Chapter 5

“Long ago, child, this place was truly wild, and only jackals and wolves dwelt amongst the tall grass. No shepherd or goatherd or any kind of herd dared venture very far into the interior, and there were only about thirteen or fourteen families who pitched their tents on the country that faced west. The rest of the veldt was empty.

“Every year, once at the boundary of summer and fall, and again at the border with winter, a mist rolls in from across the sea and over that cursed bridge. Nobody knows who built that bridge, others says it was the devil himself. But anyway…

“The mist comes in to claim human lives. Back when Port Lilan was just a small village, whenever the mist comes into town, everyone will shut their windows and doors tight. “The handful of shepherd families would close their tents, but those were flimsy, and inevitably children from these families would be snatched away by the fog, along with quite a lot of their flocks.

“Thus, the people of Lilan would often call those who slept on the veldt foolish, even though there would always be those who would not heed their warnings, tempted by the rich pasture out here.

“It was only in the years when the mists have stopped coming that this steppe became populated. The first towns, Sud and Bronoch and Bramba and others, they all were founded within five years after the departure of the mist.”

Taran was able to interview twenty-five people and eight herder families over the course of two days. While some have fed her, and quite generously even, one telling her stories by the bonfire at night, by the time morning of the third when she began to ride back to the capital, her own food supplies have already run low, and she will have to be back by dark or face starvation in the veldt.

She followed the same route as she returned along the Gall River and the Kolik Creek. By sundown, she was riding over the grassland behind the census building, which had a radio tower of its own at the rooftop that shone as a bright point of red against the lights of Port Lilan and the evening sky.

Before she could head back to the office, however, she had to have her fill of dinner first. Her first proper dinner in ages. She felt the coins in the pocket of her loose-fitting pants. Why did Karl even give them these? There was no proper store in the wilderness.

She was surprised, even dazzled, by the variety of eating places in the capital. There was a lot more than at the warlord citadel, reminding her of Aquileia, and it warmed her heart. None of the places were upscale, though, and many belched quite a bit of smoke. She found one where it was not so smoky or noisy, and emptied her bag on a feast of prawns and trenchers and sauce and pasta and fruit. Lots of fruit.

Nine P.M. saw her riding into the yard quite sleepy from the heavy meal and the trip, and in fact she did not even dismount, taking her time to nap on her horse for about half an hour. Keera had said they will meet here in the city. Perhaps they will arrive from the veldt tomorrow and they will all have tea with Karl at breakfast or brunch.

Later, she was back on the ground, rummaging for the keys to her room. Oh right, Karl had only given her one, that of the backdoor, as he usually left the door to her room open for her. Some nights she would make supper for herself at the tiny kitchen downstairs, so it took a while before she actually hit the sack, but right now she was hungry only for rest. She found the key and let herself in.

What…

The door to her room was locked. It must be a mistake. Was she away for so long that Karl forgot about her already? Did he seriously expect them to stay in the veldt for a month? Drat. Welp, she was in no mood to look for another place, so she decided to lie down right outside the door, thinking to get the message across to Karl and make him feel bad.

She touched the floor with the palm of her hand—whoa! Her skin seemed to stick to the tile that felt like ice. Grrrr, I really do hope that stupid Karl won’t be able to sleep well from here on once he sees me like this! Urrrrgh… Maybe I should just slump against the wall, it does not feel nearly as chilly, being paneled with wood. But then…

“…”

The cold floor did not feel so bad with the layers of travel clothes she had on…

It’s so soft…

“…”

Where am I?

All of my fatigue is draining away.

Taran felt refreshed opening her eyes. She had not felt like this in a long time, she wasn’t even drowsy, only a bit lightheaded. There really was something soft under her. So I am in bed. It’s so comfy… She turned her head to look at the face of the man next to her.

He looks so gentlemanly, I wonder if

“Who is this bloke even!?” she yelled scrambling out of the way.

She turned her head to the door, and standing there was Karl, holding a basket with a teapot and cups, gazing blankly at them and looking as if he would just drop the teaset on the spot.

“You shouldn’t just go deciding stuff on your own like that,” said Karl over tea in the office. Taran still could not take a bite from the embarrassment, and the “gentlemanly” fellow only laughed like nothing happened. It didn’t help that his black hair always looked pomaded and polished… and Taran thought it pretentious. Granted, however, it did look fabulous—when one was half-conscious as she had been in that bed.

“What am I going to do? The poor boy is on the floor and I am on a matress.”

“If you want to take someone to bed with you on a whim, get a pet, or just get married already, you got a steady job here, anyways.”

“I can’t be bothered with a commitment, you know that. Flirting is just easier.”

“You’re a creep,” Taran finally muttered. “Get away from me.”

Karl let his head hang. “So much for first impressions. There goes the mission, I guess?”

“What mission?” said Taran.

He hesitated. Maybe he should just let it drop. But the man spoke up for him. “You and I are going on a trip.”

Taran was mortified. “You?! No way in nothing am I going anyhere with the likes of you!”

“We are going to the prairie together, lad.”

“But I been there already!”

“No, Taran. This task is much greater than the one you had with Keera and Shayn. You won’t just know the people, you will know the land itself. The two of you shall make a map.”

Taran was blown away by this. A… A map!? How can they even make a map for someplace as huge as the veldt?! That is a project of unearthly proportions, of epic scale, of…. hold on. “Sir Karl… where is Keera and Shayn?”

“Oh. Them? They got here yesterday. They went back to Treverorum, they’ll be back next year.”

So the two had gone on to Lilan without her. “That’s just mean.”

“They finished faster than you. Why are you even complaining?”

Taran let out a loud sigh. “But do I really have to go back? The Bensons—”

“I have already fired off a letter to them. Taran, you were an adventurer. With the sort of work that needs to be done by the census right now, and with all those people of your type snapped up by the Sisters we will just have to make the most out of you, squeeze you dry. In a year we will negotiate your pay and see how we can best compensate for the services you render this office in the meantime.”

That’s… kinda not the point. “I think they are expecting me down at the farm every weekend, without fail.”

Karl only huffed. “If you are worried about your folks, the most I can do about that is introduce Hoen here, let him stay at your place for a night, so they can feel at ease with him looking after you in the field.”

Hoen himself extended a hand to Taran. “Glad to be of service.”

Tch. Why did I even have to know this fellow’s name? “No thanks.”

Karl cleared his throat. “Hoen Vanzyck is, ahem, a professional cartographer. He was specially appointed by the president on a mission to map all of Ozhakoland, consolidate and refine all of the existing maps used by agents of the census such as yourself. Once this task is completed, your work will be much more bearable.”

“It is my understanding that it is more staff that will make the work bearable.”

“Mr. Vanzyck is knowledgeable in topography, hydrology, geology, even some botany. His knowhow will be extremely invaluable to you at some point, and to the country as a whole.”

Early that Friday morning, when Mr. Benson came to pick up his charge, he was none too pleased to hear from Karl that they must accommodate this strange, loquacious man over the weekend. He kept glancing at Taran as if seeking for an explanation from her, and she always turned her gaze away quietly stating, “Don’t ask me.”

She was still looking away as they drove back to the farm, her gazing absentmindedly out the window of the cab, Benson clammed up and keeping his eyes stuck to the road, quite disappointed he could not ask Taran how the week went and all, whilst Hoen wedged between them rambled on and on and on about a veritable lecture on geography with a little blend of his own embellished exploits on the field as Ozhakoland’s go-to mapper and surveyor. This last bit, Benson grudgingly admitted, would be quite handy at the property. He will probably bring that up at dinner as reparations for this little annoyance.

“The soil of your typical veldt is generally good for agriculture, but in many places too many nutrients have leached out of the soil, owing to excessive rainfall in some years. This has created some barren patches here and there, and so people, seeing those, think the land is no good for farming. But they can’t be further from the truth! Mr. Benson sir, you and I should join hands and educate folks on the potential of this country!”

It was Taran who at last broke the silence. “Alright, smartpants, let me see if you can solve this case.

“The Alamati dam. It never cracked, never broke apart, but in the end it gave way. Pray enlighten me how.” She expected him to repeat the oft-cited rumor that it was bombed, and then she would counter by saying there was no evidence of bombing, and that it would tie his tongue and shut him up once and for all. But Hoen only smirked at this.

“Groundwater.”

“Eh…?”

“Groundwater. This is a forgotten enemy that everyone remembers only when digging deep into the earth.”

Taran’s ears perked up in surprise. She remembered the shin-deep water in that well she had dug up so furiously; she thought afterwards she would have collapsed from fatigue into a waist-deep flood and drowned had she went on.

“The dam never cracked, it is true, the water never was able to attack it from behind. Instead, the enemy built up strength from below.”

“Huh…?”

“The groundwater, unable to shove the mighty warrior off the battlefield, resorted to diving below and pushing the dam up. It weakens the footing, the foundation, and with that the army of the rear can finally push strong enough.”

“…”

“And besides, Alamati is an old story. Dams these days use different tricks to fight the hidden menace of groundwater: underground walls, drains, pumps… The fact that you repeated a trite old tale as that proves you have nothing else in your arsenal against me.”

Taran’s face could barely be described, finding herself rebutted so well. She turned back to the window with a sharp “Humph!” Benson only puffed. Welp… maybe he should tell the fellow to be useful now, if only to suppress the urge to whack him on the spot.

“Say, um, Mr. Engineer, I had been wondering… can you map my property? I was about to have the land registered next month. Since you are here already, might as well ask. I have saved up a bit of money for advance payment and shall give out the rest over a year, maybe.”

“Ahahaha. Say no more, Mr. Benson sir, I will do it for free—just for you, considering you will be housing and feeding me under your own roof.”

He suppressed a bit of a smirk at this. “But oh, Mr. Engineer sir, that must be a bit too much. It is my understanding that surveying services have a steep charge, especially in Lilan.”

“Think nothing of it, sir. I will do anything to get on the good side of my comrade here, right Taran my boy?” he said nudging her with his elbow.

Well, Hoen did get to the good side of the Benson couple. At lunch he had nothing but compliments for Mrs. Benson’s cooking. He had barely wiped the sauce off his mouth when he invited Mr. Benson on a stroll around the property, which turned out to be the mapping job itself. The whole thing took up the entire afternoon. With only a handful of the cartography tools he brought along, they were able produce a map of the whole farm by sundown.

Taran was not amused. That night, after everybody went to bed, she went up to the attic with the radio Karl had issued to her. She did not quite care if the census master was already asleep, she did not appreciate this all-too-sudden imposition of a man taking her folks away from her. There was nothing but static. But the signal should be clearer at night! Gah!

If this keeps up, she won’t be hearing the end of his on-the-spot quizzes.

“Yo!” he had beamed at her all of a sudden as she was doing the dishes. “How many layers does the earth have?”

“What’s with you this time?” she grumbled.

“I will give you a clue: the world bears an uncanny resemblance to an egg…”

“Your world looks like an egg, mister, as for me, I want to smash one on your pointed head right now.”

Maybe she should try that at breakfast tomorrow.

Monday morning, the Bensons prepared the horses for Taran and Hoen with loads and loads of beef jerky from the missus, which Hoen made Taran carry with her on her mount, much to her further irritation.

The mapper popped open a bottle of beer and began drinking as soon as the Benson farm was out of sight. Tch! He hid his true colors from the poor couple on purpose. Why did she have to ride with someone like this? “You know kid,” he began to rant, “we can actually make the moon livable. See, comets have a lot of…” Swig. “… a lot of water ice. Slam enough comets on the thing, and you get a sizable ocean. Put some fish, put some seaweed, bam, all we have is to breed mermaids out of men to populate the world, pretty cool, ain’t it kid?” Swig.

The pair proceeded toward the Lake Sud region, where the sizable town of Sud stood not far from the shore. Hoen went on prattling on his saddle much as he did in the Benson truck, whether Taran cared to listen or no. At times, Hoen belted a country song, at which Taran would purposely slow down so as to fall behind and put some distance.

As the sun went down, Taran began searching for a proper spot to camp for the night. “Sir Hoen!” she called. “Why not we check out that wood yonder? We could put up a hammock, at least.”

“A wood!” he gushed, riding over to her. “Good. Here,” he said handing over the reins of his horse, “take care of my load, will ‘ya?” He got off his saddle at once and ran off. “I got business, yo!” he yelled back to a Taran pale with disbelief. Hoen clearly had a lot to unload himself, no thanks to the bottles of beer he had been at the whole day.

Early the following morning, Taran broke camp on her own, as Hoen was still asleep, and indeed he would remain so well into the day, well after Taran had finished her breakfast and wrapped him his share in one of the paperbags she meant for when she would purchase herself some stuff in town. For crying out loud…..

Just as the sun began to blaze hot, they spotted from afar the columns of smoke that marked a place of many chimneys.

The town of Sud was nestled in a shallow depression that lined the south shore of the lake named after it. It was thus sheltered from the cold and hot winds that rushed unhindered aross the veldt. With the calming influence of the great lake, the town enjoyed a mild clime that refreshed a weary Taran and which has attracted people to settle there through the ages, indeed, the trees enjoyed it long before even the people did; a forest once stood where the place is now, and today a good part of it remains, flanking the eastern side of town.

The first thing she did after they got to their inn and unpacking, was drop by the small post office next door. Karl taught her to make a letter didn’t he? Well, it’s high time she wrote one to him, asking to part ways with the man he had foisted on her.

She checked the moneybag Karl had sent her for an allowance. She had not even taken a peek at it from the moment they set out from the census, quite unlike Athos who always checked the money as soon as they were paid. Tch. I was leaving things to him too much, she rued herself. She did not even buy anything so far, even food, as she was wont to live off of what she carried on her person before even thinking to purchase. Sixty ran, all in coin. Karl was quite generous this time. This mapping business must be a huge, huge deal to him, huh? Or was this for the both of them already? If so, then where did Hoen get the cash for his drinking? Whatever.

She rented a typewriter and wrote her letter thus:

Dear Mr. Dovay sir,

Greetings.

You told me I was going on a mapping mission with Mr. Vanzeck, but it turned out I was actually going to school.

The most esteemed gentleman would not stop lecturing me the whole time we were on the way here, even on horseback.

Why did you even send me out here for something I could just get from attending some college in Lilan or even Treverorum? I’m no schoolgirl, sir!

I can’t imagine myself in schoolgirl garb, like the ones I saw in Aquileia… Just the thought of it turns my insides out.

I really do IMPLORE you Mr. Karl sir.

No more Mr. Hoen.

That’s all.

Ever and always yours,

T. Axton

Taran, of course, did not want to stay at the inn with Hoen, rather, for every single day of that week she would ride out to the lake itself to see the herds: sheep, horses, goats, cattle. Hoen, in the meantime, would be absorbed in his room scribbling notes and reading. The two barely saw each other whilst in that town.

I wonder what it would be like to look after those horses and all day in and day out? she mused. Looking after plants, as what she did back at the Bensons, seemed too take too much of her patience. Animals were messier, yes, but they were so, so much livelier. Without any burdensome survey task as she had last time, she can just focus on the livestock. Will any of those herders let her? If only…! That would be the best best thing to do in Sud, but… Oh well, better settle on second best.

She began to lift her voice, and she let her song be carried on the gentle lakeside breeze.

It was not long before heads turned. The women who were carrying wares or laundry, the young shepherds driving their flocks back to the stables, passers-by on foot and on bicycle, people first stared, then stood sround, then stood closer. They were all listening to her singing from a distance, eyes closed, thoroughly engrossed.

“Mister!”

“Huh—?”

The little girl went and sat down at her feet. “Can I make a request?" she beamed.

To her great surprise, a loose crowd had formed all around her. They were all smiling. At her.

“…”

One of them began to clap. And then… another. And another. Before she could realize it, everybody was applauding her. Hey—since when did they arrive!? Flustered, she scrambled to her feet and dashed away in embarrassment.

On the morning of the last day the two of them were to say in Sud, being out of bed early as usual to avoid her companion (who was oversleeping a lot), she went downstairs to a tavern unusually packed at such an hour and agog with disturbing news.

“That postman’s a goner.”

Huh? The postman? The guy who was supposed to deliver her letter to the census?

“You think they will get here?”

“The devils will be here, that’s a guarantee! In a few days, I hear, they say a party was encamped on the other side of the lake.”

“You think they will boat over?”

“Hah! Bold of them to just get on a nice boat to here after all the murdering they did!”

Taran could not hold back her agitation. “Excuse me, mister, what’s happening? Is there another war?” She should have known. Treverorum must be sending adventurers again… maybe to Five-Moon this time.

But no.

“Raiders! From Freidaland! You must be new here. Those chaps over there shall join the defense militia, they will have a roll call after lunch. Me am busting out of here after breakfast.”

A grin broke across Taran’s excited face. It had been a while since she joined a fight, that’s what an adventurer is all about! “Where do I sign up for the roll—” Hold it. From Freidaland? Were they the reason Keera had told her she would never return alive? But the Lost Bridge was still quite a distance to the north from here. Could it be that they are all over the veldt on this side of the seaway by now? No way… The Bensons!

If she is to make a stand—then that is the place to be!

Taran checked the moneybag one last time. There were still about forty ran. She had been rather tight-fisted so far, but then, saving up was meant for times like this. She marched to a certain warehouse at the outskirts of town, where a rowdy crowd had gathered outside a closed door, all of them demanding to be admitted.

“Fall in line, fall in line!” hollered the owner of the ammo store from out a window on the second floor.

“Didn’t ‘ya see how many we are? By the time we’re done, the savages woulda wiped out everybody!”

Everybody was basically shouting the same thing, with some threats of breaking into the warehouse mixed in. The threats soon morphed into action, and the door began to shudder from many hands trying to force their way in.

“Halt!”

The crowd froze.

The roar was so singularly loud it was as though it came from a giant. They all turned to see Taran, standing tall, standing proud, not at all tolerating the whole fuss. “You wanna keep your town from falling, you organize! Start by falling in line! You actually believe you have a chance beating off an actual raiding party when all you can think of is brawl!?”

“Kids like you oughtta shut their trap!” yelled one of them raising a rifle butt at her. Which she caught with one hand. And took the rifle away. And whacked him with it. She struck three more, and five more, all of whom rushed at her blindly and all at once. Every last one of them lay on the ground afterwards.

“…”

“See my point?” she panted. Loud huff! “That’s what you are up against. Professionals! Folks who know how to bait and trap and lead you on.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Mister!” shouted the owner from over her head. “Mind if you lead us? With the defense, I mean.”

“No. I have a family left behind. This is your place. Shape up!” And she threw him the moneybag. “That’s all. What do I get with that much?”

“Melee or shot?”

Just then, a burly man lunged at her from behind. But Taran’s fortes are reflexes and quick thinking. She grabbed the bloke by the arm and threw him down hard with one motion.

She dusted herself. “Both!”

In ten minutes the owner reappeared and threw her a brand-new full auto rifle with a large, fully-loaded drum. He threw an extra drum and a wrapped bayonet as thanks for restraining the mob.

Taran walked away as they all made way for her, toting the merchandise in both hands. Everybody then meekly formed two queues to the armory door.

Later that same morning, Hoen found her packing up quickly and lightly at her horse. “Hey hey hey,” he said grabbing her arm. “You’re not thinking of going out to the prairie, are ‘ya?”

“I am,” she replied yanking her arm off his grip. “I’m not leaving my folks behind.”

Hoen ran his fingers through his hair, trying to look cool. He was clearly looking down on her. “Listen. Let’s not be rash, OK? Karl himself told me you were simply taken in. They’re not your real family. You gotta live for yourself, am I wrong?”

She turned away and went on packing, seething to the bones. This is no time to bug me, dude.

Huff. “Kid, listen. The best chance you and I are to survive is to stay put. The town is setting up a defense. We must set up our own in our room. The thugs are across the lake. They might as well be here tomorrow.”

“You mean the best chance for you to survive is to stay put. Don’t lump me in with yourself. I’m an adventurer.”

“Ohohoho… Adventurer. Like those losers at the western highway? How many of your buddies have been offed there?”

“Whut…”

“I will be out of my mind to think you actually are who you say you are, and even so, to be slaughtered like pigs and roasted by Big Eater Five-Moon? Some adventurers you lot are.”

Whut. Taran could not believe her ears. What western highway was he talking about? The one where she and Athos—? She felt her throat shrink in anger. How could this oaf of a stranger talk about that one battle where she lost Athos?!

“You’re staying here, kid, you can’t play adventurer when your life is on the line. I am not letting that Karl breathe down my throat by letting you—Oof!” Taran had landed a solid blow to his gut, making him collapse on the spot.

“Is that adventurer enough for you?” And she finished packing, mounted the horse—“GEEUP!”—and rode away.