by Kara Timmins
“I’d like that. Thank you.”
Eloy resisted the urge to reach up and touch the stone hanging against his chest. The more Critiko told him, the more Eloy was sure that somehow something up ahead would help him find the treasure promised to him so long ago.
3
The next day, they set out at the first touch of morning light. The settling ash and blackened still-smoking landscape gave the world an eerie sense. Critiko pointed out patches to walk around to ensure safe passage.
“You have this fixed look of worry.” Critiko pointed at his own exaggerated furrowed brow and laughed.
“Shouldn’t I?” Eloy said. “It’s all ruined. All the plants are dead, and the animals are gone.”
“Nah. It’s not ruined. I mean, what was here is ruined, but the place isn’t. This is supposed to happen. If you come back through after a spell, you’ll see the green breaking through the black ground. The fires are good for it. Look—here’s what I mean.”
Critiko reached down with a hand dusted white from dehydration and picked up something that looked sharp.
“This pod,” Critiko went on, “comes from that tree right over there, and the tricky thing about this pod is that it needs the heat of a fire to pop it open and spread its seeds. Without the fire, there would be no new trees. My brother and I used to throw them into the campfire when we were little. Never failed to entertain. You get what I am saying about the forest, though?”
“I get it,” Eloy said. “I guess it’s hard to imagine it right now.”
“Makes sense, but something tells me I don’t need to tell you what it means that things don’t stay one way, both good and bad.” Critiko tossed the empty seed pod back to the ground.
“You would be right,” Eloy said.
Eloy walked a few steps before Critiko grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Careful there! You almost stepped in a scabber hole. I’d hate to have to carry you the rest of the way.” Critiko put an arm over Eloy’s shoulders and patted his chest. “You look like a dense guy, and youth escaped me some time ago.”
“I didn’t see it. Thank you.”
“You stick with me, my boy. I’ll get you there safe.” Critiko laughed and moved on.
Eloy walked behind him, careful to step in the outline of Critiko’s leather-wrapped feet.
They walked through the skeletal black forest through the day, but Critiko kept it from being grim. He filled the time with stories of his many trading trips, and when he wasn’t talking, he was singing. By the time they went to sleep with stomachs full of food they’d found and Critiko prepared, Eloy had developed an affection for the man. He assumed the feeling of comfort was mutual given that Critiko was back to milling about the camp without a shirt on by morning.
4
We’re almost there,” Critiko said after a few days. “Soon we’ll have all the food we can eat and all the drink we can . . . drink. Maybe you’ll be interested in getting cleaned up. Let’s see if you have a face under all that hair.”
Eloy scratched at his chin. “That bad, huh?”
“I mean, you look like a man who never learned shaving was a thing.” Critiko rubbed at his own white stubble. “Hey, what do you get when you kick a rabbit?”
“What?” Eloy shook his head. After a few days of travel with Critiko, he had an idea of what was coming next.
Critiko was already laughing. “A hare ball.”
The blackened terrain left by the fire’s destruction was a day behind them, and the cool air and vibrant shades of green made it an easy setting to tell and laugh at jokes.
“We should reach Valia by midday.” Critiko rubbed his palms together in small circles.
“I’m going to catch some of that excitement,” Eloy said, “and I don’t even know what I’m walking into.”
“You should! Valia will take care of you, my young man. We pile the meat up high, build the beds up thick, and fill the glasses up full.” Critiko guffawed.
Envisioning Critiko’s promises built a yearning in Eloy that felt like a joint that needed cracking, and he let out a sound of longing that was only partly for Critiko’s amusement.
Eloy thought about Curiol with its dusty pathways and wise, bustling traders—a town built on integrity, one of his favorite characteristics imprinted on the town by Francena. He thought about Ocupan, south of the salt flats, with its chaos and looming housing structures made of red mud. He wondered how Valia would compare to both of those.
But nothing he had seen in those towns could have given him a reference for what to expect when he finally crossed the boundaries into Valia. The shades of green from the forest flowed inside the town. Rows of plants laden with the multicolored fruits, vegetables, and flowers stretched to the forest in the distance. Eloy’s view was unobstructed by manmade structures. The houses loomed high off the ground, propped on girthy pillars, which the vines had wrapped themselves around many times over and bulged with fruit in various stages of ripened red. Valia looked like something from a dream.
“Something, isn’t it?” Critiko said. “I told you you would like it. There’s no place like this that you will ever see.” He put an arm around Eloy’s shoulders.
“You’re right about that,” Eloy said in a breathy whisper.
“You can see that we try to use as much of the area as we can for growing food. We have a few places out in the forest for a couple of things that only grow around trees, but everything you see here is used to feed the town. Come and take a look at this.”
They walked down a narrow path that snaked around the homes.
“There are gutters,” Critiko said as he pointed upward, “that wrap around every home and collect the rain water, which pools underneath and rains down below. The plants that need the least amount of sun are in the middle and move out in need from there.”
“It’s incredible.” Eloy craned his neck to look at the intricate woodwork that made up the bottom of the house.
“It sure is,” Critiko said. “A real piece of work, and I can say that with sincerity since I’ve had to build a few and repair a few more. Now come on, the sooner we get to the house, the sooner we can take a load off and clean the stink of travel off ourselves. What do you say?”
“Sounds good,” Eloy said. “As long as you’re still okay with me tagging along.”
“If I wasn’t okay, I would let you know. Plus, I need someone to get a drink with me after I get cleaned up.”
They walked along the walkway until they stopped at a raised house toward the end of the path. Just like all the others they passed, the plants looked pruned and well taken care of.
“This is it,” Critiko said. “Home is where the brew has already been paid for, as they say.”
Eloy looked up at the wooden staircase leading to Critiko’s home. Each slab of wood was evenly cut and stacked to make a beautiful and sound-looking structure. A dark sealant against the damp air and grasping plant life gave the wood grain a beautiful sheen.
“You made this?” Eloy asked.
“Well, some of it,” Critiko said. “This one was mostly made by my father. We built it together. There might have been some drink involved, which is probably why a few of the pieces in the floor are crooked, but I can’t confirm or deny. Go on. Guests first.”
The wooden steps held stable under Eloy’s footfall, and the handrails were enough to make the ascent stress free. The door didn’t resist as Eloy pushed in. Weak rays of light filtered into the dark house and caught the swirls of disturbed dust. Eloy could smell its stale hold on the room.
“Well, this is home. Give it a minute, and it’ll warm on ya.” Critiko dropped his packs and bags with a thud on the wood floor and went around to lift the window flaps. The damp plant-rich air whipped around and pulled at the smells of neglect.
“How about I make you something hot to drink?” Critiko said.
/> “That sounds great,” Eloy said, “if it isn’t too much trouble,”
“Well, I’m going to make it for myself either way.” Critiko let out another one of his laughs.
Eloy couldn’t help but smile at the sound of it.
Critiko lit a fire in a corner of the room lined in iron, and everything became illuminated, the wooden surfaces enhancing the golden light to give the room an ethereal warmth. The extra light revealed the quaint nature of the dwelling. Yet again, Critiko was right. Eloy felt a warming coziness to the space. He put his things down by the door and sat in a wooden chair at the round table in the center of the room.
The cup of steaming liquid that Critiko placed on the table was black enough that Eloy couldn’t see through it, and the smell of it clung to the depths of his nostrils almost painfully with an aroma that was equal parts sweet and earthy.
“Ah, don’t give it that look,” Critiko said. “It’ll warm you, but don’t drink it yet. Go under the house and shower up. Don’t worry about privacy. One of the pillars has a section of hinged wood. Pull it around you. No one can see. I have to be off real quick on an errand of sorts. Now remember, you’re going to be cleaning with the collected rain water, and it’s going to be as cold as an imp’s tongue—which is why I say to save the drink. You’ll be shivering so hard that you’re not even going to care how it tastes, but it’ll warm you right back up. When I get back, we can go out and I’ll introduce you to some of the drinks Valia is really know for.”
He gave Eloy a nudge and winked a wrinkled eye, then rummaged around a cupboard, unraveled a slab of soap from a leaf, and put it next to the steaming cup before turning to the door. Halfway out, he turned around again, remembering something else. He rummaged around the cupboards a second time before placing a thin blade next to the soap.
Critiko scratched his fingertips against the scruff of his face. “For the hair mask. Don’t want to freak anybody out with that wild bush on your face.”
Eloy laughed. “You don’t think it’ll give me the advantage of mystery?”
“About as much mystery as a bear.”
The second time Critiko went to leave, he didn’t turn back around.
Even with the warning, the bathing experience under the house was colder than Eloy was prepared for, and removing his facial hair with a straight blade while fighting against the tremors from the chill was a laborious task.
He was clutching the still-steaming cup when Critiko returned.
“Well, look at you,” Critiko said. “Not a bad face under all that scruff . . . if the streaks of blood don’t freak people out.”
“Are the cuts that bad?”
“Ah, not so bad. Anyone who can’t handle some scratches on a man isn’t one you want to get to know anyway. I’ll be just as polished as you in two flicks of a bunny’s nose—unkicked, of course. We don’t actually do that here. Just you hang tight a little longer, and we’ll be ready to go out and really enjoy Valia.”
Critiko finished bathing and shaving by early evening, and as they left the house, Eloy saw a different side of Valia. Eloy sensed a dark uncertainty about the surrounding forest, but Valia was a pocket of glowing light and sound. Little candle flames floated from the arches and overhangs, each fastened with delicate wire hangers. The trails that had been empty when they first arrived were now filled with people milling around.
“I didn’t think so many people lived here,” Eloy said.
“Some people were out working,” Critiko said, “but most were sleeping. We are a people who stay up late and wake up early in order to tend to what needs tending. That way, we have time to finish up before midday, get some rest, and be out again by early evening. Now’s the time when people wake up.”
Critiko raised an eyebrow to accompany his mischievous grin.
They weaved through and around gardens and homes before rounding a corner to an elevated structure that was at least three times the size of those around it. Most of the crowd seemed to be moving toward it. A chimney on one side puffed out vapor clouds that laced the area with the aroma of crisping meat, herbs, and vegetables. The smell wrapped around Eloy like a blanket when he and Critiko walked inside. Long wooden tables stretched from one side to the other in three rows. If the people filling the seats had an organization in their grouping, Eloy couldn’t see it. The congeniality was seamless as it moved down the tables. The sounds of the humming murmur of conversation, punctuated by barking laughter or clanking dishes, seemed to vibrate through the wooden walls. Eloy scanned the rows in awe.
People called out to Critiko as he and Eloy walked through the rows.
“How was the trade season?”
“Good to see you, man!”
“We missed you! Maybe not your singing, but we sure missed you!”
“You may not have missed it,” Critiko called back, “but you’re sure gunna hear some tonight!”
The calls continued, Critiko responding the whole way, until he and Eloy found a part of the bench open enough for two to sit side by side. The man across from them had a long face with small features. His eyes were close together and separated by the narrow bridge of his nose.
“Well, look who it is,” the man said. “It’s been a while, my friend.”
“Just got back today,” Critiko said. “Gwyn, this is my friend, Eloy.”
“A pleasure,” Gwyn said. “Looks like we need to get you some food. They might have something for you too, Crit.”
Gwyn was already halfway through a plate of white, glistening meat accompanied by a bounty of plump vegetables. He waved at a man chatting his way through the crowd and held up two fingers.
“So, what kind of misfortune got you tied up with this old guy?” Gwyn asked Eloy.
“Not so old yet.” Critiko brought two fists up to his chin and bobbed his head from side to side.
“Just a fateful meeting during my wanderings,” Eloy said. “I’m glad I did, though, otherwise I might never have found my way here.”
“We’re proud of our little town,” Gwyn said. “If you weren’t on your way here, where were you headed?”
“Nowhere specifically,” Eloy said.
“You’ve got courage,” Gwyn said. “I’ll give you that. The chances of walking into things of the dangerous kind are greater than finding a friendly face around here, that’s for sure.”
The man Gwyn had motioned to walked up behind Eloy and Critiko and put two plates on the table.
“Ah, food’s here!” Critiko gave his belly a few pats in excitement.
The man who put the food down had a layer of thick amber hair over all the visible parts of his body. “Good to see you back, Crit. How you been?” he asked.
Critiko looked up at the broad man and smiled. “No complaints here, Leit. How’ve you been?”
“Nic’s men just about cleaned me out not two days ago. So, not too much has changed since last I saw you.” Something across the room caught Leit’s attention. “We’ll catch up later. Always good to see you, Crit.”
Critiko looked over at Eloy, assessing. “Everything okay? You look a little frazzled.”
“Nic’s men?” Eloy asked, his voice tight. “As in Nicanor?”
Critiko took a bite of food. “Believe me, we don’t like it any more than you seem to. Nicanor sends a fighter or two; they take whatever food they want and head off. We don’t like it, but they keep the peace . . . or so they say.” Critiko mumbled the last few words.
Eloy looked at the door. “Any chance they’ll be back anytime soon?”
“Nah.” Critiko had a lump of food in his cheek. “Doubt it. No need to worry yourself. Cheer up, my boy. We’re here to let go of the days of hard travel.” He put an arm around Eloy’s shoulders and gave him a shake. “Get to it!”
Eloy willed his body to relax, and he turned his attention to the vegetables and meat steaming up
into his face, beckoning him into a blissful and thoughtless consumption of flavors deep and new.
Critiko took his arm off Eloy’s shoulders and went back to his meal. “Go ahead and ask Gwyn some of your questions. He’s the guy you want to talk to. He’s the only one crazy enough to go out into the northern forest for his trade goods,” Critiko said, a sheen of oil on his lips.
Gwyn finished the last bite of his own meal. “There are bigger rewards out in those trees.”
Eloy swallowed a lump of soft potato. “Critiko told me there are magical things out there.”
“He told you right,” Gwyn said. “Most of us don’t really know what happens at the heart of the forest either. It’s mostly uncharted. It gets too dangerous, even for someone like me. Creatures you can’t imagine—bugs and beasts, some with poison, some with teeth. Are you two ready for something to drink with those meals?”
Gwyn flagged down a different person, who put two different cups in front of each of them.
“So, the little cup is the one that makes things fun,” Critiko said, “but the big one is the one that’ll help you get the stuff from the little cup down, got it?” Critiko held both cups up for demonstration. “You can drink the little one all at once or mix it into the big one. That, my friend, is one of the big choices in life.” Critiko took the smaller cup, tipped its contents quickly in his mouth, and gagged before chugging the liquid from the bigger cup. “You see”—he coughed against his words—“just like that.”
Eloy picked up both cups just as Critiko had done and made the mistake of smelling the lip of the small one. Like a barred window against a fierce wind, his nostrils closed tight against the burn of it. He could feel the mucus in his nose flow in an attempt to protect his body from what was most certainly dangerous. Mixing the two drinks seemed like the smarter way to go about getting the liquid down, but he decided to do just as Critiko had done. Eloy tipped the contents of the little cup into his mouth and gulped it down. The pain was immediate and made it easy to trace how it traveled through his insides.
