The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library

by Frederick Kirchhoff

  “Not that one,” he said. “I’ll take the piece on the right. I’m paying full price, so I have a right to choose.” He declared this less to the girl than to the man next to him.

  Jon saw no difference between the three wedges. How strange these people were.

  “Sir,” Klei asked the man who’d just bought the quarter loaf. “Could you tell me something?”

  The man looked at Klei in surprise, then turned back to pick up his purchase.

  “Aren’t you going to talk to the boy?” his companion asked, passing the girl a coin and tapping one of the wedges with his forefinger.

  “You talk to him yourself.”

  “He didn’t speak to me. He spoke to you.”

  Both men found this interchange inexplicably humorous. They laughed and went their way, ignoring Klei.

  “Don’t mind them,” the girl said. “Everyone knows they’re skinflints. But what was it you wanted to ask?”

  “About whether the Chosen had been here.”

  “Hush,” she said. “Don’t utter that name too loud. But look over there. That old woman is going to buy my last wedge of fruit bread, and when she’s cleared out, I’ll answer your questions.”

  Jon marveled at the girl’s ability to predict what the woman was going to do, since she was engaged in a lively conversation and gave no sign of any interest in fruit bread. But, sure enough, she finished speaking and marched straight to the bread stall, where she handed the girl a copper coin and took the last wedge of bread.

  “My best to your mother,” she said.

  “Yes, Ma’am. And may I tell her you’re in good health?”

  “As good as can be expected. Tell her that.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Once the woman was gone, the girl motioned for Jon and Klei to come to the other side of her counter.

  “What do you want to know about the Chosen?” she asked, glancing around to be sure no one heard her question.

  This time it was Jon who spoke.

  “Have they recently passed through town—the Chosen along with a group of men in black?”

  “Men with tattoos and silver jewelry,” Klei added.

  “Yes, but they didn’t pass through town. They came to the South Gate and demanded entrance, but the gatekeepers refused them. We’d allowed the men in white through once, going south, but then we’d learned they were enemies of the Emperor, and his enemies are forbidden the town. That’s been the law since Bridgetown was built.”

  “What did they do?” Jon asked.

  “They bragged their armies were making short work of the Emperor, and when they’d taken his head, they’d make short work of us. Or perhaps, if their ‘divine leader’ willed it, they’d return sooner. That’s what they called him—their divine leader. Can you imagine it? But they tried to show they meant business by torching two farmhouses near the South Gate.”

  “If they couldn’t cross the bridge, how could they go further?” Klei asked.

  “They could have backtracked to one of the fords,” Jon reminded them. “We saw farms across the river; there must be a road connecting them to the city.”

  “Indeed there is,” the girl said. “And they might very well have done that, but they didn’t.”

  “So where are they?” Jon asked.

  “Going north, there’s no paved highway along the west bank, but it’s not difficult to travel that way. Lots of tracks head in that direction. Farms spread out from Bridgetown, and beyond them there’s remnants of a road that led north before the River Road was built. My father took me there once—-me and my brothers. We didn’t go beyond the first signs of the old road, which was what he wanted to show us, but he said it went past the escarpment and further. And everyone knows that beyond the escarpment the river grows wide and shallow, so there must be places where an army could cross over to the better road.

  “Was that what they did?” Klei asked.

  “I can’t say. But I know they left by the west bank. The local farmers watched them and reported it. But whether they stayed on that side of the river or crossed over I can’t tell you. However, I think you’ll agree I now have the right to a question of my own: Why are you asking about the Chosen?”

  “We’ve been following their trail, and we want to find out where they’re going,” Jon explained. “We know it’s been a while since they passed, but anything we can find out would be useful.”

  “And we don’t know what we’re going to do at the present moment,” Klei said, bringing the conversation back to the present. “We’re trying to find lodging—but both inns have shut down. Is there another we don’t know about?”

  “No. Bridgetown has two inns and only two. And both claim to brew the best beer in town. But it only stands to reason both have closed. The day after the Chosen came to our gate, we held a meeting in this plaza. We needed to decide whether to use our best men and women to defend the town, if the Chosen came back as they threatened, or to send them to fight alongside the Emperor.”

  “What did you decide?” Klei asked.

  “I thought it would be easy, but it wasn’t. Most citizens are loyal—especially the old families. But some said our duty was here and that to desert Bridgetown was to desert the Emperor, and a few maintained that the Chosen were men of faith and deserved respect. They’d come to save our souls, so we’d be wrong to turn them away.

  “Naturally, most found this view ridiculous. It’s one thing to let people hold odd notions; it’s another to treat them seriously. My mother says that only someone weak in the head would respect religion, and that’s the way most Bridgetowners feel. It was just a handful of newcomers who urged us to side with to the Chosen. Still, we don’t like to stifle anyone, and in the end we agreed to let each citizen make an individual choice. Interestingly, this talk about listening to the Chosen made many who’d spoken for staying change their minds; and, in the end, nearly everyone elected to go and fight for the Emperor. And that was what I’d believed would happen all along. He gave us this town, and now that he’s in need it’s time to repay him.”

  “Then why didn’t you go?” Klei asked.

  She laughed. “I tried, but they wouldn’t let me. I’m too young—only fifteen. Just your age, I’d guess.”

  “Then you’d guess wrong. I’m two years older than you.”

  “Well, you’re right then. I did guess wrong. But you don’t look seventeen, you know. He does,” she said, looking at Jon, “but not you.”

  “He’s eighteen,” Klei said.

  “Just the younger of my two brothers’ age. But since you can’t stay at the Red Door, perhaps you’d like to bed with us. There’s room, now that Father and my brothers have gone. We could easily put up both of you.”

  “But we are four,” Jon explained, pointing across to where Zoë and Alf were sitting.

  “No problem. And the woman could share my room. But Mother will want to hear about your journey, so be prepared for questions. We’re across the river, near South Gate, but it’s not far. And I should tell you that my name’s Alice.”

  ▲

  Alice was right. Margaret, who wore her hair like her daughter, appeared delighted with their company. Jon had never met anyone so hospitable. The enthusiasm may have taken her mind off her husband and sons, he thought, but her welcome was unfeigned.

  “Let me pick up some things,” she said. “It’s no trouble—I would have gone shopping anyway,” she told them, and then disappeared.

  Jon wondered where she’d gone. The market was closed. Had she been out to borrow from the neighbors?

  Returning, she apologized: “I can’t offer you more than a family meal. But we’ll need some wine, Alice, and your new friends will enjoy seeing more of the town. No need to rush back.”

  Accompanying Alice, they saw that many shops had been boarded up, but she led them to one that was open, where an old man filled their pitcher from an oak cask. When she offered to pay he waved his hands in refusal. “I can see you have out-of
-town guests,” he said. “I want to contribute to their entertainment.”

  What a wonderful place Bridgetown had turned out to be. Yet beneath the friendliness Jon sensed worry. A father and his sons had left for a distant war, and that was doubtless true for hundreds of families. The absence must have been devastating.

  Margaret was busy in the kitchen when they returned, but dinner was soon ready; and when Jon saw what she called a family meal, he wondered what she’d have cooked on a special occasion. At the center of the table, she placed a platter heaped with buttery rice surrounded by lamb stewed with peaches, eggplant fried with peppers, chunks of chicken lapped in a sauce of pomegranates, and, in a bowl next to it, a salad of cucumbers and yogurt. It was the best meal they’d enjoyed in a long time. Perhaps, Jon thought, the best in his life. The Foresters ate well, but nothing like this.

  After they’d eaten, they went out to the small garden behind the house, where Alice passed around porcelain cups of mala tea. The day had been hot, but now the air had cooled and the warm tea was welcome.

  “It’s a drink we give visitors,” Alice explained. “The leaves come from the North, and lately they’ve become scarce. But this is a special occasion.”

  “Indeed it is,” Margaret said, bringing out a dish holding tiny squares of candy—sweet and chewy, with an intense flavor of cherries.

  “I’ve never tasted anything so delicious,” Klei said. “Where did you get it?”

  “I make it myself,” Margaret admitted shyly.

  “My mother is the best cook in the city,” Alice announced proudly. And the travelers chimed in in agreement.

  “She may be the best cook in the Empire,” Klei said.

  “I can’t disagree with that,” Jon added. “Everything has been extraordinary.”

  “And she makes it all,” Alice told them. “Including the fruit bread I sell at the market. She’s the only one who knows the recipe—and you can live on it—you don’t need anything else.”

  “I wish we’d bought some,” Klei said.

  “Stay another day. Baking’s tomorrow.”

  “She means I start the next batch tomorrow,” Margaret said. “But the dough has to rise overnight, so the bread’s not ready until the day after tomorrow. I use the public ovens, and twice a week space is reserved for me.”

  “If they allowed you to use the ovens every day of the year you couldn’t bake enough to satisfy everyone,” Alice said. “No one else makes bread like Mother’s, with the flavors of fruit and wheat and honey, all transformed into magic.”

  Margaret smiled at her daughter.

  “It’s only bread, Darling. You make it sound better than it is. And as for my never baking enough, you were late coming home from the market today, so the demand couldn’t have been that great. Moreover, you shouldn’t have said I’m the only one with the recipe. You know how to make it, too, remember.”

  “Yes, but mine is never as good as yours. It’s not the real thing.”

  “That’s nonsense. Don’t believe a word she says,” Margaret assured the guests. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll prepare half the loaves next bake day and let Alice make the rest. We’ll use the same starter, but everything else will be different. And, once the bread is out of the oven and cooled down, it will be up to you to decide which is better.”

  “I’d like that,” Alf said. “A real experiment.”

  “I doubt we’d be able to tell the difference,” Klei said.

  “Klei is probably right, but I’m afraid we can’t stay,” Zoë added. “We must continue our journey tomorrow.”

  Margaret’s face assumed a sober expression.

  “I don’t know how far you’ll be going, but if you see my husband and sons, tell them Alice and I are safe and await their return.”

  “What is your husband’s name?” Zoë asked.

  “Solon. And our sons are Cletus and Tandar. Cletus has twenty years, and Tandar is three years younger. Strong, tall boys, like all our people. Tandar looks very much like Alice—they both take after my family. But Cletus resembles his father, with dark hair, like yours and Jon’s. Solon belongs to one of the families the Emperor sent here when he ordered the city built. He’s always called the Foresters his cousins.”

  “We’ll look for them. But we’re not going far, and we’ll return soon.”

  “Then come back to our house,” Margaret said. “You’ll be welcome here. And don’t forget, if you meet a tall man from Bridgetown named Solon, tell him I send my love and count the days ‘til he returns.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  They decided to travel north for four days and then come back to Bridgetown to wait for Karl and David. Zoë asked the two women to keep an eye out for her brothers and, if they arrived during their absence, to assure them that she’d return to the city shortly. Zoë knew she was disobeying Karl, since he’d explicitly warned her against going that far.

  “North of the escarpment, there’s nothing but empty territory,” he’d said. “If you find yourself in trouble, you’d have no one to turn to.”

  But why did he think they’d encounter trouble she couldn’t handle? Hadn’t she rescued Jon from the Chosen? None of her brothers had ever brought off anything like that. As far as she knew, Karl had never killed a man. Besides, what right had he to dictate where she should go? It would have been different if Helen had given the warning, but she’d kept silent. If necessary, Zoë would go all the way to Krapàn. She was sure this was as far as any of her brothers had ever traveled, and perhaps she could talk to the woman with the beautiful daughter John had described. She’d be sure to glean more information from her than a man could. Still, Zoë doubted four days would take them that far, but at least they’d be close to it when they turned around. If the Chosen had forded below the escarpment and returned to the River Road, she’d locate their crossing, and that knowledge was worth having.

  Beyond the North Gate the road passed through a succession of hamlets—clusters of brightly painted houses, each surrounded by cultivated fields and clumps of orchard. To their right, the hills grew lower and more distant, although byways led in that direction to farms and vineyards. The river, now on their left, cut through a gorge many feet below the valley. Occasionally, men and women greeted them as they passed, but they saw few people and, as in Bridgetown, most were either very old or very young.

  By late afternoon, however, the landscape gave way to poorer soil, and then they reached a reddish outcropping beyond which the road plunged down to the new level of the river, which widened and grew shallow. Here, beyond the presence of the road itself, you saw no evidence of habitation and the eastern hills drew close again, now rocky and covered with sparse vegetation.

  “It’s remarkable,” Alf said, “the way the terrain can change so abruptly. A few miles away the soil is fertile, but here it looks poisoned.”

  As he spoke a gray lizard dashed across the road in front of them.

  “At least something lives here,” Klei pointed out.

  “Nothing anybody would want to eat.”

  “You wouldn’t eat a lizard, Alf?” Zoë asked. “I thought you were more adventurous.”

  “It’s Jon who’s adventurous, not me.”

  “Would you eat a lizard, Jon?”

  Jon ignored the question and continued walking.

  ▲

  Over days two and three, the landscape remained unchanged—with no sign of the Chosen. Then, early the fourth day, the soil improved slightly and they reached a small village. The people here—men and women with sandy hair and wide features—treated the travelers with cautious civility. Asked about the Chosen, they could only tell them that an army had passed going south weeks ago, but they had no knowledge of its return.

  “At least they didn’t take the road,” one man told them. “We would have known it if they’d come through, even if it had been in the middle of the night. You can’t sleep through something like that.”

  “What if they’d been on the other side of
the river?” Alf asked.

  “I can’t very well say. The river’s wide here and trees grow thick on the west bank. They might have passed behind the trees—but why would anyone travel there? There’s no good road—only a trace nobody’s used for a hundred years.”

  “A hundred years!” another man exclaimed. “I’d say it was more like a thousand.”

  “Shall we turn around here?” Zoë asked her companions. “We said we’d go north four days and then return.”

  Alf and Klei both looked at Jon, forcing him to answer Zoë’s question.

  “But we’ve as yet learned nothing useful,” he said. “We’ve seem no sign of an army fording the river. The man confirmed Alice’s account of a road on the west bank, but we haven’t a clue to how far it goes. Going further, we may discover something. And, by my reckoning, it won’t be four full days until sunset.”

  “But look ahead,” Alf pointed out. “There’s nothing as far as you can see but a straight road with a hill to one side. We’d be wasting time to go forward only to turn back and retrace our steps.”

  “What if we waited here?” Klei asked.

  “What good would that be? If we turn around, we can be back in Bridgetown a day sooner,” Alf replied. “And Alice’s mother promised to save us some fruit bread.”

  “I wish we had something meaningful to report,” Jon said.

  “I agree,” Zoë said. “Although our having seen no sign of the Chosen or the Brotherhood is useful information. We’ve passed a number of spots where it looked possible to cross the river. If they kept on the other side, the old road must be passable—perhaps all the way to Krapàn.”

  “I have an idea,” Alf said. “If we climb the hill we might see something, and surely it will afford a glimpse of the road across the river.”

  “Good plan,” Zoë told him.

  However, the hill turned out to be both farther and taller than it appeared; it was well into the afternoon when they scrambled to its summit.

  “Well, here we are, Alf,” Zoë said. “Can you see anything?”