The Beacon: The Corner (2)
Episode 11: "The Road West"
Adon’s exhausted crew reached a sodden Bridgeton a couple of hours after midnight. The grouchy innkeeper, woken from a deep sleep by hooves and wheels on the gravel drive, had two rooms left, which went to the newlywed Paxons and to Adon. Bandrick, Mast, and Genubah climbed into the hayloft. By that point, none of them cared where they bunked, and once they settled in, they slept like hibernating bears late into the morning.
As a sunny and clear noon approached, they met for breakfast in the inn’s large dining room and enjoyed a substantial mess of eggs, bacon, bread, and tea. They had the dining room to themselves except for an old man headed to Blayne, who seemed in no hurry to get there. Bandrick was the first to push back his plate, asking Adon when he planned to leave.
“As soon as we finish here,” the captain answered. “Since you’re done, maybe you and the sergeant can get the horses and wagons ready while the rest of us finish and settle up.”
“How far do you expect to get today?” Bandrick asked.
“The changing station, if we’re lucky,” Adon replied with a wink. “It’s a long haul, probably two days away, but we should be able to make good time on the West Road. It’s drying out, at least.”
Bandrick nodded and looked at Genubah. “What do you say, sergeant? I could use a hand. The work goes faster with two.”
The Leitan stuffed a last piece of bacon in his mouth and pushed back his chair, saying what sounded like, “I’m ready.” The two headed out the back door toward the stable behind the inn.
“That was neatly done,” Mast said once they were gone.
“Yes, a little show contrived between Bandrick and me to get the sergeant out of the room,” Adon said. “He need not hear what I have to say.” Adon then gave the remaining members of his crew a more extended account of his conversations with Lorens, the Prophetess, and Clyve Erixon, putting particular stress on the rumors of Leitani unrest and its possible link to a Leitan holy man attracting a following.
“I don’t care about their religious views as long as they’re peaceable,” he finished. “But as the king’s man, I can’t ignore a sect that wants to overthrow him and return Margonne to the Leitani. I have a sacred trust of my own to guard the monarchs of Margonne, one that we Santinettas take seriously. So, now you know why I have my doubts about Sergeant Genubah. I hope he is a faithful subject of Lorens III, and the king sent him to aid us. But my paunch”—he shot a glare at Mast—“tells me he’s not our friend.”
“What do you think he’s up to, then?” his daughter asked, grinning at her father’s pique.
“I hope he’s just a spy, embedding himself with us to find out how much we know,” Adon answered, pushing his chair back and standing. He rummaged through a pouch and left enough coin to cover their room and board and a bit extra to make up for waking the innkeeper. “But he’s young, and he’s a soldier, probably a good one to have made sergeant already. So, if he is false, we should not count out something more violent if an opportunity presents itself.”
“What you’re saying is to be prepared for anything,” Ren said, getting to his feet and adjusting his sword belt. “So, nothing changes. If he tries something, he’ll have to deal with me.”
The day was already hot by the time they pulled out of Bridgeton, but a light breeze moving steadily across the plain kept it from becoming unbearable. Adon’s goal of reaching the changing station, about sixty miles to the west, was a wish, and his experienced crew knew it. Had they all been on horseback with a change of mounts, it may have been possible, but their late start and horse-drawn wagons made it far more likely they would have to camp on the open plain.
Because this part of Margonne contained vast farms and ranches and few towns, the road was nearly empty. Kicking up a long dust tail, a post rider heading east passed them at speed, raising his hat when he saw Artema. About mid-afternoon, they overtook a slow ox-cart piled high with dried grass, whose elderly, white-bearded driver gave them a weary wave and a nod. Not long thereafter, Mast picked up a young man walking alone toward the west, dropping him off a few miles later at a crossroads, where he headed north.
Riding near the back, ever alert, Sergeant Genubah said little to anyone. At one point, he tried to engage Mast in conversation, asking about Adon and the various crew members, but the older man, unusually taciturn, gave him little. Yet, in a veiled warning, he told the soldier that the crew had been together for several years and had supported and protected each other through many adventures. They were like a family and would die for each other.
Along the way, they stopped to rest and water the horses at a few creeks but never stayed long, pressing to cover as many miles as they could. As evening came and wore on, Bandrick, who had ridden beside Adon for some time as they conversed, began to look for likely camping spots. He spotted one on a slight rise by a narrow stream whose course was marked by occasional cottonwood trees. Once they reached it, they noticed signs of frequent use, including a ring of stones for a fire and a few broken and abandoned items. The campsite lay near the halfway point between Bridgeton and the first changing station, so they called it a day.
Mast pulled his wagon as close to the foot of the small rise as he could and began rummaging at its rear. He carried an armload of dry wood to the fire pit and arranged it for later. Returning a moment later with a hammer and a few custom-made metal rods and hooks, he quickly assembled them into a pot hanger. Finally, taking a pail down to the stream, he filled it with clean water. “I’ll have a stew cooking in no time!” he announced. “Does anyone object?” No one did. “Good. You would’ve gotten stew anyway.”
Knowing what had to be done, the crew settled into their routines, and Genubah helped Bandrick with the horses, perhaps the most demanding of their chores. Artema, hauling sleeping hides and blankets from her wagon, arranged them about the fire pit, while her father, after caring for Renegade, went in search of any fallen branches among the cottonwoods. Like Adon, Ren took care of his mount, a bay named Ranger, then cycled through his daily sword, spear, and staff drills. His wife joined him when he switched to the staff, and they sparred for a time before Mast called them to eat.
They came upon Adon sitting on an old stump near the fire, reading the reports the king had left for him. He leafed through the thick stack cursorily, lingering on each page for mere seconds before flipping to the next. Sighing in exasperation, he returned the sheaf of papers to its large envelope, which he stuffed in his saddlebag.
“I assume they’re of no help?” Artema asked, sitting beside him and placing an arm around his shoulders.
He grunted. “The king’s scribes did a masterful job of organizing them to be easily digested—by duchy, north to south, east to west—but they read like the same person wrote all of them. Few details change in each account, usually just the crime or outrage perpetrated by those caught in the wave. And as the king said, only the one from The Corner reads differently. I can see now why Lorens was so eager to send us there.”
“If you’d like,” she said, “I’ll go through them after we eat. Maybe Ren could, too.”
“Knock yourself out,” Adon said, shrugging. “Maybe one of you will catch something others have missed.”
“If nothing else,” she added, “we’ll be better informed about what we’re facing. None of us have experienced one of these waves yet.”
“After you read those,” her father said, pointing at the saddlebag, “you’ll want to avoid the waves at all costs. No one wants to expose the hidden darkness within himself.”
“I’ll give ’em a once-over, too,” Mast said, stirring his stewpot, “if you’ll allow me.”
“Me, too,” Bandrick said, blowing on a spoonful of stew.
“Sergeant Genubah?” Adon asked. “Would you like to read them as well?”
The young Leitan shook his head. “I was briefed. Maybe if there’s time.”
“Suit yourself,” Adon said. “I’ll admit, after the first few, they are boring reading.”
Once they finished the stew and cleaned up, the four crew members sat in a line, angled to receive the light of the setting sun, reading the dozens of reports one after another and passing them to the next in line. Bandrick began grumbling after the first dozen, scanning the text on all the rest except the final one, the report from The Corner. He read the relevant part of it aloud:
Late in the afternoon of the first day of the month of Milling, a Skyday, in the year 1214 After Landing, I received several reports from villagers saying they had observed a strange rippling of the earth or of the air above the earth coming from the east. All of them described it as rounded or circular, covering the space of about four acres of land. Nothing hindered or turned its forward movement, neither tree, nor stone, nor hill, nor pond, nor stream, nor structure. It approached the town at a steady walking pace and passed through, leaving no destruction to any people, animals, or buildings. It was last seen moving into the hills to the west.
We have never seen its like before or since, which is why I report it to you, wise King Lorens. Perhaps you know of it already, and this phenomenon will cause no alarm in Palisade as it did here. But seeing as it did us no harm, most of the villagers already consider it not worth worrying about and go about their daily business with nary a care, as before. I leave this in your expert hands, trusting you will know what actions must be taken, if any.
Shoving the sheaf of papers into the envelope with more force than was necessary, he tossed it to Adon and stomped away, grumbling.
Mast chuckled as he cleaned his pipe and refilled it, lighting it with a stick from the fire. “Seems to me his annoyance is justified,” he said, blowing smoke into the air above him as he leaned back against the stump. “I’m a mite aggravated myself about this trip myself ’cause it seems futile. We’ll be investigating a three-week-old event that left no trace of its passing and did no harm to the people or the town. What are they going to tell us that isn’t written on that report?”
“Sorry, Mast,” Adon answered, holding his hands up. “I can’t answer that. They may tell us nothing new, and it becomes a wasted week. But the king thinks it is necessary to investigate it, so we’ll investigate. Who knows? Maybe, in casting a hook into the sea, we’ll catch a fish.”
“If you would make a bet,” Mast said, a twinkle in his eye, “I’d wager the hook will come back empty.”
“You know I never indulge in wagers,” Adon said, scratching his beard, “but even if I did, I’d be a fool to take you up on it.” He rose and stretched, gazing at the almost entirely faded light in the western sky. “I’m for bed. We should plan to set out at dawn tomorrow.”
The others said their goodnights and soon took to their blankets. As she usually did, Artema took the first watch, sitting on the stump with knees drawn up under her chin, gazing at the northern stars. Bandrick returned a quarter-hour later, whispered goodnight to Artema, and lay atop his buffalo hide, head on his saddle. Once he settled in, only heavy breathing, snores, and crickets could be heard.
More than half an hour passed. Artema’s forehead now rested on her knees, her eyes closed, her breathing regular. The fire had burned down to darkening embers, and the waning moon would not rise for several hours. Someone turned over, throwing back his blankets.
In that instant, Bandrick shouted, “Ware!” and Adon’s crew sprang into action. Their captain rolled away from the fire as a gray form hurtled toward him, a knife gleaming dully. Staff extended, Ren darted forward while his wife threw a fistful of powder on the remnants of the fire, causing it to flare. Unsheathing a long knife, Mast stalked around the firepit until he stood between her and the fighting. Bandrick, sword in hand, ran to the far side to cut off any escape.
In the revived firelight, the others could now see Adon and Genubah grappling on the ground, the younger man trying to plunge his knife into the captain’s face. A robust man despite his age, Adon held his own, straining against the younger man’s vigor and martial training. But he did not have to keep him at bay long, as Ren’s staff came down heavily on Genubah’s back. The Leitan sergeant screamed in pain and disengaged, dropping his knife. Without hesitation, he twisted away and leaped to his feet, fleeing down the short hill and out of sight. Moments later, they heard the pounding of hoofs heading away to the north.
“You were right, Adon,” Mast said, sheathing his knife and lowering a hand to help the captain up. “The Leitani are rising up, even some soldiers. This trip just got a lot more interesting.”
A note:
Except for the hilly northeast, the geography of Margonne consisted of extensive plains over which vast herds of bison once roamed, following the fresh grass along migration routes that had not changed in thousands of years. When Margonne conquered Leitan, however, Taurani settlers began to alter the landscape with towns, farms, ranches, roads, and fences. While large herds of wild bison still existed, their territory had dwindled, and they were confined to dedicated areas. In addition, domesticated cattle and sheep were more desirable, being far easier to raise, herd, and slaughter. Perhaps the plight of the bison, a sacred animal to the Leitani, played a small part in the uprising during Lorens III’s reign.
If you have enjoyed what you read on this Substack, please consider buying me a cup of coffee!
Good thing Adon and his crew were on their guard!