Chapter 6

“The mist people still await…

“The mist is a vengeful demon, or so they say. Our elders. The fog may have gone from this land, but over there, across the bridge, there remains the people of the mist. For they lay claim to all of the veldt. Once they reconquer the veldt, they will claim the whole world…

“They can only enter this land through the bridge the devil had made. Everybody says the bridge must be destroyed to vanquish them from the land once and for all.

“But the bridge was never destroyed. No one could. It was indestructible.”

Taran did not let the horse rest. She rode like the wind the whole day and well into the night. By then, the horse had slowed to a trot from fatigue, but they still did not stop. Were the raiders already on their way to Balkha? Did she outrun them? How many men could an attack party field? So many, many anxious questions…

She finally saw the faint lights of the settlement from afar off and spurred her mount to a final gallop. She put her rifle on her back and her pistol in her hand, and was ready to crash into the yard with fire and fury…. if only she gets there soon enough—

“Whoaaa!”

The horse neighed loudly at the night sky before finally collapsing on its knees from exhaustion. Taran jumped down and bounded to the yard. The truck was still there. But the house was dark. Oh no….

She banged the door hard, yelling for anyone to come out. Was the house looted already? Did they carry off the poor couple? Are they actually still in there? So many, many frightened questions…

The door opened and she nearly fell forward. She had the presence of mind, however, to shout and raise her gun at

Mr. Benson.

The man was pale from fright. “T-Taran…?”

“…”

Seeing who it was, Taran let her arms drop, let go of the gun, and began to break into tears. She grabbed her foster father’s arms to hug him… but held back. No, she never hugged anyone else aside from a dead bosom friend, and she never let them hug her, now is not at all different. But she did let herself sink to her knees, still holding on to his arms.

“I’m sorry!” she yelled. “I thought… I thought…!”

Mrs. Benson arrived on the scene. “Dear… Who was that? Taran? What—W-Why is there a pistol on the floor!?”

Her husband finally recovered and drew a deep breath. “Taran… Why did you do that? Answer me, Taran!” But then his anger soon melted away. The voice in that weeping was raw and from the depths of her heart. It was hard to piece together someone who cried like that and someone who would commit a crime. He went down to her level and wiped her tears. “What was the gun for, Taran? Tell me.”

“Has… Has nobody… attacked this place? No one?”

The man gaped in confusion and shook his head. What did Taran even mean? “Who would want to attack us, Taran? Are there any thugs around?”

She wiped her face on her sleeve. “Raiders.” Sniffle. “From Freidaland. They’re here.”

Mrs. Benson covered her mouth in disbelief.

“Freidaland…? That can’t be… Are you sure? Wasn’t there any mistake?”

She only shook her head as a dunno and hugged the man’s legs. “You’re safe… You’re safe!” She emptied the rest of her tears right there at his feet.

The following day at sunset, Hoen arrived at Balkha on a diferent horse. Looking around, he satisfied himself that everything was alright, so he headed staright for the Bensons.

“So the mailman didn’t actually head to Lilan?” said Taran.

“No,” replied Hoen, “the capital was still the destination, but it was only later that I found out the postman made a detour to the other side of the lake to pick up some more mail. Sure enough, he ran into them.” Turns out, Lake Sud was the farthest limit of the attacks before the raiding parties retreated back over the bridge.

“They don’t have the guts to go anywhere closer to Lilan, such as here,” observed Mr. Benson.

“Maybe not yet,” said Hoen. “They were more likely probing the first time. If they had the numbers yesterday, I believe Sud town would have been in trouble by now.”

“Well then,” said Mrs. Benson, “are you going on to Lilan tomorrow? I might prepare some you sandwiches.”

“No, Ma’am. Karl told me to return here and check for mail. Said he will send instructions by letter to this address.”

“…”

Hoen stretched. “I don’t think I will be in the field for a while. I probably will pay a visit to that city of Four-Leaf everybody’s talking about. I hear they have excellent cafés there.” He stood up. “I’m off to bed, if you don’t mind.”

So Taran will have to put up with this impossible bloke for… he did not even mention how long he was staying here! Across the table, she could tell her folks were also seething, as there was only silence after that conversation. Taran did not go to sleep at once, taking to the loft where she could see the stars and dwell on a future that has become uncertain all of a sudden.

“You are not thinking to loaf around here the whole day like you did in Sud, are you?” she had told him earlier before he could go to bed.

“I was not loafing at the lodge, if you cared to peek into my room, that is.”

“Oh right. Pushing your pen again. That’s all you know. That’s all you can ever do.”

“That’s exactly what I was sent to do. That’s what I did for your Bensons.”

“Your map, eh? Well, now that that’s done, what will you do? Leech off of us for that scrawny bit of paper you made? And then go off to a good time at the citadel? Huh?”

Thankfully enough, Hoen packed before dawn and left for the citadel without even staying for breakfast. He also did not say how long he will be away. Maybe he will be so enamored of the city and forget to leave, which, as far as Taran was concerned, was all for the best.

After she had gathered the eggs and fetched water from the well she had dug, the family sat down to breakfast. The Bensons were still quiet, sullen even, from last night. That rotten Hoen. When will he stop being an impolite burden of an oaf? She quickly finished her meal and asked for leave to do chores around the house. She left the table with nary a word from them.

When they all sat down to lunch, the mood did not improve. Mrs. Benson only reheated leftovers from last night. The both of them looked tired, angering Taran even more. “Benson sir, I will set out tomorrow and haul that fella back into town. I’ll make him apologize for the trouble he did here. He thinks he’s being funny. But we’ll have the last laugh.”

“Taran,” chided the husband, “Mr. Vanzyck helped with mapping the farm. That should be enough of a compensation.”

“Heh? What… Is he using that as an excuse for having his way around our house? Just one ramble around our place which even I can do three times faster? And for what? For leeching off of everything we have?”

“You have no idea how important that one favor he did is for us, Taran.”

“But I have done a lot of work in this house! Against just one little map? No sir, tomorrow I will get ready to go abroad and chase him, I won’t let this stand!”

“Taran.” It was the wife who was talking now. “Is going abroad and chasing people all that you can think of?”

“…”

Huh…?

Taran glanced at Mr. Benson. She wanted to retort, but her foster father was giving off this weird feeling that he was done talking, in fact, he had already stopped eating without finishing his meal and was already leaning back in his chair. His wife also kept to herself now, carrying on with her meal without another glance at her. What’s going on with them? She finally let her thoughts slip. “What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with everyone?” And she got to her feet and swept out of the house.

It was hot that day, but Taran did not mind; she wanted to blow off steam by doing something outside the house. She saw a packet of corn seeds Mr. Benson left at a tree branch. Good. This will do. Taking the seeds and a hoe, she began looking for some space, and she found it, a clearing with trees standing to the west, such a place would be shaded from the afternoon heat and sun-kissed in the mornings. She began to break the soil to prepare a seedbed.

In the end, however, the heat got the better of her, and the work had to be continued when everything cooled down towards sundown. That meant she would not be able to finish before dark, and so she will have to return to the task the following day.

She sat down to yet another tense meal at the table. Mr. Benson was not even there, and his wife would not utter a word at her. She could not take the awkwardness so she took some of the cornbread and went out to the field.

The dew had softened the earth, and the wonderful smell of the land tickled her nose. Time to get back to work. There were clouds large enough to stave off the worst of the daylight, and the moisture made working the soil easier. She was able to make five of the seedbeds.

There must be some fertilizer laying around. Oh yes—there was a compost pit not far from the outhouse where she can find a bucket. Perfect.

Planting the corn made her sweat even in the shade, so she took a short nap at the foot of an oak after spreading her second bucket of fertilizer. It was still hot, but she had recovered some of her strength, so she went to get a third load of compost.

It was in this digging that she noticed it.

A piece of something peeked through the dirt. Piqued, she trowelled the earth, worms, and twigs away from it and… An envelope? It was stained from lying buried for so long, and the edges have decayed, but it was still recognizable. She tried to open it—oh! It was already peeling off. Good thing the letter inside was still intact, if already moist; she stood up, held it up to the light, and unfolded it with care and… This… It’s from the census. From Karl! It was dated from just last week. These were… She felt her heart race with excitement. These were the instructions Hoen had mentioned at dinner. They were telling the both of them to accompany an expedition—an army invasion!—to the interior against the raiders… they were to cross the Lost Bridge into Freidaland! She could not help herself, her hands shook, she smiled ear to ear… Huh? What is this thing doing in the pit? Who put it here? Did Mr. Benson—

“…”

She felt her angry feet back off from the pit, and break into run back to the house.

She found the man at the truck, hosing mud off the wheels. There she was, grimy, sweaty, unconcerned. Maddened. She rushed forward and grabbed him by the arm. “What have you done?!” she demanded. “What have you done?!”

He only gazed coolly at his foster daughter, letting the water spill on his feet.

“Why did you chuck this letter in the pit? Karl was writing to us! How dare you!”

Benson puffed. “So you found it.”

“I did. You blew it.” She was trying hold back from crying. “No… There must be another party. I will get Hoen. I will join the mission, I am going to Freidaland!”

To her utter surprise, Benson threw off her grip. “Unhand me, then. Go. Pack your things. You may leave.”

Her fingers trembled. What’s the matter with him? “This is my only chance. The government itself commissioned a foray into Freidaland. I won’t be outlawed. I can’t pass it up!”

“Didn’t you hear me? You may go.”

“…”

“Get your chance. Be an adventurer. Live your dream. We… Your mother and I…. We will be fine.”

“My… My mother? Who…?” Her chest tightened. “Are you…?”

“You haven’t noticed it, huh? Well… I won’t blame you if you still don’t think of us as family, I did chain you like a dog and all. I am sorry. If you want to go, do it. Do it now. Do it now before I… before I change my mind.”

“Where is my moth—where is Missus—where is…?” Her words were caught in her throat in the confusion.

“Your mother is resting. She needs it. She and I have a load in our chest we need to sleep off of ourselves.”

No. No no no… No. “But why? Why won’t you let me go now?”

“I never wanted to let you go at all since the day that Karl of yours told me you will be away in the veldt. I was afraid. Maybe… Maybe your adventurer side will awaken once more and make you drift further and further away from us. Turns out it’s worse. I was putting up with the census the whole time. But this… Go now. We will forget. In a week, in a month, maybe. But we will forget. Our foolish fantasy of having a son again.”

“…”

“Freidaland is the land of the dead. You will never return. As soon as you cross the bridge, my wife and I will forget we ever met you.”

She tried to laugh it off. “But the government—! They can’t be wrong!”

“The government may be right where the people are wrong. The people may be right where the government is wrong! Go now. This is what you want. Forget us. We’re in your way. Go now. Go!”

There was this loud voice that entered her heart just now. But the excitement of the trip had already taken its place there first. The drumbeats of war could not be stilled. Go now. Go, he said. A different battle was beginning to rage inside of her. Yet she could not let the noise of that particular fight drown out the greater call to arms. She stepped back and broke into a run once again. The tears were flowing—but she was smiling! Grinning! Why is she even hurting amidst the thrill rushing in her blood? What is this side conflict all about, anyway? They will understand. They know she is an adventurer. If they consider me their son, they will understand. They are the ones who brought me to the census to begin with. They understand.

They understand.

“Taran,” said Mrs. Benson one Saturday morning after returning from work at the census that week, “would you mind putting this on?”

She was surprised at the outfit in question—work overalls held up by suspenders. “Greg always wanted to be a trucker like his father here. A… businessman to be precise.”

“Jeanie,” said her husband uneasily, “that again?”

“He never wanted to be a doctor, even though I told him countless times it would suit his bright head.”

“You just didn’t want him to be conscripted, Jeanie.”

“Come on, Taran, here. I think you will grow into it just fine in less than a year.”

She remembered staring at the garment for what must have been a full five minutes. That thing… It did not cover the upper body by itself. She will have to wear a shirt, one that will definitely become tight-fitting once she had the suspenders on. There’s no way she could wear that without revealing certain details.

She could also recall stepping back and leaving without a word.

I wonder… was that the start? Was that the reason? Of their being cold to me…?

Taran tethered the horse to one of the posts in the wood outside the gate to the city of Four-Leaf. The road leading into the city was littered with leaves, even branches, neglected as it was largely unused without any conscripts coming overland from Lilan to augment the adventurers from Treverorum who came in by ship, like last time.

Come to think, this city is a lot like Trevo, if smaller, perhaps made that way as a reflection of Four-Leaf’s ambition to be talked of in the same breath as the Empire. Upon entering the gate, the road forked; the branch that climbed the low hill led into the citadel itself whilst the other to a market, above which a row of shops and cafés lined the top of a ledge. In Treverorum, most of the shops were consolidated into their own city, there were cafés that ringed Trevo proper, and the markets and trade port were some distance to the south in Aquileia where the Palace of the Imperial Children and its great white radio tower overlooked the harbor. Here, however, the port where the warlord’s ships were berthed and the sea itself can be spotted easily once you ascended to the ledge; Treverorum’s imperial navy… rather, two fleets (of twelve) that were scheduled to moor at home for that month, were tucked well behind the imperial capital, visible only when you drove far enough along the great highway that ended behind Aquileia on the Cascadian road that led back to the port city. Nonetheless, Four-Leaf’s citadel was a proper seat for a major warlord, and indeed it was the envy of the other four Sisters.

Taran walked down to the market. She disdained the cafés overhead, if only because the mention of them came from Hoen’s mouth, who called them “excellent” and so was presumably gallivanting there this very moment. She did say she would fetch him and that was still her objective, but it was only because Karl had specified that they go together in order to join the mission. Maybe she can put off meeting up with the jerk for today.

This market was not so crowded. She felt her pocket for the money she had squirrelled away from the last pay she got from the veldt mission with Shayn and Keera. Hmmm. Of supplies, she had clothes, but her shoes were wearing out. The sleepsack had been replaced by Karl, but the bedsheets were faded and wearing thin. There was grain, dried fish, and enough jerky from the Bensons, no fruit, however. The other supplies have not run out too much. Maybe she will find a cobbler, and then she could splurge a little on treats.

Such as…

She found a woman who carried around such sea items such as laver, abalone, and roe. The roe was pricey, alright, but she could afford a small cup. Will the woman agree to such an amount? Firstly, though… is it right for her to enjoy something she once had with Athos, when he is no longer…?

“…”

She only stood there staring, as with a waif outside a bakeshop. She must have looked pathetic enough for someone on the street to reach out and offer a cup of the stuff to her. “Here.”

“Huh? Uh… Thank you but—”

It was Hoen.

Her face was blank. “Oh… Fancy seeing you here,” she muttered sourly.

“Congratulations on finding me. You could get lost in the variety of this place. I presume Karl had sent for us already?” When she failed to answer, he offered the roe again. “Come on. Who knows when we could eat actual human food again after we return to that nasty veld?”

“…”

“Missus hawker here will be upset if you burn her merchandise with your gaze without compensation. If you want something, you should just get it, no? Alright then, buy it now or get it free from moi?”

“…”

Sigh. He took the cup back and began to eat. “Note to self: Pretty boy hates fishy bits. Moving on.” And he backed off and away. But then Taran went after him. She did find him now, anyway. “Oh?” he said. “What gives? You look unwell and yet you are following me. Do you want to be with me so much?”

“Well, yes, I must admit. Until we could rendezvous with the army, that is, and have myself transferred to a different company from you.”

He only laughed it off, helping himself to the roe with a relish.

“What? Are you telling me to stay with you all the way, or you won’t go with me at all? Fine. I’ll just tell Mr. Dovay you are being difficult. The only reason I came looking for you first was simple courtesy. Now that you made it clear you need no assistance, there will be no hard feelings.”

“Good that we’re clear on that. I don’t really want to see you.”

She stopped in her tracks. To her surprise… she was surprised at this, flustered even. “I-I… I knew it!” She yelled at him in annoyance. “You make a show of giving me a snack and all, but you are playing me the whole time!” She went and grabbed him by the collar. “Make yourself absolutely clear. Your truest true intention, right here right now, no mixed signals! Would you rather go on your own. If that’s what you really really intend, I will go, no questions asked.”

He chuckled to himself. “No questions asked, huh?”

“Are you?!” she demanded.

“Get your hands off first, will you?” She did, and then he faced her. “My truest intentions, eh? Alright. You know why I really came here instead of staying over at the Bensons? It was you. If you haven’t noticed already, your folks are quite chummy with me. It’s just that I cannot stand you constantly hating me.

“I once thought it was just a mood of yours and you would warm up, but you just kept hating. Hating and hating. And then I saw you coming here by yourself to find me so I thought maybe you finally got around enough to share a treat with me. So yes, it’s for the best that we part ways. I can’t abide you of all people hating me, it makes me feel so rotten.”

Huh? Her mouth hung. “What… What do you mean, ‘me of all people?’ ”

“It is what it is. I don’t want you hating me. I don’t want to be hated by a pretty boy such as you.”

She clenched her teeth. “Are you a pervert or something?”

“See? You quickly color my words. Yes, you are a pretty boy, and I do have a habit of wanting to impress beautiful people, I mean, who doesn’t? Truth be told, though, you are far from the prettiest I ever saw, boy or girl or woman or horse.” He approached her, making her even more flustered. “But there is an honesty in your eyes I never saw on anyone else. You don’t beat around the bush with your feelings.

“I can’t shake the impression that you will be a fantastic buddy to have because you will be ridiculously true and loyal, and that once you love someone, you will love deeply.

“Now imagine being hated by someone like that. Do I deserve it? So I left.”

And Hoen swept away. But Taran, nonplussed though she was, chased after him because, “We’re not done talking, OK?!”

“…”

“Come on, are you seriously mad? I-I’m sorry…”

“…”

“OK, I’m sorry I ranted against your maps and your notes. I was mean. But don’t ‘ya ever look down on my adventuring, too, am I clear?”

Hoen only smacked his lips at another mouthful of roe.

“Hoen!” she cried in irritation and yanked him back by the scruff.

“Hey—” He had dropped the roe on the ground, much to the chagrin of them both. “Look at what you’ve done! Do you know how much that was?”

“I’m sorry! I-I’ll pay… Er… Could you please just stay, at least? What am I supposed to do if you bolt like that, up and scram for the veldt? That’s no proper farewell, is it?”

Hoen let out a loud sigh of disappointment over the lost treat, he even thought of picking it up and finishing it anyway, but he can’t give the pretty boy who was strong enough to yank him back yet another reason to fume over him, can he?

And so, he stayed. There was only an awkward silence between them after that conversation but walking together for an hour or so had dissipated the tension, and by sunset, things have calmed down enough for Hoen to treat Taran at one of his vaunted cafés. They shared a large parfait and a mille-feuille, and some strong coffee as a sort of reminder that they were still in the business of being rugged.