♢♢♢

Over the next few hours, several nearby villagers came to investigate the commotion. Curiosity turned to shock, and then to horror. The fallout was so immense that even the most tempered agrarian stomach churned. They quickly fled and spread the news. Gu’s cabin and the surrounding area became a temporary forbidden zone.

Fortunately for the residents of the cabin, and unfortunately for the denizens of the forest, the southern wind blew much of the consecratory fumes into the Queen’s domain.

Legend has it that for three days and three nights, the northern lands were shrouded in miasma. While the flora seemed to be thriving in this whimsied environment, all manner of fauna suffered all manners of torment. Appetites were lost. The will to live was sapped by the day. Then, when all hope seemed lost, the wings of a heavenly bird unfurled and blotted out the sky. With a single flap, balance was restored in the world. It was said that divine gales appeared from all across the land to disperse the accursed consecration, sending the disaster far across the western river. Of course, these were just legends. Nobody really knew the truth of the matter. Neither Milo, Gu, nor the other guests were there to bear witness to such an event, far into the sea as they were. Only Mr. Cow knew the full story, but who could pry it from his taciturn lips?

♢♢♢

Four people sat in the living room of the cabin staring at a pot of fish stew. It looked delicious, but nobody was in the mood to eat. Instead, they came to an unspoken agreement to continue staring at what would probably have been a delicious dinner in any other circumstance. Steam drifted out of the pot, but whatever fragrance it might have had was masked by the much more potent portside divine portent. The bowls on the table were all left empty. Silence filled the room as everybody waited for the impasse to be broken.

Senan nudged the ball into motion.

“Imperial scholars have determined that much of what we consider to be a dish’s flavour originates from the fragrance it emits.” He inhaled. Very reluctantly. “Boatman – Gu – though I cherish you dearly, I don’t think your meal can compete with the other fragrance vying for dominance on this day.”

"Tough sh– tough for you. Eat or starve. I'm not making more." Gu filled his bowl and started to eat with a straight face while the other guests balked.

Milo wrestled between hunger and aversion, but eventually hunger won over. After a moment’s hesitation he copied Gu and filled his bowl. He gave a quick thanks and started eating.

Nahla joined in, followed by Senan soon after.

“It’s delicious, thanks,” Nahla said.

“The Boatman’s cooking is as fine as usual, but I eagerly await the hour we depart on ocean voyage.” Senan sighed dramatically. “Delights of the palette are much easier to appreciate with a backdrop of fresh ocean breeze rather than fetid fecal miasma.”

“...” Everybody stopped eating and put their bowls down.

“Hm? Why did you all stop?” Senan took another bite.

Nahla pushed their bowl a little further away. “After such a grim reminder, I think perhaps it would be best to save our appetite for the sea as you said.”

“Oh nonsense, nonsense. Simply an old scholar’s drivel.” Senan nudged Nahla’s bowl back. “Good child, eat. One can never know when unexpected circumstances will arrive. Even the young and healthy must refuel the stores of the body lest the body fails them in times of need. Eat, eat.”

Nahla reluctantly picked up their spoon and resumed eating under the mirthful eyes of the scholar.

“Still the same bad habit,” Gu grunted.

“And what, dear Boatman, is that? Senan said, looking particularly cherubic.”

“Why did you say that last part out loud?” Milo asked.

“Scholar’s comedy, dear boy.”

“Don’t talk to him. It will rot your brain.”

“En.” Milo nodded and went back to eating.

Senan looked at the two in faux shock. “Dear Milo, I must say that I am somewhat aghast at how readily you accepted that wholly untrue assessment.”

“Munch. Milo ate his food in silence and didn’t respond.”

“...”

“Hah.” – “Pfft.” Both Gu and Nahla were tickled by the scholar’s face.

“I feel I have been unjustly targeted in this exchange,” Senan grumbled.

“Deserved,” Gu said. He brought his empty bowl to the kitchen. “Nahla, come here. Milo stay.”

“And Senan?” the scholar asked.

“Self reflect.”

“...”

Nahla got up and joined Gu. “What is it you need?”

“Follow me to the river.” Gu opened the door and walked out.

“...” Nahla was struck by the abruptness of the demand. After parsing the whiplash of events from table to kitchen to door to river, the message registered in their mind and they followed along. Leaving the boy and the scholar alone at the table. They looked at each other, then went back to eating. Then looked at each other. Then back to eating. Then looked at each other.

“So, Milo…” Senan said with the liquid tones of a serpent. “How would you feel about reviving a thread of the past and resuming the tale of that tea of yours from earlier.”

“Milo didn’t respond. He obediently ignored the scholar’s temptation,” Milo said between mouthfuls.

The scholar contemplated, between mouthfuls, the best way to tempt a cheeky child into giving him more munitions to pester Gu. He pored over the stratagems of war that filled the annals of his mental library. ‘Sabotaging Supply Lines: Peaceful Resolution Through Starvation?’ No, no. Mutually assured destruction is unwise. ‘Bribe the Cook, Poison the Well?’ Self-harm is unwise as well. ‘The Cavalry Charge Hides the Archers in the Pass?’ Sadly there are neither mountains nor archers present at this time. ‘Irrigation Methods to Maximize Potential of the Gift of Water?’ Wait, why is that in here? ‘A Borrowed Dagger Topples Two Homes.” Silent cackle. Indeed, the wisest stratagem. Exceptional thinking.

“Milo, I have an offer for you.”

“The boy is obedient and moral, immune to corruption. He continues to eat silently,” Milo replied.

“What if the offer involved secrets about Gu – embarrassing secrets known only to him and I,” Senan’s silvery tongue slithered sweet promises. “These secrets can be yours if you share the story of this morning’s tea, and perhaps other stories you might have. We’ll exchange equally – one for one – but you must be quick, before Gu returns.”

“The boy is weak and easily tempted. He agrees to have his brain rotted,” Milo agreed with no hesitation.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Senan smiled a devilish smile and the two of them conspired until Gu and Nahla returned from whatever they were doing by the river.

—

“Milo…”

“Oh, Gu. I thought you were asleep,” the storyteller commented flatly.

“What did you discuss?”

Milo waved his hand. “Nothing much, just small matters. No need to be too concerned or interested about them.”

“I’m concerned.”

Young Lady leaned forward. “I’m interested.”

“And I,” Not-A-Knight joined in.

Milo let out a great sigh. “Sadly, like many oral histories passed down through the ages, some details of this particular tale are lost to time.”

“But Milo this is your stor–”

“Moving on. The next day had finally come and the group of four were ready to depart on the ocean voyage.“

—

The sky was clear. The air was crisp. The scent was unmentionable. Milo and the rest of the crew were packed up and prepared to leave. Just like they had been since morning’s first light. Several hours ago. The only problem was…

“Where in the f–cough–where is that noble of yours?” Gu was seething.

“Please refrain from attributing the noble Viyas to me. Much like the innocent rat, the disease is not mine, I was merely the vector by which it was ferried over. Through no fault of my own, might I add.”

“...”

“Boat. Boat. Boat. Boat. Boat. Boat. Bo–”

“Somebody please stop him.”

“–at. Boat. Boat. Boat. Boat. Boat. B–”

“Thank you for volunteering, Nahla. It shall be up to you to next entertain the boy,” Senan smiled.

“–oat. Boat. Boat. Boat. Boat. Boat. Boat.”

“Everybody. Stop.” Gu’s voice wasn’t loud but it carried a tone that brooked no refusal. The chaos in the background halted and the four others (Mr. Cow included) turned to face the annoyed host. “I know how to make everybody happy while we wait,” he said with a smile.

Senan started sweating. “He’s smiling. Why is he smiling? The Boatman is not one to smile.”

“What are we going to do?” Milo asked happily.

“Follow me to the shed.” Gu led the group into his domain. He grabbed a shovel upon arrival and told the rest of the group to pick scooping tools of their own. Much to their growing apprehension, Gu took the group back over to Mr. Cow’s tree – or at least, as close as they could safely get while keeping themselves clean. His smiling eyes were like two crescent moons as he surveyed his three shovel-bearers. “Ready to hear it?”

Nahla looked hesitant. “I’m beginning to fear that we might not wa–”

“Let’s hear it! Let’s hear it!” Milo bounced up and down.

“No, Milo. This is a trap. Don’t fall prey to ‘The Promised Beauty of the West’,” Senan pleaded.

“Let’s hear it! Let’s hear it! Let’s hear it!”

Gu’s smile was so wide that he almost showed teeth. “The boy has spoken. Let me tell you what we’ll do until the uninvited guest arrives.”

“I cannot hear you and I am thus immune to any such binding agreements,” Senan said, turning around and covering his ears. He started to walk away but was stopped by an arm around his shoulder. “No, no, no no,” the scholar weakly protested. His hands were pulled away from his ears by the harsh grip of reality.

‘Reality’ slowly turned himself and the scholar around to face the other two and said, “Until the great noble Viyas decides to grace us with his presence, we’ll be shoveling consecrated ground onto the winter fields. A round of applause for great noble Viyas and Senan, his ‘vector’ of delivery.”

“Yay!” Milo started clapping. Clap clap clap. Clap. Clap. “Wait, no. That doesn’t sound fun.”

“I said ‘happy’, not ‘fun’. I’m happy for fertile fields. You’re happy to not be bored. The other two are happy to not be bothered. Everybody wins.” Gu shovelled up a glimmering verdant pile of fertile consecration and sloshed it into the fields that he and Milo recently tilled. He came back for a second scoop only to be met with complex expressions and unmoved bodies. He frowned. “Get started.”

A chorus of reluctant agreement sounded out. Scoops held to maximum possible length, the three unwilling volunteers began to shovel holy material over to the newly sanctified patch of sacred farmland. Gu couldn’t help but smile.

♢♢♢

Another few hours passed and the sun was descending past its peak. In the time that they spent waiting for Viyas, the entire area around Mr. Cow’s tree had been cleared up – an ordeal that would be remembered with mixed feelings as ‘The Sanctification of the Fields’. Although it was still ill-advised to be in that particular area without a purpose, all the obvious patches of consecrated ground had been shovelled into Gu’s farm plot. Barely half a day had passed but already clusters of flowers were starting to sprout from the frozen earth near the tree. The tree itself also began budding out of season. In all ways, the unexpectedly whimsical fertilizer was potent. The four washed themselves clean of said potency and lazed around inside.

“I…am a slug.” Milo slumped onto the couch, exhausted, looking particularly boneless.

Nobody in the room had the energy or the willpower to respond to the insightful comment. Between the change of plans, unexpected delay, and sudden agrarian reform, the day felt wasted and the people felt like wasting away. It was looking likely that the journey would be postponed to the next day.

“Shlorp. Shlorp. Shlorp. Slug noises. Shlorp. Sh–HUH,” Milo suddenly gasped. A stifling oppression crushed down on the boy’s mind – so thick and suffocating that it exerted a physical force on his body. He slipped off the couch and slammed onto the floor, paralyzed.

“Milo, what’s wrong?” Nahla rushed over and tried to help the boy up. They saw nothing that could have possibly caused such a reaction.

Gu looked out the window with a dangerous expression. The Sight told a different story.

Roiling black clouds crept across the ground toward the cabin. Waves billowed out from a single steadily approaching mass of inequality and hatred – each layer of intangible filth cascading onto the next and amplifying the darkness within. The miasma spread in all directions, stopped by neither wood nor rock. It seeped in through the door, the window, the fireplace, the walls, filling the house with a black mist that thickened by the second.

“Sssss. Sssss.” Milo continued taking in what shallow breaths he could.

“It’s alright, we’re here. Just breathe. Breathe.” Nahla rubbed his back and murmured reassurances. They turned to face the others. “What’s happening to him? Why is he reacting like this?”

“Sssss. You–Sssss–don’t–Sssss–feel–Sssss–it?” Milo gasped in agony.

“Neither of them have The Sight or an intuition of Balance. They don’t know the monster that has arrived at our doorstep. Can’t feel its presence,” Gu said. His face was colder than usual. Darkness coated the walls of the living room and started crawling up the ceiling. The air was thickening. Crushing. Oppressive. Even Gu, who wasn’t Balanced, could feel the effects bearing down. “Take the feather and bring the boy to the field. Now.”

Nahla quickly grabbed Milo’s things and ushered him outside into the gaping black maw that they were all but ignorant to. He walked out the door. Choke. Inky tendrils of raw emotion found their target and pounced, drilling into Milo’s head. They smashed through his unguarded mind and filled it past the point of bursting, then filled it some more. The excruciating pressure tore at him from every direction, bringing the boy to his knees. Grievance. Unwillingness. Inequality. Intolerance. Injustice. Broken dreams. Broken promises. Hatred.

Nahla picked him up and ran.

He stole from me and t—home, but imprisoned inste—promised us freedom but bound us in chai—killed them all. Hundreds of crying voices swirled around in a tempest of misery, each wailing out their stories without pause. His lies are His nature, He cannot be tr—was kind until He stabbed m—control their lives. They chorused through Milo’s mind and tried to warn him. The man only hurts—He tortures—He torments—He—. The voices started to align. He is—The man is—The betrayer is—The ruiner is—The destroyer is—émeʔ—Sémeʔ—Incarnat—of Sémeʔ—Sé—is Sémeʔ—He is Sémeʔ. He is Sémeʔ.

The voices gave their final parting messages and stilled. Milo opened his eyes and met Nahla’s look of concern. The boy's saviour was kneeling on the sanctified fields rubbing his back while he recovered.

“I’m okay now. I think.” Milo smiled weakly. He wrapped the feather around himself and started to breathe on his own. The pressure in his mind had faded completely. Nahla sighed in relief and guided him over to the fence. The two smiled at each other, weary and confused, and took a seat.

Moments later, a distorted voice formed from countless layers of grievance and lamenting souls echoed out from the blackness that only Gu could see.

“Oh gods above what is this muck? I can't believe my awful luck. A journey to the seas unknown beginning from some peasant's home. Catastrophe's befallen me. My grace and noble pedigree

are wasted on the likes of you who till the fields and shovel–ew, what is that?”

“He’s here,” Senan said.

“En.”