by K Schultz
An occasional cart or wagon heading towards the city relieved monotony, but the road saw little use at this time of year. The population in the southeast was sparse. It was early spring and the farmers were just planting crops so the roads were empty.
If there were no villages or towns within a day’s walk along the road, the King had erected mansios. Mansios were simple shelters for travelers, a roof and walls to keep out the wind and rain. Rehaak tired of sleeping in foul, vermin-infested inns or crowded, equally foul smelling mansios. Those were the good nights. There were other long nights, when he alternated between sleeping and shivering, under the stars. Although he still remembered how to live on very little, doing it was harder than it used to be, or perhaps just harder than he remembered.
In the town of Killaam, almost two days ago, he considered himself very lucky to find a decent inn. Killaam was a small town along the banks of the Stone Song River which rushed over a rocky bed, winding downward from the great mountains. The road more or less paralleled the river’s course since descending from the pass heading south. Along the road were many small villages spaced a day, or two days walk apart.
Though villages were frequent, towns were rare, and rarer still were decent inns. He had a hot bath at the bathhouse in Killaam, another rarity along the road. Once soaked and scrubbed, he sat with the locals sharing gossip and tankard’s of brew in the evening. From what he could remember, of the preceding evening, he had a good night’s sleep on a real bed following the festivities. At least he awakened in a bed — how he got there remained a mystery.
The people were friendly folk, eager for news of Narragansett and the wider world. Rehaak had regaled them with stories of his travels, and they shared the lay of the land nearby. Rehaak drank many tankards of the local brew, much to his regret the following day, when the diarrhea started. He wished he had brought his herbal cures, but he had fled the city unprepared and he made a mental note to locate medicinal herbs at his first opportunity.
After Rehaak crossed the bridge south of town, the road turned westward, away from the stream and out into a grassy plain. It became a rutted trail through the neck-high grass. Rehaak had filled his water skin before setting out into the ocean of greenery that rustled and undulated in the wind.
Last night Rehaak slept under the stars again, if you could call it sleeping. There were no building materials nearby, nor was there any source of water. He surmised that both factors contributed to the lack of accommodation.
The wide expanse of sharp bladed grass stretched for miles in every direction. Rehaak wondered how they had cut the trail across the plain. The blades of the grass were stiff and sharp as flint, sharp enough to slice through skin and clothing. The dry dead undergrowth was less nasty. Death blunted the edges of the vicious greenery. The fibers that remained after the grass weathered to a pale brown were fine and flexible, and as strong as iron, excellent raw material for rope and cordage.
The abundant grass was the only fuel available for a fire and the matted dead undergrowth would burn too well. He would have had to stay awake hacking the tough fibers with his dagger, throwing armloads of it into a fire, while preventing sparks from igniting nearby grass. He had no wish for the next person on the trail to discover his charred remains, which was likely, if he fell asleep with a fire blazing.
In light of the problems, Rehaak decided against the effort required to make a fire. He opted for sleep in a cold camp instead, piling the dry grasses under his bedroll for a passable mattress. Rehaak piled more grass over himself to keep the chill of the night air from penetrating his bedroll, and nocturnal biting insects from penetrating his sensitive skin.
Rehaak rose in darkness before the sunrise, not by choice and not happily. He tried to stretch away the stiffness in his joints and met with limited success. After a scanty breakfast, he set out again. At mid-morning, he stopped to consider his options and take a rest break. He ignored his thirst for a while because the sun was warm and pleasant on his aching back.
It was a lovely day. The sky, a perfect azure sapphire, lighter blue at the horizon with a few smudges of cloud, dabbed onto its surface with a god-sized paintbrush. Rehaak considered returning to Killaam, but there were dark shadows indicating trees in the distance, and therefore water. Since it was farther to go back trudged onward rationing his water as best he could.
With nothing to do but walk, his mind wandered. Rehaak cataloged his past like a merchant taking inventory. He had abandoned his home on his quest for truth as a lad. He had wandered the length of Kel Braah, visiting every library or ruin he could find. His search led him to Narragansett, where he ran out of initiative and integrity simultaneously. Rehaak concluded that it was easy to remain moral in temptation’s absence.
The city seduced him with its sophistication and wealth. The easy lifestyle and lax morals claimed his honor and integrity as a casualty. Life in the city changed him in ways he could never have imagined. Rehaak was not proud of what he became. Narragansett was a beast that could accommodate a host of small parasites like him but when he became too much of an irritant it excreted him like an intestinal roundworm.
By early afternoon, he limped and his mouth felt as parched and dusty as the trail. Rehaak’s water ran out in spite of careful rationing and it was still miles to the tree line. How much farther it was to water he could not guess.
Townsfolk at the inn said that settlers established the free town less than ten years earlier. If he followed the trail he would soon get to New Hope, but they were vague about the distance. He now suspected it was their idea of a joke. The townsfolk also said the colonists wanted help to prepare the crop land. Maybe that was a joke too.
The people who lived there called it New Hope, but the people at the inn called the town other things. The townsfolk made endless jokes about the name, as they disparaged the town, calling it No Hope, Not a Hope in Hell, on and on it went. Residents of Killaam had little respect for the poor, stupid city folk and their chances for success. Rehaak had joined in their laughter, but now he wondered if they were laughing at him instead of laughing with him.
When he first set out, he felt that New Hope was a good name for a destination, a name full of portents of prosperity and gratification. Now, the better part of two long warm days and one interminable icy night later, he had changed his mind.
“At least I’ll find shade under the trees,” he said aloud, just to hear the sound of his own voice although there was no silence to break. The sounds of life were abundant. Hoppers chirped, birds called to each other, and the grass rustled with every stray breeze, but the grassland felt desolate and silent in spite of it. As the sun-drenched plain continued to warm, the promise of shade in the forest beckoned him onward.
As his thirst and weariness grew, he changed his mind and renamed his destination. Rehaak was positive he was on the road to No Hope, tired and thirsty every step of the way but the forest loomed in front of him now, so he plodded on, bone weary.
Noises coming from behind him on the trail roused him from his thoughts. Rehaak turned to investigate the rumbling and creaking and saw a large freight wagon pulled by four gigantic mithun, plodding up the trail toward him. The people at the inn failed to tell him of a freight service. Rehaak resented their country humor. If they had told him, the true distance to New Hope or the freight service, he could have booked a ride.
Though the wagon’s progress was slow, they gained on him. Rehaak sat beside the trail and waited for them to draw even with him. Maybe the drover had water to spare. Rehaak marinated in equal parts of sweat and anger, while the team and their drover advanced at a steady walk.
The mithun were huge ox-like animals, between six and seven feet tall at the shoulder hump. Nose to tail they must have been at least twelve feet long. The drover had fastened the yoke to the long, curved horns. Their large ears flicked back and forth as insects tried to land on them.
The drover, who walked beside the wagon, had little to fear from wolves and other wi
ld predators because these four huge beasts protected him from attack. The gigantic wagon they pulled was no burden to such massive, powerful creatures, as they plodded along in the tracks carved into the soil by earlier journeys. Dust rose and roiled in lazy clouds with each step of their cloven hooves, before settling onto the earth again. A cloud of flies circled above them and in their wake.
“Damn those people at the inn,” he said.
This was a regular freight route. The folks at the inn were laughing their heads off at him, another stupid city dweller, while they swilled their vile brew. The townsfolk knew he faced tramping and sweating for days in the hot sun and shivering through the frigid nights, while swarms of biting insects feasted on his blood. Rehaak was just another uppity city boy too dumb to know any better and too arrogant to realize it. They took him down a peg.
Rehaak stood up, waved a greeting, and called out to the dark skinned figure with the wide-brimmed grass hat. Deep shadows under the hat brim hid the drover’s face. The fellow carried a stout staff that doubled as a tool to herd the beasts and as a weapon. His clothes were dustier and more threadbare than Rehaak’s own.
Rehaak beamed and waved his greeting again. Rehaak stood still as he waited for them to draw nearer. The person under the hat had still not responded, so Rehaak held his place to appear non-threatening. When they were a few paces apart, the team stopped. The beasts’ tails flicked in lazy irritation at the flies taking advantage of the pause in movement.
“Hallo,” croaked the stranger, in a voice as cracked as parched earth, and an accent as thick as the soil from which he could have sprung.
The drover stepped toward Rehaak saying, “If yuh be intent on mischief, I warn yuh now, dat dere ain’t naught worth havin on dis wagon. Duh lazy beasts pullin it won’t move lessn’ I go with em, and dis wagon be mighty heavy tuh be tryin tuh pull by yerself. As tuh me, you mightn’t find me an easy nut tuh crack with dat staff o yourn.” The drover spat into the dust.
“I am a traveler, good sir, headed for the village of New Hope, where I plan, Creator willing, to make my new home.”
The man drew closer. Rehaak saw the man’s dark eyes shining with mirth under the shadow of the hat. The bastard was grinning. It wasn’t a pleasant grin. He was missing some teeth — no — many teeth.
“Ah,” the fellow intoned. “Another pilgrim from duh city, come tuh seek fame and forchin in No Hope. Anudder lost soul on duh road.” A chuckle issued from the shadowed face. “Duh folk at duh inn warned me I might find such as yerself on duh road. A paying customer dey says. If duh wolves ain’t et ‘im, or if he ain’t froze to death. Thought it right funny too, dey did.”
Cold fury filled Rehaak, but damned if he would let this bumpkin make him the butt of their country humor. He bit back his rage and smiled as he extended his hand in greeting.
“I thought it was a pleasant day for a stroll. I needed to air out my clothes to remove the stench, of that nasty pigsty that calls itself a town back yonder,” he said mildly, smiling, his hand outstretched.
Laughter erupted from under the wide-brimmed hat. The man held his sides, tears streamed from his eyes, as he snorted and gasped trying to catch his breath.
“Do you need aid? I am a skilled healer,” Rehaak said, raising one eyebrow. “When you have calmed yourself, I would be happy to accompany you the rest of the way to the new town.”
Do these fits overtake you often sir?”
Rehaak walked over and consoled him by patting the shoulder of the man, who was helpless with mirth. Rehaak became alarmed. The fellow was wheezing struggling to breathe. The fellow coughed and hacked, and the laughter stopped as he gasped for breath.
They stood looking at each other for a moment, while the drover struggled to regain his composure.
“Yuh have metal in yuh I warrant. I did’n expect yuh tuh be so far this mornin.”
“Let’s just say I got an early start.”
Rehaak watched without comment as the man went to the wagon, and pulled up the dusty tarp that covered the load. The drover produced a large wooden tankard from a pile of gear inside the wagon bed. He inverted the mug, smacked it with his palm to knock out the dust, blew out the rest, and filled it from a barrel on the wagon. He downed the water then turned to Rehaak.
“It be usual tuh git payment fer water stranger. In yer case I’ll be askin fer naught from yuh, ‘cept duh entertainment yuh done give me,” he said, still smiling. The drover filled the tankard again and offered it to Rehaak.
“I dare not refuse your generosity good sir. For the sake of politeness, if for no other reason, I accept your gift.”
Rehaak smiled and bowed with a flourish.
The man started giggling again, as he handed Rehaak the mug. Rehaak snatched it from his hand, fearful the drover would renege on the offer. It was tepid and stale, but Rehaak, savored it more than the finest wines of Narragansett. It carved a moist river through the dusty desert of his throat.
“Dere be no room on duh wagon, but we kin walk tugedder if yuh likes. I ‘spect yuh’ll be more entertainin dan most of duh people I gets tuh meet.”
“If your last statement is true you need a wider circle of acquaintances,” Rehaak said. No offense intended sir
“None taken,” the man said. “But I ain’t no sir.”
“How shall I address you then, my good fellow?”
A round of giggling ensued. “Yuh sure talk funny. I ain’t yer ‘good fellow’ either. In fact, I ain’t no fellow a’tall,” he said, struggled with another bout of giggling.
“What do you mean?” Rehaak looked quizzically at the drover.
“I be a woman, stranger, but don’t go gittin no queer ideas. I knows how tuh handle mithun; and men ain’t dat much different. A good whack up duh side of duh head’ll put right any critter, whether man or beast. Course, y’are kinda cute and all.”
She smiled at Rehaak in her version of a seductive manner. Instead of exciting passion, it highlighted the obvious effects of rampant tooth decay and the sun damage to her leathery, dirt-encrusted face. He stared in slack-jawed astonishment as he studied her for a moment with a new understanding.
She might be forty but didn’t look a day over sixty. She was as rugged and weather-beaten as the mountain pines he had passed several tendays ago. It frightened him to think that she might well be the epitome of feminine beauty in these parts.
“I could never dream of rejecting your gracious offer or of sullying your good name madam,” he said, bowing with another flourish.
“My name is Rehaak and I beg your pardon for assuming you were other than the — fair flower of femininity, I now see revealed before me. Today’s bright sunlight must have blinded me to your loveliness, but how did one as comely as yourself become a drover of mithun? A drover is a man’s occupation is it not?”
“I swear lad, yuh’ve missed yer callin. Yuh can shovel shit better’n any stable hand I ever seen, without even enterin duh barn.”
“I bin entertained enough fer now. We best git movin; otherwise, it’ll be dark afore we reach duh mansio. Lessn we want a romantic evenin snuggled up tugedder under duh stars.”
She paused and held out a callused, weathered hand. He looked at her extended hand wondering at her intent. She appeared oblivious to his hesitation. He decided it was a simple greeting so he reached out his own hand and took her leathery paw in his.
“People calls me Lucky, but muh real name is Isilakari. My folks called me Isil most of duh time doh.”
Lucky smiled her seductive smile again, and a sudden chill shook him, in spite of the sun beating down on them.
Rehaak appraised her again, but reached the same conclusion. He had not been with a woman for a long time, but not that long. The townsfolk might call her Lucky, but she didn’t get lucky often, and definitely wasn’t going to get lucky with him. He drew comfort he was not the only object of the townsfolk’s twisted senses of humor.
“Well, I shall call you Isil,” He watched as she nodded her
acceptance.
“Let’s be off then shall we?” he said in cheery tones, breaking free from the grip of her weathered hand. “I don’t relish another night outdoors – wolves, and such.” He turned and headed toward the edge of the forest at a pace she and the team could match.
Rehaak thought the look in her eye might have been disappointment, but he decided it was better not knowing.
Chapter 3
The mansio and outbuildings cast long shadows across the clearing before Isil finished unhooking the mithun. A three-walled shed, and a corral formed one wall of the mansio.
Rehaak drew water from the well for the mithun once Isil unyoked them and herded them into the enclosure. He poured water into a trough, using the heavy wooden buckets he found beside the well.
The mithun crowding each other for better position at the trough nearly crushed him in their eagerness to drink and ignored Rehaak’s curses as he strained to keep ahead of their prodigious thirsts. Once satisfied they ambled over to the haystack in the far corner of the corral to satisfy their hunger after slaking their thirst.
Rehaak had lost sight of Isil, and deep shadows covered the glade long before he emptied the last bucket of water. He was curious and a trifle nervous about the sleeping arrangements. Smoke rose from the chimney of the cottage and the scent of food drifted through the air.
Rehaak eased the door open and peered inside, where he found Isil stirring a large kettle hanging over the fire. She had washed herself and dressed in clean, feminine clothing. Isil turned toward him when the door opened. Without the road grime clinging to her face, she looked far less aged, and with feminine clothing; he saw hints of curves. Her skin had the same verdigris tinge that every Abrhaani developed in bright sunshine, but without the dirt coating, it appeared less leathery.
“Well, it smells as if she can cook,” he muttered under his breath. Rehaak warmed to her in spite of her gap-toothed smile.
“Git yerself washed up an we’ll eat. Dere’s a basin on duh stand an a towel fer dryin over dere,” She pointed at the items.
