every once in a while he would stop to check that he hadn’t dropped the letter. He felt like a boy who had just been entrusted with his father’s sword. A contract of his own, a chance to do work few others were entrusted with! The more he thought about it, the more eager he was to get started. By the time he got to Cairntown, he was grinning from ear-to-ear.

  He took their supplies back to Mim Comfrey’s, the inn he and Oji usually stayed at. Everyone was too busy with their afternoon chores to talk to him, but he saw Lisa putting up clothes to dry out in the courtyard and found himself gazing at her from the window.

  “Why am I here? You naive boy. I’m just sitting around, biting my fingernails and hoping someday a man with enough balls will come and offer me a life away from all of this. Now shut up and go to sleep.”

  Of course, he couldn’t tell her anything now, but he imagined her dark, freckled face smiling at the news and felt himself blush. Before he got too carried away by his daydreams, he turned and changed into a new shirt. He folded his old one and some of Oji’s dirty laundry from the floor and stacked them near the dresser to make them easier for her later.

  The sun had set when he got to Blue-dog’s tavern. Before he could walk in, he could tell that half the men—including Oji—were already drunk. Too many mugs and ribald songs were in the air and some of the women had bared their breasts. One was even riding a man while pretending to sit on his lap in the corner.

  Kefier went straight to the largest table. Oji caught sight of him and waved his hand. “Oi, Kefier!” he yelled. Despite being red-faced and drunk as shit, he looked boyish as ever. “Get started! Throw him some ale, Rok.”

  “Piss on ale. Have a man’s drink, pup!” Rok laughed. He filled a small glass with brandy and shoved it into Kefier’s hands. “One, two...!”

  Kefier inhaled the drink and slammed the empty glass on the table. Some of the men cheered and Oji grinned. “You’re doing much better than that first time,” he said, his eyes crinkling. “You remember, Rok? He threw up so much.”

  “You idiots forced it down my throat,” Kefier grumbled. He grabbed a stool and pushed himself in between Rok and Oji. From across the table, he saw Gaven glaring at him. He smiled back and took another shot of brandy. “Give us a song, Oji,” he added, his words starting to sl
ur.

  “Ah, amaha,” Oji said, squeezing the buttocks of the girl on his lap. The girl squealed and nuzzled her nose against the sparse hairs on his chest. “This is a Jin-Sayeng love song, ever so popular in my hometown of Akki.” He swirled his mug on the table and began to sing.

  Oji had a good voice, actually, one that might have been worth listening to on another day. It was the kind that grumbled a little and he could reach high notes if he set his mind to it. Tonight, of course, he didn’t. He sang painfully and excruciatingly, making the entire tavern howl with laughter.

  But of course, they would. It was gibberish to them. Only Kefier in that entire room heard the tremble in his voice when he sang, over the course of the river, to my home, to you, to you, to you…

  He took a mug of ale and a loaf of garlic-pepper bread, just as Rokarsh slapped a meaty palm on his shoulder. He cringed, but smiled up. “Turning dust mites into little city folk again, are we?”

  “I'm sorry?”

  “You look serious tonight. Constipated?” He grinned. “Or are you thinking of that job again? You’re going tomorrow whether you like it or not, so no sense worrying about it all night. Think about how wonderful it would be to walk out of all of this. Jin-Sayeng is a beautiful country, Kef, no matter what you think of Oji.”

  “Come with us, Rok,” Oji broke in, his curls glistening with sweat. “There’s nothing like the harbour in Akki. Nothing, by Gebuth or Agartes or whatever it is you folks here swear by. The starsh jusht glishen over the water, you know?”

  “Ah, well, you make me wish I did,” Rok sighed, winking at Kefier.

  “Damn Gaven, you said you’d go with us. What was that bit about business first? Fucking snob.” Oji threw Gaven a hateful glance. “I tell you, ever since you became Algat’s right hand you were never the same. You used to know how to have fun.”