by Brett Vonsik
“No care, now.” Pax was matter-of-fact. “Later in da night they came lookin’ with torches, but somethin’ scared ‘em away. I never saw it, but I be bitten by bloodsuckers all night.” Pax helped Rogaan to his feet then looked at Rogaan as if he had just grown horns. “Ya not be all bitten up by biters. I slapped at ‘em all night long. I hate ‘em. Look at me arms.”
Raised reddish bumps covered Pax’s arms, neck, and face. Concerned, Rogaan looked himself over and found no marks other than those he carried from the valley. What happened last night? He recalled the burning he felt, then falling asleep right after. “Pax, there is a strangeness about this place. I do not know what it is, and I do not like it.”
“Ya be tellin’ me,” Pax announced sarcastically as he rubbed and scratched at his neck. “First da valley…then yesterday.”
“I think my father sent them,” Rogaan solemnly admitted. “He forbade me from taking my shunir’ra. Maybe I have broken some tellen law and shamed myself in his eyes...enough for him to send the law after me.” Rogaan felt a deep, hollow pit grow in his innards. He feared he had lost his father’s trust and respect, maybe forever. “Pax...what have I done?”
Pax stood calmly and spoke with an understanding tone. Odd for Pax, Rogaan thought. “I be no soother, but ya father not da kind ta take laws over ya. My father be good ta me, but ya father.... Well, I wish my father be more like him.”
Rogaan stared at Pax, his mind swirling in a storm of confusion. Nothing made sense. If Pax was right, however unlikely that was, then things were stranger than he feared. If Rogaan was right, his father would likely never trust him again. Rogaan’s insides knotted, and he thought he would collapse once his legs started trembling. A wallowing of despair, Rogaan stared at the ground trying to gain control of himself, and started hoping things were not as he made them.
“We need ta move,” Pax announced, and urged, “Before da nasties find us and strip our hides and eat us...while we still be alive.”
Rogaan barely heard Pax’s words. His thoughts and feelings consumed him, fearing at what he had lost. How am I going to fix this? Tears welled up, forcing him to fight them back. He could not let Pax see him shed tears. His anger rose at himself, and his throat tightened. He could not let Pax see him this way. “You are right, Pax. Where to from here?”
“Brigum,” Pax replied with a smile. “And I have an idea how ta get inside da town without nobody seein’.”
They made their way southwest, away from the rising sun, down the hills and into the valley forest on the north side of Brigum. They moved fast, running when needed, but often trotting or briskly walking. They crossed Mountain Ev Road, which led north into the Wilds where evendiir villages were all one could call civilization. Skirting north of the town’s garbage dump, and careful not to attract the attention of the leapers making it home, they moved deliberately from one spot of cover to the next, all the while struggling not to gag on the putrid stench wafting on the light morning breeze. Rogaan hoped the leapers kept their attention lost in chasing the furry growlers, runners and featherwings also living in the dump…creatures that seemed to thrive in the town’s throw-aways.
Rogaan followed Pax without questioning him about his plan to sneak into the town, though he bumped into several trees while trying to figure what that plan was. Pax had a nose for getting into and out of places, often without being noticed, and Rogaan trusted him on that. Though, with other things, Rogaan always kept an eye on him. Trust…how can I trust Father? Rogaan despaired at that repeating thought then chastised himself for doing it. Of course I can! Rogaan tripped and went crashing into a stout tree before he realized what had happened, his shoulder and the right half of his head aching from the impact. Looking up and hoping Pax did not see him, Rogaan found Pax standing motionless, staring at him with surprise displayed in every aspect of him: eyes, face, hands out wide and slightly crouching. No luck…he saw me. Rogaan quickly regained his feet then gave Pax a toothy grimace and an innocent raised shoulder shrug with open upraised hands to exaggerate his wordless “Oops.” Rogaan felt as if his face burned like the sun with embarrassment. Exasperated, Pax rolled his wide eyes high before turning and running off…all without saying a word. Rogaan was grateful for Pax’s not making one of his usual snide remarks, before eagerly chasing after him.
Now past the dump, they ran hard through broken forest under tall pines and cedars dripping with hanging moss then into the open around sparse bushes, then back again through patches of trees. Rogaan had little trouble keeping up with Pax as they zigzagged through the trees and underbrush, but in the open, he lost ground to Pax. The welcoming sight of cropped terraces cut deep into Brigum’s mount rose high on their left as they approached the town’s northwest corner. Rough rock walls rising more than a house high, provided the foundation that the terraces sat upon. The foods grown above and in the lower fields on the opposite side of town -- fruits, berries, nuts, and vegetables -- fed much of Brigum. Rogaan struggled to keep pace with Pax as they closed on a craggy rock rise standing in the shadow of the terraced mount. The treacherous Stone Tower, as it was known, stood some eleven strides high, just a person-length short of the lowest terrace. It offered enough foot and handholds for the daring to climb and enter the crop fields above with a leap Rogaan was uncertain he could make…and Pax was daring, if nothing else.
As anticipated, Pax did not slow a bit as he reached Stone Tower. He leaped onto the boulders ringing the bottom of the monolith, and started climbing. Rogaan too leaped onto the boulders, but instead of bounding up as Pax had, he found himself sprawled out between several moderate-sized rocks. His body ached from the impact, and his head and vision swirled for a moment before clearing enough to see Pax three strides up, hanging on hand-holds, looking down, rolling his eyes at him, again, before returning to his climb. Embarrassed, Rogaan rose painfully, looked at the nearly vertical wall of rock in front of and above him, and asked himself…There must be another way. Rogaan looked at Pax above clinging to a rock and a few vines, motioning with his head for Rogaan to start climbing. Reluctantly and with much trepidation, Rogaan climbed, picking his way carefully. His arms and legs strained a little as he made his way around and over rock obstacles. Several times he looked down, and regretted it as soon as he did, his head swirling, forcing him to fix his eye on the rocks in front of him for a moment to settle himself before resuming his assent. He caught up with Pax just short of the top of the tower as the sun rose to almost a third of its apex. He found Pax studying a span of less than three strides of air to a terrace wall of rocks, vines, and exposed roots. Pax gave Rogaan a quick, playful smile, then jumped the span, landing solidly with both feet and hands in firm spots about two strides lower than where he leapt. He then climbed to a spot level with Rogaan, and paused. “Well?”
Rogaan studied the place where Pax had landed, and worried that he would not be able to match his friend’s leaping abilities. He procrastinated, making it look as if he were studying every possible way to make the jump. In truth, Rogaan was thinking of ways not to make the jump and still maintain his dignity.
“Well?” Pax spoke with impatient sarcasm.
Rogaan avoided looking at him. There was no sense in letting Pax see the fear he felt. After of a few more moments of procrastinating, Rogaan resigned himself to attempting the leap, and positioned himself on a small ledge to get everything possible out of his body. With a few deep breaths taken, he grunted his way into the air, landing on the rock wall near where Pax had, but missing the spot he aimed for. Falling, Rogaan grasped a stout root projecting from the rock wall. A moment later felt the air leave his lungs as he slammed into the cliff wall with a thud. Clinging to the root, he made no attempt to climb. Instead, he hung there until he felt air return to his burning lungs and the flashing points of light in his vision disappear. When he felt able, he climbed to Pax, now in a new position just below the lowest terrace, holding tight to several vines. Pax offered a hand, helping Rogaan up to his perch before
they both scrambled over the cliff’s edge and onto the crop terrace.
A strong sweet fragrance filled Rogaan’s nose as soon as he rolled onto the terrace. The scents of blueberry and long-red blooms were mixed, but Rogaan was able to smell them distinctly. The pungent odor of dung, used to fertilize the crops, hung all about Rogaan, but was not so strong as to mask the pleasant smells. Looking up from his knees he found the place alive with workers, most dressed in gray tunics and barefooted, tending to vines growing on crude lattices, small fruit trees, bushes, and squat plants. Many carried wicker baskets filled with gardening tools of wood, copper, or iron, or filled with mysteries he was unable to see from his vantage point. Women and younglings of all ages worked the lower terraces where berry bushes and small fruit trees predominated. The upper terraces held mostly vegetables plants and squat nut trees, with a grove of tall fruit trees crowning the topmost terrace on North Mound. Adult and younglings males of all ages worked the upper terraces. Rogaan was not certain why labor was divided so; it never occurred to him to ask, until now, but now was not the time to satisfy his curiosity. Rogaan spotted Pax carefully moving off, making his way to the right, keeping low in the stands of vine-covered two-stride tall lattices. Rogaan quickly followed. Few paid them attention as they slunk closer to the northernmost buildings of town. Those that did raise an eye were mostly younglings looking for a diversion from their chores, and that usually brought an elder’s scolding and sometimes a switched bottom before they returned to their work.
Pax found a spot to crouch and settle into, near a climbing path behind several vine lattices overlooking Brigum. Rogaan joined him, adjusting his crouch several times before he settled in with a fair view of Brigum. Looking around, Rogaan caught a glint of burnished metal among the fruit trees on the top mount. He spied two guardsmen…Farratum guardsmen they looked, accompanied by a single Brigum protector. Rogaan pointed out the guardsmen to Pax, then found himself a bit embarrassed after Pax made a “really, now” face and nod that told him he was already aware of them…and surprised that Rogaan had not caught sight of them sooner. One hundred fifty strides east, a large elongated, wood-shingled, pitched-roof building and three smaller surrounding structures of similar construction sat at the base of the terraces. Heaps of rocks, wood beams, and discarded rubbish, all two to three strides high, lay to the sides of the structures. Wheeled barrows, picks, shovels, and an assortment of digging equipment were neatly arranged against the stone-footed, wood-planked walls of the buildings. Several groups of baraans stood among the buildings, all dressed in tan hides or gray tunics with rope belts, all dirt-stained from head to sandaled feet. They all seemed to be in a heated discussion while keeping watch on the large central building.
“Not like ‘em standin’ around this part of day,” Pax stated, curious and concerned as he stared intently at the bunch. He shifted his crouch as if uncomfortable. “My father says there be no idlin’ in da mine, and anyone caught on his heels be told ta leave since he be no mining da red gems. And da mine boss keeps pushini ‘em ta work harder.”
The center of Brigum’s wealth was the mine, rich in rubies and other gem rocks. Much revolved around the precious stones. Cutters would pick out the best for their needs and buyers and shuck off the rest for the mine to sell, barter, and trade in town with representing interests from surrounding areas, and even faraway interests. The gem rock trade brought in all sorts of goods, people, and enough trouble for the town guard to keep busy most days. Rogaan avoided much of the latter, but Pax had stories of happenings to which he always seemed to be an innocent bystander, watching.
The rest of Brigum sprawled atop a small plateau. Few of the cobblestone paved streets met at right angles, and all were different in width, except for Market Street, which split the town running from the north near them, to the south through the central market square to the edge of the plateau then down into the lower crop fields and all the way to the guarded South Gate. Perimeter Road surrounded the town at the edges of the plateau. It too was paved and was as wide as Market Street in most places, and even wider on the north side of town. It connected the town to a number of roads leading to the lower crop fields, which were more long sloping ramps than streets, making cart travel possible. East, across the Tamarad River, the well-to-do lived in their large tile-roofed stone houses in Coiner’s Quarter. Coiner’s Quarter rose on a western-facing terraced hillside of manicured paved streets, yards, and gardens, and was beautiful to the eye in all ways. Twelve estates with flat-roofed mansions lined two parallel roads, and the area was a third the size of all of Brigum, with protective tower walls north, east, and south. The river ravine flanking the western side of Coiner’s Quarter saw water flowing south from Lake Sin, the lake they had run around in their escape last night, and flowed south beyond the town walls, with a partially diverted water flow going to a series of ponds in the lower crop fields and extending all the way around the town from the southeast corner to the northwest. The fields, full of crops and tree groves, spanned two hundred strides to the eight-stride-tall protective stone wall guarding Brigum from beasts all kinds. Many of Brigum’s sweet foods were grown in these fields with other crops, vegetables, and those used in making breads and foods Rogaan enjoyed so much. More was grown on farms and estates beyond the walls and brought to market each day for sale and trade.
A series of guard towers, each with circular orange tiled coned roofs and crowned with Brigum’s flag of red and yellow, sat every sixty strides along the wall. Rogaan could barely recognize the shape of individuals patrolling the southern wall’s ramparts from where he hid, but patrol they did…and many more than he was expecting. Beyond the wall, the forest pushed back almost one-hundred strides, providing Brigum’s protectors a clear field of fire with arrows and spears against anything unfriendly. In town, buildings of all shapes and sizes followed the main and smaller streets throughout the town. Many had pitched roofs of red, orange, brown, or gray tiles, while others had flat roofs covered in brown plaster or dark tar. West of Market Street lived the majority of Brigum’s townsfolk. Pax lived on this side of town, his home part of a cluster of small brown flat-roofed brick apartments a little more than two hundred strides southeast of where he and Pax spied over the town. Most buildings west of Market Street were a mix of some brick and many of wood with mostly flat roofs of tar. Many of those had clothing strung between buildings hanging out to dry. East of Market Street, structures were packed closer together in places and were predominantly of brick with brown flat roofs, many of those with roof terraces and clothes hung as much atop as in between buildings.
A few large structures stood as exceptions, like the pitched red-tiled roof of Rogaan’s home. His home stood out with stone walls, a tiled roof, and groomed garden, looking more in place in Coiner’s Quarter than in town, though the smithy attached to the south side of the building showed it to be a working home…something none of the estates in Coiner’s Quarter would dare allow. Most homes in town doubled as workplaces and storefronts for those whose skills included everything from artisans to the trades. To the south of Rogaan’s home lay a cluster of six orderly arranged single-story brown brick buildings with plastered flat roofs, and a much larger single building of the same style just to their west. The larger structure was where the town’s matters were decided by Brigum’s Town Council. The Hall of Council and its colorful gardens were surrounded by a single row of three-stride tall, cylinder-shaped leather leaf trees outlining the perimeter of the complex, which in the last few years also marked the boundary regular townsfolk were not allowed to cross without invitation by the ruling elected.
To the hall’s south stood a thirty-stride-tall stepped pyramid made of weathered granite cut from the local mountains when Brigum had been founded more than six hundred and fifty years ago. Then, the pyramid was a temple to the Ancient named Sin. Colorful flower beds, water ponds, and rows of low colorful flowering bushes outlined the pyramid’s four walkways surrounding and leading to the great structure. A
fence of young cedars stood guarding the perimeter of the pyramid’s gardens, separating the old temple from the town’s paved streets. In the three hundred years prior to Shuruppak’s Civil War, the temple had changed to a center of general worship of the Ancients, not just to Sin. Some thirty years ago, the pyramid became a minor projection of the new Shuruppak rule and had been renamed the Shuruppak Hall of Laws; just three years ago, this renaming had been agreed to by the town council. In recent days, the old temple housed an influx of the appointed by the elected of Farratum, despite Brigum’s being distant and isolated from the rest of the Shuruppak in these western lands. The reach of Shuruppak seemed to grow more each year, influencing those chosen by the townsfolk to govern Brigum, and Rogaan’s father said often that this influence was not a good sign. A sign of what?
Bordering the south of the Hall of Laws, the town’s marketplace buzzed with trading activity in pockets of moving colors. Narrow brown-brick buildings topped with walking roofs and frontings of canopied shops lined the east and west edges of the triangular-shaped marketplace. Canopied open-air hawking stands filled the interior of the marketplace’s stone-paved grounds, all orderly lined north to south, creating temporary streets so narrow and filled with those selling and those buying that Rogaan wondered if a person could breathe. Still, Rogaan thought more people should be in the marketplace by this mid-morning hour. A few sedan chairs of the well-to-do, colorful and ornately crafted, parted crowds as they moved through the pockets of throngs, led by hired muscle, some of whom Rogaan suspected to be town guardsmen who looked to earn a good sum in the service of those with coin.
“Where is everyone?” Rogaan asked after surveying the streets. Too few people were out and about, except for those trading in the marketplace and for a number of local and Farratum Tusaa’Ner squads roaming the streets. “The streets are usually crowded by now.”
