by Lee LaCroix
“There is little doubt in my mind that the road ahead will be watched carefully. We must be aware of our surroundings at all times. Novas, I want you to keep an eye out to our left. Dom, to our right,” Garreth explained as they continued down the rocky road.
Although Novas scanned the horizon, there was really not much to see. The trees had a sparse density in the surrounding area. Unless the Blackwood sentries were of skin and bone, it was unlikely they would be found hiding there. The wild brush was just as plentiful but hardly masked the flat nature of the stretching plains. Novas did not know how much longer they had to go, but the road ahead seemed clear until a gently rising ridge obscured the road as it curved around a bend.
Novas spied not the exact movements of limbs and bodies but the outstretched wings of a soaring eagle above them. The prideful bird called out when it passed them over, and its keen head swiveled around as it floated upon the upper currents of air. It seemed to sit in front of the company’s view for the longest time as it called out and searched around. Novas watched the bird dive sharp towards the earth, speeding down like a falling arrow, before unfurling its wings like a feathery explosion. It veered up from the ground with a prize in its talons that from the distance looked like a rabbit or an opossum. The eagle rose high into the air again before dropping its prize from on high. Novas saw the furred animal bounce a ways over the grasses and bushes, and the eagle swooped in on its meal and stayed there for a spell.
“Anything in yonder direction, Novas?” his father called out to him, his son’s gaze fixed on the distant pastures.
“No, nothing out of the ordinary, I suppose,” Novas replied with a sigh.
The travelers came to a stony bridge over a churning brook and climbed down onto a ridge. Upon the rocky slope, they drank deep from their canteens and kneeled down at the water’s edge to refill them. Soon, they were continuing on their way north, and the sun became red as it made its way into the western sea.
“It will be dark soon. I imagine we should take shelter in the shadow of the mountains to the west. If we’re lucky, we might be able to find some caves that are characteristic of this range,” Garreth spoke and swept his hand in the direction of the northwestern slopes.
“How do you know that?” Ilsa asked as she looked up into his eyes.
“It is my job to know, my duty. When I left the house of my birth, I was astounded of the distances that stood in this land between its places. The lay of the land is a lot like its face, and I wanted to know every face of the wild. In a way, I saw myself there like a reflection. Not just in the water but in the earth. And just like I know myself, I know the land. It is all one, inside my head,” Garreth explained as he led them off the road.
As the light of the sun had almost completely extinguished, the moon had risen higher than its enflamed rival, and both lights illuminated the ground in their own way, leaving a faint polishing of orange and silver upon the edges of the lengthy grasses, plentiful stones, crusty leaves, and innumerable trees. The rangers were no strangers to the dark, and Ilsa was found herself most comfortable in it.
They soon found their way in between two raised ridges of the range, steep roots of the mountain, and searched for a place of greater shelter. Eventually, they found a weatherworn outcropping of overhanging stone and the shallowest of caves that protected them from the wind. They each scouted around the surrounding area for some dry tinder, and Novas ventured a ways to a dying tree to collect a pile of branches. The fire was soon started, and they all put their backs against the stone wall and looked out onto the plains.
“Keep the fire low. I don’t want to be seen from the road. I’m going to check on the glare from afar, just in case,” Garreth informed them as he rose from the fire and walked into the darkness.
Garreth walked some ways until the fire was a mere twinkling of light. He saw that the fire was hardly noticeable unless someone knew where to look specifically. The ranger knew he was nowhere near the road, and he felt that their campsite would be safe for the night. He drudged back into the hill’s divide, and Novas spotted him approaching from beyond first.
“We should be safe for tonight. We should sleep in shifts regardless. I will take the first watch,” Garreth informed them as he sat down again.
They agreed and settled in for the night. The rock was chill and hard, and they lay upon their cloaks and tried to make their packs as soft as possible for their heads. The three fell asleep before long, and Garreth followed the course of the moon in order to let him know when to wake Domminal for his shift.
It was an uneventful wait. Garreth could hear the howls of wolves in the distance, moving across the earth and yipping with playful energy. The ever-present chirping of nocturnal insect, monotone and irregular, existed beneath those primal sounds. He looked up to the sky and beheld the stars; the infinitesimal flames and diamonds, rubies and sapphires of the night. He had not had much time as of late to admire their beauty. They had always been obscured by the shrouding canopy of forest or masked by the Amatharsan lighthouse. He recalled the ventures of the past and the last time he had seen their designs undimmed but soon perished the thought as he began to sink into sleep. Garreth splashed some water onto his hands and then slapped at his face. The chill was enough to wake him. It was enough until he decided that his shift was over.
Chapter Seven
As Garreth was the last to awake the next morning, Domminal and Novas watched over some slices of ham roasting over the fire while Ilsa was stood nearby overlooking the grassy beyond. It seemed to be another fair day for traveling. Garreth could tell the wind had picked up by the billowing of Ilsa’s cloth, but it did not look too severe. There were clouds in the sky, but they were white, sparse, and quickly moving. The field glistened silver and gold with morning dew and sun’s new light. Garreth yawned as he stood up, his joints cracking as he stretched out his stiff limbs, and a familiar burn followed.
“Morning. Ham should be ready any time,” Novas called out from his seat.
Domminal nodded to Garreth, and he returned the gesture. Garreth walked over to Ilsa and caught her glare as he stood next to her. They both stood standing watch over their surroundings for quite some time.
“How did you sleep?” Garreth asked.
“As well as stone could afford I suppose. The fire was nice though,” Ilsa responded.
“I’ve spoken with Domminal, and he agrees we should make for Gold Acres first because it is closer and should be less guarded than the Deepshine camp. Regardless, we’ll all need to be ready for what’s ahead. Come get some food,” Garreth spoke before he put a hand on her shoulder, breaking her fixation.
She turned back to the camp with him, and they all enjoyed some toasted bread and cheese with their seared ham and ate until they were satisfied. After their meal, they arose with a noticeable vigor, disposed of their campsite, and then packed their gear. They pushed northeast through the field again, planning to follow the road to the mountain pass.
The Rauros Peaks had stood on the northern horizon since time immemorial. Although being a meager set of heights, they stretched east and west for quite a distance and nearly divided the northern territory. In the colder months, the only access farther north was enabled through use of these passes, three of which once were maintained along its length.
The four marched off the weathered plain and made their way back onto the Great North Road. With a confident stride, Domminal led them past the fork in the road without pause, heading parallel to the jagged range and leading them over its jutting, smooth roots. Novas looked down the left path that they had chosen against. In the shadow of the mountain, the way to Deepshine seemed just as ominous as its moniker. Against his daring self, he was glad not to be traveling that way that day but instead looked forward to seeing the place called the Gold Acres with his own eyes. The name invoked an image that reminded him of the shining grass sea outside of his home in the Kingswood. He had hardly noticed his pace start to slow as his vision scanned
the cracks in the mountain pass. Novas looked for something, anything, before he came back to himself and rejoined the others.
“So, Domminal. Berault said you’ve been a man of the northern parts for quite some time. Have you always resided in these parts, or?” Garreth questioned, trailing off.
“It’s hard to believe I grew up in the town that bred such a bastard as Vyse. I may have seen him a handful of times as a lad and not even known it. As I came of age, however, how he was divided from the rest of the townsfolk was quite apparent. But, about me…” Domminal explained with a nervous chuckle.
“My parents tended to many fields of wheat and barley at a farther plot east of the Gold Acres. Although my father only took me over the great expanse of our land once, I was always entranced by its distances and its diversity. When I wasn’t helping around the farm, I was often exploring, finding my favorite places to sit and watch the clouds roll by. Many people in the area were farmers. As the town was bordered by the sea and the mountains, the rain came easy and often to us and made the yield of our grain quite abundant. Living out there, we weren’t townsmen, but every week we ran our horse and cart to the village to drop off our latest harvest,” Domminal continued.
“That doesn’t sound like a bad start at all,” Ilsa commented.
“No, not at all. With our little farm and our busy, hard-working community, it seemed that all was fair and equal in our little slice of paradise. But I remember when I was coming of age and when all that changed. I remember the milk-white horses and the dark and golden carriage. Such a brilliant shine made even the glossiest of wheat seem dirt-stained. I remember following it from the market one day to the road leading north to wide, imposing manor. As I hid in the bushes, I watched as the future Queen, that bastard Vyse, and their father scurried back into their palace, all done up and ornamented. They drew in the eye so naturally, like shining stars. I wondered for a time why we all did not dress that way until I learned that we could not,” Domminal recollected, his voice dropping low.
“After my parents passed on, I sold the farm and moved into a small place inside of town and watched as the insignia of the Blackwoods made its way from the banners of the manse to every signpost and billboard across the Gold Acres. Of course, back then, they were still thought of as a legitimate business, but I always had a certain feeling about them and avoided it as such. I made my way to Amatharsus when the work for nobodies became scarce and joined up with the Crown Aegis. And the rest is history,” Domminal concluded.
“So, you’ve known the Blackwoods for quite some time. Where were you when we started this bloody war?” Garreth remarked, rolling his eyes.
All four of them shared a laugh in their own way and continued a ways in silence as the mountain peaks rolled by.
The worn stone of the Great North Road gleamed as the noonday sun finally revealed itself. The warmth of day had finally returned to kiss the traveler’s faces, but their levity and laughter had faded away. As they continued away from the security of their allies and closer to the ones who would wrong them, they returned to their watchful cautiousness. Domminal, most of all, seemed on edge the further they traveled along the road. With his alert watchfulness and dutiful searching, the others began to wonder if he was becoming anxious in a way. As the path pulled away from the shadow of the mountain into the gentle, rolling expanse of dry and grassy plains, they were almost certain of his distress.
“This… isn’t good,” Domminal spoke, practically to himself.
“Something wrong, Dom?” Ilsa asked, arching her brow.
“This field was recently harvested. Look,” Domminal explained as he trotted off the road, kneeling down into the overturned dirt.
Novas looked down the wide length of the field. To him, it seemed unordinary. However, it was much like some of the untended fields north of the capital that were abandoned and mismanaged.
“Look at these cuts in the earth. The roots have been pulled up entirely. The field was not reaped. It looks like one or many dolts went at it with shovels,” Domminal accused.
Garreth shook his head in agreement.
“They didn’t even bother to reseed. Whoever did this probably didn’t even know the chaff from the wheat. These were no ordinary farmers,” Domminal told them as he rose to his feet.
He led them back onto the road. With his hurried pace and straightforward glare, his disgust was apparent. As they continued on, the moniker of the Gold Acres seemed to fade into the past. While one field gleamed like sunshine, it was only because flooding reflected the light above. The area’s irrigation was mismanaged completely, for its ditches and floodways were choked and untended. In another field, they saw a wagon of a worn but working variety. It was close enough to the road that they could make out the stain of blood around its front and the scavenged remains of a work horse of tattered flesh and bleached bones. Hanging listlessly around the outside of the wagon were strands of wheat, brown and black with decay, as if the most of the harvest was gathered with haste while some was forsaken.
Against the white of the clouded horizon, Novas almost missed the tower of the Gold Acres windmill, but the spinning of its polished, wooden blades became apparent as they neared the border of the town. The windmill sat upon a gentle hill, and the village seemed to sprawl out around it with a plentiful scattering of one and two-story houses and a spacious market in the valley. A winding road led up the hill to the windmill and was flanked by a row of the tallest buildings on either side. As if claimed by expeditionary explorers, a pair of Blackwoods flags whipped in the breeze at the entrance to the town and on the tops of many houses that they could see from that distance. Like the patchy plains outside the Kingswood, the bordering fields of the Gold Acres too were reduced to the sunbaked brown of split earth and the slivered remnants of a questionable harvest. It had seemed to Domminal the only thing gold that remained was the shining logo against the dark of the Blackwoods flag, and his hands clenched with anger.
With their newly woven cloth of dark, the four stalked into the town like shadows unbound from their masters. Protesting against its owner’s tightened grip, a horse reared high into the air. The horseman was perturbed by the travelers as he stood outside the town’s bordering stable and figured they must be Blackwoods. The four felt eyes on them when they continued farther down the main road, but the truth was that they did not bring this uneasy tension with them. Although the Gold Acres market was in no compare to the Trade District, that day the commerce ground was as quiet as the fields around the town itself. Domminal had his suspicions that the last harvest had gone down to Deepshine like much of the goods in Malquia had done before the liberation of Amatharsus. With the primary value of the town lost from the hands of the townspeople, coin had become sparse and trade had grinded to a halt as made evident by the merchant’s stands with empty shelves that gathered cobwebs and had fallen into a state of weathered disrepair.
With his house only a small distance away, Domminal began to lax his guard and was looking forward to the worn chair in front of his hearth again. He had not noticed the absence of his companions until he recognized the silence of where Garreth and Novas’ footsteps had once been present. He turned about just in time to see Garreth disappear onto a sidestreet and watched Novas beckon him with a wave. As Domminal jogged around the corner, he watched Garreth make his way into the bed of a large wagon and crouch to examine its floor.
“This is it, I’m sure of it,” Ilsa remarked as she ran her fingers over the metallic spokes of the wagon’s wheels.
Domminal could only arch his brow with curiosity as he watched the two investigate with Novas peering about to see who would be watching them.
“I don’t see any signs of them here,” Garreth remarked before he leapt over the seats towards where Ilsa stood.
“This is it though. The same wagon that took my parents. The insignia is here. It has the same wheels. It is the same size. I cannot forget a single thing about that memory,” Ilsa admitted as she backe
d away from it.
“And no one would say otherwise,” Garreth reassured her with a light hand on her shoulder.
“They cannot be far, I hope. Let us continue,” Ilsa spoke, nodding towards the main road before walking off.
The three others followed her as she peered about the main street, keeping an eye out for the unordinary or anyone searching them over the same.
“My place is only a short ways now. I would ask that we would hurry, but I have a feeling there is not much care here at all,” Domminal explained as he pointed to a narrow street way ahead.
Domminal’s house backed onto the slope of the valley, and it was surprisingly level and reached one and a half floors with an attic or crawlspace. Its stature and shape reminded Garreth and Novas of the home off the Great South Road almost immediately, including the solid wooden door and quartered windows. With the abundance of straw between the wood of the roof and panels of the walls, they all could imagine the considerable warmth the home could offer in the chill of winter. Domminal peered down the road either way before sliding a key into the heavy iron lock on the door, pushed the door open, and made his way in.
The light of the sundown was as bright orange-red as the flames that flickered in the squat stove in the corner of the house. Aside from a ladder that led up to the second floor, the house was a single room with Domminal’s furnishings pushed against the wall and had enough floor space to feel a manner spacious. Ilsa sat on a chair against a pine desk in the corner of the room while Domminal sat upon the edge of his straw, wooden-framed bed, and the remaining hunters took seats on the rug on the floor. They each supped at their canteens and fed hungrily on a meal of Domminal’s offering, which was a generous helping of honeyed flatbread that was nearly stale but still filling and tasty. They each breathed deep, staring into the dancing fire as they restored their energy and the fullness of their breath.
