The Vastness

by Hausladen, Blake;

  The red pennant atop the nearby watch tower snapped in the breeze. I could not turn a corner without seeing one since the Dame had raised them above every tall structure. I would catch other people, weary like me, glance at them before focusing again upon their work. It was not discussed, but the worry hung upon us all. Madness waited for those who stood still.

  Occasionally, the topic of celebrating Dia and Soma’s return would lighten a meal. I could not bring myself to join in, but it did not offend me to hear it. The optimism of the talk was contagious enough to keep me from stabbing my food and slamming my fists into the table. They had me figured out, of course. Conversations of all kinds had been started around me during those long days of heaving Katat up out of its grave. Someone was always watching for my mood to change, and any topic that put me off was abandoned with remarkable speed. The Chaukai had become masters of managing the lingering flaws of my upbringing.

  The latest plan was to decorate the waterfall and long arms of the aqueduct with yellow ribbons and banners, enough to make you think the sun had fallen atop the waterfall its rays were shinning down upon us.

  And, oh, how Enhedu desired to celebrate. The entire province had spent two days drinking and stuffing itself the day Mayor Oklas finished our first well that long spring ago. My wedding has seen twice as many faces and four times the amount of glazed pork and stewed apples. The many simple weddings during those long seasons lit the dark forest with such song it occasioned me to envy a quieter life. The Chaukai had their own private celebrations, I’d come to learn—days set aside to remember their honored dead.

  I was thinking on what such a gathering might be like, while my truck was hefted onto the coach. I’d not attended any—at high tide under a full moon, if I had to guess. They would recall their dead with stories, drink to them, and dance. It’s how I wanted to be remembered, too.

  You could always tell which families were Chaukai the morning after one of those nights—if you knew to look for it. A person with a memory for faces and names would have known them all after a season. It took me a year and the occasion of five funerals before I was able of telling a Furstundish from a Kennculli from a Sedauer. Each had a patriarch like the Sedauer’s aunt Burti, and I’d done well to learn at least their names. It was a manufactured familiarity, but asking a Kennculli guardsman after the health of his grandma Tildi did more than any platitude a recovered—recovering—Yentif could conjure.

  The length of red cloth caught my eye again. It glowed angrily in the light of the setting sun.

  “Ready, my king?” Errati asked from his seat. “I’ve loaded the coach with pillows and blankets. You’ll be asleep in no time.”

  This swayed me and I climbed into the coach. The driver coaxed the team forward and Gern called the escort company of Chaukai into motion. One of the lead riders was upon a stout horse of a kind I’d not seen before. It was too soon for it to be an Akal-fell. The oldest of them was no more than a year old. I’d have to remember to ask after its origins.

  Errati had not lied about the pillows. I was curled up into a ball before the sounds of the city faded.

  I woke to the sound of a small bell and sat up into a blazing beam of the dawn that had snuck through the shutters. While blinking away the glow burned into my eyes, and I became aware of how still the carriage had become.

  “Is that you, my king?”

  “We’ve arrived?”

  “Not that long ago. I thought it best to let you sleep a touch while the Chaukai made camp—despite how much that must make me sound like some Deyalu toady. It is going to be a busy day. The bell was the start of the day here, and the work crews are on the move. Your tent is ready for you now, if you would like to freshen up before the tour.”

  I did, found a bit of food on the way, and heard a fresh summary of the indigo crop Sjolandi meant to grow. If they could establish a substantial crop, the demand for it was sure to outstrip that of our armor and longbows. There was not a single thing in the provinces colored red, blue, orange, or purple that did not owe its dye to Bessradi. The city’s monopoly on indigo and cinnabar had persisted for centuries, but like so many things, that control was no more. We’d find none of the crimson dust in Enhedu, but perhaps her hills could grow the blue steeped leaves. Enhedu could make its own dye vats, lye, and soda ash, so there was nothing at all to stop us—save mismanagement.

  The town’s senior master and his overseer met us in a clearing beneath a thick forest of old trees that guarded the two wide fields east of the town. The men were nervous, and rightly so—their failings requiring my attention.

  They led us between the hills to a second clearing crowded with open-faced sheds that predated me. I was treated to a story of how the place has once been one of Enhedu “wild” patches—small crops and gardens hidden from Zoviyan tax collectors upon the slopes of the hills. The simple tables beneath each shed were made of the same wood as the shingles and the unfinished posts. Baskets and machetes hung from the rafters and hand-painted banners bearing the names of the families who worked it draped the posts—the Sedauer and Furstundish were amongst them.

  Pigs patrolled the place and kept the ground clear of plants. One animal, clever or lucky, had a blue face and seemed content to lie in a patch of sun. One noisy rooster circled, trying to enjoy the same. The men that crowded the tables bickered about their tools and their aches. The master took the opportunity to bemoan all the problems that plagued him before trying to ply me with a bean cake and a mug of beer.

  I avoided the brew by asking them to show me the fields. The walk was shorter than I’d imagined, up a slope through the trees. The worker’s tools lay along the path—dropped in the damp grass without regard. Drainage channels cut at angles down the path and the water dumped into piles of cuttings so rotten that the pigs would not touch them.

  The nursery on the forward end was too small, and part of the hill on the north side had been washed down, burying several rows of young plants. Standing pools along the rows were wretched with tadpoles, and the field beyond was littered with toad droppings.

  The overseers seemed oblivious to these details, telling me instead about how the Enhedu sun was too warm for such a delicate plant.

  “I believe I see the problem,” I said and turned back.

  A meal was waiting for us in the most substantial of the sheds, and all the workers gathered around while the master and overseer leaned across the table at me.

  “What say you, my king? How can we fix this?”

  I began to formulate an answer. I almost took hold of the fresh mug of beer the overseer pressed at me. Every pair of eyes was upon me. Their faces were too familiar, and I paused to look around. The overseer and many of the men there were related to Fana, each having the same cut of jaw as her father. Three besides Gern had the wrinkled forehead of the Furstundish.

  Every single person there, save Errati and myself, was Chaukai.

  Why had I been brought?

  I didn’t have an answer. The problems around me were too many and too obvious. Tadpoles and rusty tools—the scene had been manufactured. The Chaukai were a free people and did not need my permission to conduct their business, but this was something else. I’d been removed from Katat for an undisclosed reason.

  I could not abide it.

  I took the offered mug, breathed in its aroma, and gave it a taste. Mugs went up all around me.

  “No, this won’t do,” I said. “Seeing an adventure such as this set right requires a proper toast. I have a keg of brown ale in my carriage. We will toast with it instead.”

  They applauded this, and I took Errati by the arm as I edged through the crowd.

  “We’ll be right back,” I said, waving off the overseer who trailed us. “I know where it is. Please, empty your mugs to make room, I insist.”

  They parted for us, gulping as they did to see who’d finish last. Errati started gulping his down, too, and I bumped him as we went. The brew spilled across his face and down his chest. />
  The crowd laughed at his most Bessradi of expressions, and I cackled along with the rest at his expense. He fumed while I tugged him outside.

  He was properly angry at my treatment. I grabbed him by his beer-soaked tunica. “I need a Bessradi man. Are you loyal to me or to them?”

  His anger got in the way, and I had to give him a shake. “We must be away. The Chaukai manufactured this drama to get me out of Katat. I mean to head back. Are you with me?”

  Gern approached then, and Errati was wise enough to change the subject. “Careful, Gern. He is all elbows and comedy today.”

  “Come, let’s find that keg,” I said and took Gern by the arm. His mug splashed on his sleeve and he protested.

  “Told you,” Errati said.

  “I didn’t know a keg made it aboard the carriage,” Gern said.

  I ignored this and led them to the half-finished Chaukai camp. The carriage was parked where I’d gotten out. The team had been unhitched and moved around to a shaded pasture.

  “It is inside,” I said to Gern.

  “You snuck one aboard? I’d not known you’d grown so fond of it. We’ll make an Enhedu man of you yet.”

  I encouraged him inside so that he could help me carry it out. He went and I followed close.

  “Not much room in here with all these pillows. Where is it?”

  “Give me your mug so you don’t spill it.”

  He handed it over, and I struck him behind the ear with it. The contents splashing across the interior, and he slumped onto one of the seats.

  “Give me your sash,” I said to Errati, “and keep a lookout.”

  He was aghast but handed it up, and I used it to tie Gern’s arms behind his back. I used his belt to lash his arm to his feet and found a cloth to gag him.

  A few slaps brought him around.

  “Yes, I just hit you with your own mug.”

  His confusion kept him from struggling for the moment.

  “The Chaukai are up to something at Katat. A nod is all I need.”

  He shook his head vigorous instead.

  “Your father did not raise a liar. Did you conspire with the Chaukai to remove me from the city?”

  He became stone-faced.

  “Fana’s doing?”

  He fidgeted and then mumbled as if he wanted to explain.

  “If you cry out, I will break your jaw. Swear on Dia’s life that you will keep still.”

  He nodded and coughed once as I pulled out the gag. I hold his mug high while he spoke. “She thought it best if you were not there. She and Lady Jayme are working on a magic to help us fight the Ashmari. You shouldn’t interfere.”

  “What is this magic?”

  “The druids do not share their plans with the Chaukai nor the crown.”

  “Hiding this from me is no way to encourage me to ignore it. You go too far, Gern.”

  “The Chaukai must find a way to preserve us. At all costs we must defeat them. You know this.”

  “I cannot trust a magic made by those who would practice deceit against me. I am riding south. On your honor, you will not try to stop me.”

  “My king, I must. I cannot leave you alone and unguarded. This above all else, you cannot—”

  “Left ear or right?”

  He took a breath to cry out, and I struck him on the same spot I’d hit him the first time. Blood ran from his split ear into his uniform as I eased him onto his side.

  I had to climb over him to get out, and found a very distraught Alsman outside.

  “What is going on?”

  “The druids are making magic without my leave. I’m headed back to stop them. Help me with the horses.”

  “We cannot outride the Chaukai riding bareback on exhausted carriage horses.”

  “Hush, we are not riding far.”

  He was quick to help and also right about the horses. They began to complain the moment we climbed up, and one of the Chaukai in the camp spotted us as we rode south on the road.

  That was all I needed.

  “Come, let’s get out of sight,” I said, hurried around a bend, and turned us west into the trees.

  Errati did not understand and began to protest again. I stopped us in a thick stand of oak and left the horses hidden there. Errati was beside himself.

  “To the coast, damn you. Everyone forgets our ships, even the men that live here.”

  This may have calmed him, but I had no more time for him and pulled him north toward a low hill. Salt beds lined the sunny side and racks of drying fish lined the top. We found a fresh-built warehouse at the bottom end and a pier hidden on the far side. One of Sevat’s tall ships at anchor was at anchor there.

  I hurried us down, and for the first time in my life I could not wait to be out to sea.

  We reached the back end of the warehouse, and once inside, I led us straight for the office every such warehouse had in the near corner. We found two men inside working upon manifests at a small desk. Both were dressed simply, but a pair of yellow caps hung on pegs behind the desk. I closed the door as the pair looked up.

  “You are Soma’s men?” I asked.

  “My king, where did you come from? Come in, please. Can I get you anything?”

  “Father,” said the second. “Our king asked you a question.”

  “What? My. Yes. Yes, I am. We are. She hired me away from you, you may recall. I was one of the bookkeepers you rescued in Alsonvale after the Bessradi fire. This is my eldest and Sjolandi’s harbormaster, Tucker5. You were stomping your way down the middle of the street the day you found us, your arms folded in what seemed perfect Yentif anger as you considered me and my boys. I’d worried for a moment you meant to drive us off for using the fountain to wash the ash and soot from our hands and faces. You pointed instead at the brush box tucked on my pack and offered to take me into your service—if you remember the day, my king.”

  “You make me smile to recall it, yes. I was a fool then, and am perhaps as much a fool now. This matter is urgent, so I must beg your forgiveness for setting aside the remembrance.”

  “You need never apologize to me, my king. Tell us how we might help you. Tucker5 does all the hard work, truth be told. He has younger eyes.”

  “Are any of the ships here ready to depart?”

  The overwrought father relented to his calm son. The boy—the man certainly, for he could not have been any younger than me—replied, “Not at the moment, but the Repost could be made to sail immediately, if needs must.”

  “Can you get us aboard without being seen?”

  The father was slow to grasp this, but the son hurried toward the door and peeked out. “Could you abide being in a crate for a time?”

  “We can.”

  “Oh, the manifests,” the father protested. “They will be all wrong if we send the ship half loaded.”

  “All will suffer the loss and work with honor, father. Go tell Captain Summer you’ve an urgent cargo that must be moved to Katat. I get these two squared away.”

  The father went, and I got to enjoy Errati glaring at me as he settled into a straw-lined crate to have the lid nailed over him. I was still chuckling when Tucker5 helped me into my own box. It grew hot and stuffy quicker than I expected. It was hard to hold still after that, and harder still to keep quiet as men drayed us down the pier. I began to worry they would drop me over the side into the water. They did not, and I came to rest in a dark place. Tucker5 opened my crates as soon as the ship started moving.

  The captain was a tall, robust woman with a flushed face—from the salt, sun, or drink I could not tell. I guessed her Krimish by her red hair and freckles even though the mix of faces in Enhedu had taught me not to trust any the old measures for such things. There was no doubt that she was one of Soma’s when she hefted me out of the crate by the arm, and I was at once heartened to see the proper yellowcoats of her crew. My hand did not engulf hers I shook it, and I said hellos to her and her crew while Tucker5 helped Errati extract himself.

  “You
don’t look so good,” I said to my Alsman.

  “Fleur warned me that you would be my death.”

  Harbormaster Tucker5 handed him a cloth to sop his forehead and the captain asked me, “How can we help, my king?”

  “There is trouble brewing with the Chaukai. I need to get back to Katat as fast as possible and gather up some men to get it sorted.”

  “About time we did something,” Tucker5 said, to a chorus of agreement from the sailors. “The yellowcoats will stand with you. Every man.”

  This snatched Errati’s attention, and he beat me to the question. “What do you mean, about time?”

  “Beg pardon, my king for speaking out of turn.”

  “I’ll have nothing but the truth of it. Speak.”

  “My king, all the north profits, but your Chaukai abuse the rest of us, taking it with both hands. All of it flows to Katat and the College of Healers. We’ve let it pass for three seasons, but now they are working to replace even the yellowcoats with their own men. Sevat put a stop to them crewing and using ships without leave, but they’ve switched to moving their cargo overland instead of by ship.”

  “Gern and Company?” I asked.

  “They move it via his ponies, yes. A feud between green and yellow has been brewing for some time. You move against them now, my king?”

  “I’d not thought I was, but it seems now that I am.”

  Errati’s face and hair were covered in straw, but he had stopped fussing. His stillness disturbed me. He asked, “Are the court and their bailiffs with us or the Chaukai?”

  “They stand with Barok,” Tucker5 said. “Dia and Fana hired locals, so the greencoats control everything near the king. Soma crewed her ships with boys from everywhere from Bessradi to Wilgmuth, so the Chaukai don’t have hold of them. The craftsmen and administrators are all from Aderan and Alsonvale, like pa and me. You can count on them, same as Erom and his quarrymen from Trace.”