The Road Back to Effulgia Box Set

by Justin Kauer

Camp was made ready for the night. All was in place, as was best possible. Alban decided to confer with Ryan again.

  “You know, Ryan we may be in a compromised position, but we are not helpless. We must, however, decide what to do concerning these men that we have captive, and we will need more water if we are to get free of this desert.”

  “Do you mean the men that I hold captive in the basin?” asked Ryan.

  “My dear friend, Ryan, it was I who put those men into your hands in the first place. Also, according to Wafflestonks and to thief custom, they are my men. They may be at the disadvantage now, but they outnumber all of Decebal’s men that are with you now. What has gotten into you?”

  “Nothing!” Ryan lied. “I am fine.” When he saw that the lies did not fool Alban, he added, “I just am tense at the prospect . . . of our predicament.”

  “Yes, and what a fine prospect it is!” laughed Alban. “I agree that this is not the best of situations, but I cannot remember what the best could possibly be. I do know that life would be absolutely useless if it didn’t put us into situations where we are stretched a bit from time to time. See this as an opportunity to grow, my friend.”

  “I just didn’t want to grow this big all at once!” chuckled Ryan.

  Alban laughed too, but it was out of courtesy and by way of patching things up between the two. He had an idea as to why Ryan had suddenly gotten so upset, but now was hardly the time to settle things. “Ryan will have to be a man about it for now.” thought Alban to himself.

  “At any rate, here we are! We’ll have to do something about getting out of here.” Ryan said.

  “True.” Alban agreed.

  “Well, what do you suggest?”

  “There isn’t really much that we can do right now. If we leave these thieves behind, they will just climb out of that basin and come right at us again. Should we decide to continue waiting here, we will be able to hold these men. Maybe then, we could make a deal with the Effulgians and get our way clear of here.”

  “Is that it? That is all that you can think of?” asked Ryan disappointedly.

  “Well, the thought of my own freedom had occurred to me as something quite inviting. I could have easily assumed command of these thieves and gotten clear of here. I could be on my way to their lair or hold, what have they.”

  “What is it that stopped you from becoming a runaway slave?”

  “Ryan, it is simple. No matter who or what I was before I came into this type of life, I know what is right and what is wrong. We all really do, deep down inside. I simply have the luxury of not knowing anything else, right now. I did not want that for myself. While I do not hold to slavery, I could never live the life of a thief. I could never rob. It turns my stomach just thinking of it. But to murder to rob, that is much worse.”

  “But you just cut up a handful or more!” rebutted Ryan.

  Alban looked at Ryan in dismay, not because he did not want to explain himself, but because he should not have that to do. “That was honor!”

  “It was an honor to slice them up because they are thieves?” sneered Ryan.

  “No. I did it out of my sense of honor.” Alban began calmly, deflating Ryan’s aggression. “I had promised that I would bring your wagon back to you and I told . . . someone . . . Anyway, it had to be done. Self-defense is no crime. In fact, it is one’s duty. Do you find things otherwise?”

  “No!” Ryan agreed quickly — too quickly for his own taste. Then he looked puzzled and let out, “Uhhhh . . .”

  “Look, Ryan. I have been given such that I have been given. I cannot claim a past that is not in my memory. I have a clean slate, and I will take it and use it for good. I must do so in the event that my past is unfavorable . . . or to continue that which was good about me. Should my memory be healed, I should very much like to prove to myself that I can be noble and great, no matter what has happened before.” Alban paused and looked at Ryan in the deep admiration of a great friend. “Do the same, my friend. Forget your past — whatever it was that makes you distrust or mistrust yourself. It may have gotten you where you are now, but it occurs to me that a man should be able to change his course whether or not he receive a blow to the head.”

  “If I distrust myself so, then why should you want to be my friend?” quizzed Ryan.

  “You are one of the only ones here that, in spite of your rhetoric, has treated me as anything more than a slave . . . or master, I guess.”

  “Truth be told, I have never had such a good friend. You look after me and teach me even as (and especially when) I try to disconnect. You seem to understand me better than anyone else. I don’t get it.”

  Alban smiled and said, “I have merely tried. That made all of the difference.”

  “I guess so. Anyway, I suppose that what you surmise about the thieves is our best shot. That plan seems the best. There is just one thing that could stop its success.” he said.

  Ryan turned and walked the fifty or so yards back to the wagon where he opened a tool box and dug out a pair of metal snips. He shortly returned and placed the jaws around Alban’s armband. He squeezed with all of his might and a brisk ping rang out as the armband popped. He pried at the two sides of the slit that was left by the snips and widened the band enough to let it slide down Alban’s arm. Alban caught it with his other hand.

  “May I keep it?” asked Alban.

  “Yes,” Ryan affirmed. “Keep it and your freedom. But why should you want to keep a symbol of your captivity?”

  “It is not a symbol of my captivity!” Alban exclaimed. “It is the symbol of the freedom that friendship has afforded me!”

  “Friendship, a freedom?” asked Ryan. “I had never thought of it that way. Besides, you did save my life back there.”

  “Well, I meant only that our friendship is what brought about my freedom. But the more that I think about it, you are most certainly right about friendship being freedom. If one makes no friends, where is he? He has none upon which to rely. It does not matter how knowledgeable or strong a man may be, he will eventually find himself in a world of trouble from which he cannot spring himself.”

  “Yes. An ally can make all the difference in the world, in a scrape.”

  “No, Ryan, I am talking about friendship. Allies eventually will when convenient, turn their loyalties from one faction to another. I speak of friendship. Friendship is hardly a thing of convenience. In fact, it can seemingly, at times, be outright detrimental to one’s fiscal or social situation. Being a true friend to others is one of the most important things that we can do while in this world. If we really want to get back to heaven, we have to become like God, or we will not be fit for his kingdom. How can we do that if we do not learn to help his children like he would have it done? Every new person that we meet is another opportunity to do so!”

  “Is that it, Alban? Am I a pet project of yours?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Alban, shocked at the possible rebuttal of what he believed to be the definition of true friendship.

  “Do you think to make me a bass in your choir, then?” continued Ryan.

  Alban caught the twinkle in Ryan’s eye.

  “No, I don’t think that you could sing well enough. Furthermore, I do not have a choir. If I did, there would be no bucket wide or deep enough with which you could carry a tune, let alone harmonize. Besides, you are hardly a bass; you would be lucky to make baritone. Maybe you are a baritenor.” suggested Alban, laughingly.

  “Oh, I know that I’m no bass.” chuckled Ryan. “I am most definitely a tenor that comes from a long line of tenors. I was just trying to show you that I’m not suitable material for your type of choir!”

  “To what type of choir do you refer?” asked Alban in curiosity.

  “I guess we’ll find out sooner or later. I’m not even entirely sure. You can’t be sure either unless your memory has returned!”

  “I only wish that it were so.
I do grow tired of not knowing even the basics of who I am and . . . of people asking me if I remember.” Alban jabbed with nodded head and raised eyebrows.

  “That is the thing that most puzzles me about you!” began Ryan, as Alban nodded in agreement. “No! I mean that you don’t even know who you are, where you come from, or anything like that, yet you still go about as happy as a flitterbird. You wake up in slave’s chains (well, not in chains, but as a slave), there has been attempt after attempt on your life, you have nothing to your name (or lack of a name), and you flit about like you had no care in the world.”

  “There are no flitterbirds in these parts. They would not survive in such dry conditions.” laughed Alban. “I guess that would be the flip side of the coin, though. I cannot remember my past. Maybe that’s a good thing. If I were a murderous fiend before this . . . new life, I do not remember it. I have no political baggage, no burdens, no worries, no sins, and no known religious affiliation, though that last part saddens me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, how can I do what is right if I cannot remember the rights and covenants of my religion to do them?”

  “You refer to covenants and such? Who is not in that boat? Men forget such things all the time without any serious blows to the head. The mists of life creep in and obscure things to where they lose track of things that should already be an internal part of them. I think that when your memory returns, that you will find that you have been loyal to your God. Everything that I have seen you do has been noble and good. You must be one of those people that actually had those key elements internalized before that blow to the head.”

  “Well sung, my friend, and I welcome you to the choir!’ laughed Alban who was joined by Ryan. “You see, I told you that friendship gives you freedom. You just spoke your mind, knowing that I would accept it as a kindness paid to me. Men can still be kind to each other and have strong friendships. I know that it makes men stronger than otherwise.”

  “I guess that may be so, but what are we going to do now with that strength? The Effulgians, it seems, could be upon us any time now.”

  “Well . . .” Alban began, clearing his throat. “Wafflestonks told me that I was much earlier than he expected. As to how much earlier, I don’t know if we could get that out of him in time, whether we lulled him into confidence or beat it out of him (which I am opposed to doing). I think that our best bet is to set up some sort of defense against the event that they get here before dark and see where that takes us. If we make it until dark with no contact, we will have to set guards . . . and scouts round about to make us privy of their coming by night.”

  “That sounds good. I’ll take those things into consideration.” Ryan returned.

  “I do not wish to seem the ingrate, but I seem to be quite gifted in the art of war and defense. It is our best chance for now — unless you can think of any other plan. Also, it would be best if we could use the basin as a trap for the Effulgians if possible. We just have to figure out what to do with the thieves for now.”

  “Well, let’s set the guards and lookouts and figure things out from there.”

  “Agreed,” said Alban. “Although, it may be advantageous to get the gate open and shut ourselves inside with the thieves. That way, if we are attacked, we could use our arrows from cover. They would have none from outside the gate and most of the way up the path that leads to the upper shelf.

  As the two of them walked back to the others, Alban tapped Ryan on the back of the shoulder opposite of him. Ryan looked around to see who had tapped him.

  “What?” asked Alban.

  “I thought that someone had tapped me on this other shoulder, but there is no one here but the two of us. I could have sworn that . . . anyway, let’s get back to the others.” Ryan said with a wide-eyed, spooked look on his face. “I never have liked these parts of this desert.”

  “Oh, I know! It is just so hot down here in this valley!” suggested Alban.

  “Uhhh . . . Yes! Yes, it is!” Ryan poorly attempted to cloak his fear.

  Alban chuckled loudly and said, “Come on. We need to get everything ready.”

  Chapter Nine – Thieves