The Road to Light (The Path of Zaan Book 1)

by C. K. Rieke

  “Yes, yet I fear for his safety. I do not know of the place they spoke. But there are places around here with people who know things,” Gogenanth replied.

  “Where do we begin looking, then? We can expect that you won’t be welcome in many places within a hundred leagues of Auracity,” Astor said.

  “There is a bar in Tarluus. We will start there. It is not a safe place though,” he said as a smirk lit up his face. Astor smiled back. “There are a couple of slave traders who go there. The big boss, Yemes Hartfell, is who we should find.”

  That night they slept in the forest, no fire to warm them in the late autumn breeze. The night sky was clear and the stars shone brightly down upon them. They both slept well, as they knew the next day would be long and arduous. And they knew they must travel swiftly and silently to avoid unwelcome attention.

  ***

  During their journey the next day they moved in the direction of Tarluus, a haven for slave traders and other types of thugs. They moved through water often to avoid being tracked by dogs.

  They traveled fast and took breaks infrequently. The only food they ate was what they could grab while running, such as wild fruits, until they could make camp. It would be another forty miles or so to Tarluus. As they traveled they held the Cascades to their right, moving north to their destination, staying hidden in Yelden Forest to avoid detection.

  A day and a half later they were at the edge of the forest, and Tarluus was in sight. It was early morning, and the sun had another couple of hours before it would show. They decided the best course of action was for Astor to go in alone. It was dangerous, but the sight of Gogenanth would rally scores of soldiers instantly. Tarluus was known for its foulness and corruption, where a handful of wealthy people with money had more power than the lord of Tarluus himself.

  Astor moved at a normal pace into the town. Upon entering, the smell of manure and rotting flesh was almost overwhelming. At once he knew why, because at the gate to the city were two corpses tied to stakes, both wearing signs around their necks that read Heroes Die in Tarluus.

  Moving at a casual speed, he walked to the city center. Tarluus was composed of mainly shabby wooden structures and huts. The people were dirty and moved slowly. Astor gathered that this was a poverty-stricken part of town. It was early still, and the sun was just rising. In a place like this, he knew there would be people still up from the night before, probably stone drunk.

  He arrived at the door to the Hunter’s Foe, a bar at the backside of a brothel north of the city square. The wailing of whores and the smoke of cheap tobacco was all around as he entered the bar. There were two men asleep on the bar, and a loud man to the side with a whore on his lap who heckled him. There were two men in the corner of the room. They were staring right at Astor, and he acted as if not to notice and went to the bartender.

  “What’re you havin’?” the bartender asked him, coldly looking at him.

  “Ale,” Astor said, looking down at the bar, but really weighing up the two men in the corner, who now appeared more interested in their own conversation than Astor.

  “That’s four slits,” the barkeep said, handing Astor a poured ale. Astor laid the money on the bar and held out two solids more for the barkeep to see.

  “What’s yer business here?” the bartender asked. His heavy brow was furrowed in curiosity, and his hairy arms were covered in tattoos and scars.

  “The two men in the corner . . . I’m looking to buy some merchandise. They the people I want to see?” Astor asked.

  “Hmm. Depends on the merchandise.”

  “People, that is the merchandise.” Astor gave a wink and smirk to the bartender. The bartender took Astor’s money.

  The bartender turned to his left and pointed. “The one on the left there is Franco, and the right one is Yemes. They be the ones you should talk to.”

  Astor took a drink from his ale and went over. As he approached, Franco stood up and showed the hilt of his sword from underneath his shirt. Yemes remained seated and relaxed.

  “What?” Franco asked Astor.

  “I’m looking to do business.” He looked at Yemes. Yemes was dressed in a fine, white silk shirt, wore a white brimmed hat, and had a thin curled mustache running across his smirking, thin lips.

  “We don’t want your business. Get lost,” Franco said, and he took a large step toward Astor.

  Astor did not move or flinch but instead casually looked over Franco’s shoulder at Yemes. “I need workers. I heard you’re the man to talk to.”

  “Ha!” Yemes said. “Now, Franco, why in the world would we present ourselves so unbecomingly to such a gentleman?” Yemes stood up and gave an eccentric bow to Astor. Franco stepped back from Astor.

  “We are all businessmen here. Surely we may be able to attend to your needs . . . I’m sorry . . . My name is Yemes, and this is my chatty acquaintance Franco, so now you know our names, but we are unaware of yours,” Yemes said, his face wrinkling as he squeezed his chin into his neck and puckered his lips.

  “I’m sorry, how rude of me. I’m Adem, Adem Holden,” Astor said.

  “Well, what a name that is indeed. Quite easy to remember, if I do say so myself, Adem Holden. How can I help you, Adem Holden?” Yemes asked as he bowed to Astor.

  “I’m looking for three workers to work a mine outside of Auracity,” Astor told Yemes.

  “Well, you have come to the right place. I have what you seek. I assume you are looking for the usual young, strong backs?” Yemes made the gestures to match the descriptions.

  “Yes, that would do fine. I would like to see them prior to transaction. I’m sure you understand,” Astor exclaimed.

  “Ah.” Yemes leaned as far back as he could and gave an exasperated laugh. “Of course! This is a professional arrangement, my dear. It would be my honor to escort you to peruse my inventory.”

  “Ah, yes, that would do fine. If it is in your best interest as well, the sooner the better. I have traveled far and, as you can see, I’m a little worse for wear.” Astor held out a corner of his dirty shirt for Yemes to see.

  “Oh dear, yes, I’m sure your maid has enjoyed her break. Ha! I will tell you what, I’ll even throw in a clean shirt with the purchase of three today! Let us have one quick drink then be on our way. What do you say? Alex, a round for us and our new friend Adem Holden, please?” Yemes said with an eccentric wave of his hand.

  Alex, the barkeep, came over with two ales and a clear stiff-smelling drink for Yemes in a tall thin glass. They touched glasses and drank quickly, then left through the back door of the bar and began walking down the alley.

  “Let me ask you something, Adem, if that’s all right,” Yemes asked Astor.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Do you think me a fool?” Yemes looked into Astor’s eyes.

  Astor fell to one knee.

  “I know every slave trader within fifty leagues. And, my dear, I have never heard of an Adem Holden,” Yemes said as he leaned over Astor.

  Astor began seeing double, staring at the dirt, and he let the other knee touch the ground. He vomited and spoke. “You got it wrong.”

  “Oh, I do, do I? Are you calling me an idiot? Let’s see who is wrong when you are begging like a dog!” Spit flew from Yemes’s lips as he yelled at Astor’s back.

  Astor fell to the ground, and strong hands picked him up and carried him away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  WATER hit Astor’s face, and he gasped at the stark coldness of it. He went to wipe his eyes but quickly realized his hands were bound, and he saw Franco in front of him with a now empty bucket.

  He was in a large room, sparsely populated with boxes and crates, and the air was thick and heavy. There were no windows, but light from holes in the ceiling illuminated dark blood stains dried on the floor. The same light also shone upon a stake in the middle of the room, and there were shackles chained to it.

  Astor thrashed his hands about, trying t
o wriggle them out of his rope bindings. Then a door creaked open and in entered Yemes and a woman with ratty blond hair and one black eye. Astor didn’t recognize her.

  “Hi, Adem Holden, long time no see. Now that we are in proper order, why don’t we see what you really want? We know it’s not three slaves now, don’t we?” Yemes tilted his head and put a finger to his mouth.

  “Fine, my name is not Adem, but I know who you are, and whatever you are planning is very unwise. It would be best if you just untied me, and I might forgive this outrage.”

  The woman Astor didn’t recognize walked up and hit him squarely in the jaw. Astor’s head flew to the side, and he spit out blood on the floor.

  Yemes approached Astor. “Listen, you! Nobody walks into my town and tells me what to do! I own this town. I could kill you in the middle of the public square and people would ask if I needed help hanging your body on a stake. Now tell me, what did you seek me out for, and to what end?” Yemes turned bright red, and a bead of sweat fell from his brow.

  “Yemes, you seem like an educated man. So, okay, the real reason I came is because I am looking for a place, and well, this place seems to not exist. You see my dilemma,” Astor said, keeping his composure.

  “Look at the jester tied to the chair! Looking to get information from you,” Franco said.

  “Now, now. Maybe there is still business to be had. Information of that sort can be quite costly, depending on the nature of the information. What do you have to barter for such information? I do hold secrets quite well, and these places that don’t exist, don’t exist for good reason. They don’t exist because certain people don’t want them found. What do you have to offer that would make my friend go over there and untie you so that we could shake hands?” Yemes asked Astor.

  “Well, it seems we have a predicament here, because I was not looking to negotiate, you see. I’m looking to threaten.” He smiled and looked squarely into Yemes’s eyes.

  Yemes squeezed his thin-fingered fists and yelled, “Show this boy how we deal with threats in my town!”

  The unnamed woman approached Astor and hit him in the gut, knocking the wind from his lungs. Then she hit him in the face twice. Astor smiled and spat more blood.

  “So I don’t yet know the name of this place that the sun doesn’t shine on, but . . .” Astor looked up at Yemes, who was fuming mad.

  “Harder! Hit him harder!” Yemes screamed.

  The woman rolled up her sleeves and punched Astor a few more times, hard enough that any normal man would be crying and begging.

  “You see, my friend’s at this place, and I’d really like to see him again,” Astor said with his head down, not looking at Yemes this time.

  “Oh, now I get it. You see what we have here, a certified hero going to save his girlfriend.” They all laughed in unison. “Didn’t you see what happens to heroes in my town? Boys, show him what happens in my town!” Yemes said as he crossed his arms and smiled at Astor.

  Franco pulled out a thin dagger, took a couple of steps toward Astor, and lunged toward his stomach. But before he could put the blade into him, Astor had spun the back of the chair toward Franco. Franco’s hand was struck by the back of it, and the knife was knocked away from Astor, but Franco managed to keep it firmly in his hand.

  “That all you got? A chair?” He spat at Astor.

  The chair fell to the ground, and Astor’s hands appeared in front of him; he had used the blade to cut apart his bonds with the force of the spin. He rubbed his wrists, looking up at the three men, with bruises on his face.

  “Now, Franco, I can safely say I really dislike you. But I can now say I really don’t care for you two either.” Astor pointed at the woman. “But you, Yemes, you take the cake. People who pay people to hit people but won’t lift a finger themselves. Ugh, it drives me mad.”

  Franco went at Astor with the knife, but Astor grabbed Franco’s wrist and spun into his body, elbowing him in the gut, and spun toward Yemes. Yemes threw his hands back and up in the air.

  “I give up!” Yemes said as Astor spun to Yemes’s back. Astor now held Franco’s blade up to Yemes’s neck.

  “So this place that doesn’t exist, it does exist, doesn’t it?” Astor whispered into Yemes’s ear.

  “Y-Yes, but I can’t tell you . . . It’s . . . It’s where people go to disappear. Whoever you are going after, they are as good as dead. No one survives that place. They pay a very high price for the slaves who go into those mines.” Yemes had tears rolling down his cheeks.

  “Well, money is about to be the least of your worries. I think your hired guns would leave you in a heartbeat right now if they could, take your money and leave you to bleed. Tell me I’m wrong,” Astor said, looking at Franco, who was still trying to figure out how he lost his knife.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you,” Yemes whimpered.

  “Ah, ah. Not so fast. We are now negotiating. What else do you have to offer me for your life?” Astor asked. Yemes rolled his eyes back at him.

  “What?” Yemes asked.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  FRANCO opened the iron-barred gate to a dimly lit cellar that reeked of blood and rust. The four of them walked down the stairs to a row of dozens of cells.

  “You are not going to make it out of here alive,” Franco spat at Astor, who still held the knife to Yemes’s throat.

  “The keys,” Astor said to the unnamed woman.

  “No,” she said.

  Astor took the knife from Yemes’s throat and stepped back slightly, then stood on Yemes’s ankle quickly and forcefully as a loud cracking was heard. Yemes screamed in pain and fell to the ground holding his broken ankle.

  Franco and the woman rushed at Astor, and the woman flashed a small dagger. Astor stood his ground, and then as the two came in close, Astor jumped high and put a knee to Franco’s nose and a foot in the center of the woman’s chest. Both went down hard. Franco was bleeding from his face and blinded from the thick blood. The woman couldn’t breathe, but got up to see Astor now wielding both daggers.

  “The keys,” Astor said again.

  The woman reached over and grabbed the keys off the side wall and extended them to Astor.

  “They are not for me,” Astor exclaimed. He had bitterness on his tongue.

  The woman looked at Franco and Yemes. Grave concern was written on their faces.

  Yemes looked up at Astor. “You can’t do this! Please.”

  Astor filled his lungs with air. He could feel the anxiousness in the cells with the brief battle. “You have all been taken from your homes. These men and women became rich from holding you and selling you like cattle. I can open your doors and offer you freedom, but it is your freedom you deserve and must fight for.”

  A mumbling came from the cells. Astor went over to the petrified woman and took the keys from her hands and threw them into one of the cells.

  “I leave their fates in your hands, but remember, what mercy would they show you?” Astor turned his back to leave.

  “You coward, you would just leave us with these animals? We already told you what you wanted to know,” Franco said to Astor, tears of anger gathered in the corners of his eyes.

  “Who is the coward? I didn’t separate us with bindings or a key and lock. I defeated you like a man, and you fell like a sick cockroach. You deserve what you get. This was what caused all of the wars of the Olden Age: slavery and damned religious crusades. This was outlawed for a reason . . . equality and freedom,” Astor said, looking into Franco’s eyes. Then he turned and walked out the door.

  He walked half a street down the road, hearing screams in the cellar. Once the screams were done, the door opened and people started scattering into the light of dusk. The clouds above began to glow red. Astor nodded to a couple of guards as he left. They nodded back.

  By the time Astor was at the front gate, he hadn’t heard anything out of the ordinary, apart from the crackling of small fires and the smell of bur
nt thatching. He did see people running silently from Tarluus, keeping their heads low in the tall grass.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  IT was evening then, and the sun was showing its last glimpse out over Yelden Forest. The tops of the tall pines rustled in the howling winds above. Gogenanth peeked up out of the brush to see Astor returning to the tree line, walking casually. A small fire was burning in Tarluus, the smoke growing into the blood-stained clouds. The fires grew larger as Astor got closer to the forest.

  “Wow, I didn’t expect you to burn the city down. What happened?” Gogenanth asked Astor.

  “I met Yemes, who was not so friendly. I asked him if I could buy three slaves like we talked about, then ran into a little bit of a tiff between us. But we resolved it.” Astor smiled.

  “What happened to your face? A tiff, huh?” Gogenanth squinted in the dim light at the bruises on Astor’s face.

  “Well, it was really more of a disagreement. Well, I had a knife to his throat, actually.”

  “Hah,” Gogenanth laughed. “Then what?”

  “He told me the name of the mine Zaan is most likely at, and where it is. It’s known as the Black Cave; it’s to the east of the Cascades, almost two hundred miles from here,” Astor said. Gogenanth’s brow dropped.

  “It is not a place that people come out of, it sounds like,” Astor said. “We should leave at dawn. We must travel through the mountains.” Flames and smoke roared in the background.

  “So what happened with Yemes?” Gogenanth asked.

  “As part of our deal, I said I didn’t want three slaves, I wanted them all.”

  Gogenanth curled his lip and raised his brow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “YOU’RE back. What news do you have? Where is Astor?” Gildur asked eagerly, his bearded and scarred face illuminated in the circle of blue torches.