The Canadians were a strange sort of people. In the several days since he’d been captured, he’d grown more and more used to their way of doing things. Despite being subjected to the taser on his first day, he’d had his bullet wound cleaned and dressed. It was still sore, and he had yet to be tended to by a Body Mage, but he found he was able to move his shoulder again without much pain. They had given him pills to swallow, which at first he’d refused, but after constant prodding, he’d finally started to take them. He’d reasoned that they were poison at first, but why would they choose to poison him with pills when they’d given him so much care? They fed him three meals a day. His cell, such as it was, was suitably comfortable and well lit by their strange white ceiling lights.
Furthermore, they’d given him magazines to read. At first, Hatsch had found it insulting. After all, he had never learned to read well. Certainly he knew the letters of his name in the Common Script, and he had recognized the letters of the Old Script, but he had little use for reading. What use did a hunter have for knowing how to read?
But it wasn’t the words in the magazines that he found wondrous, but the pictures. The yellow-covered magazines featured so many pictures. Pictures of people in fashions he’d never seen. Pictures of animals both familiar and completely alien. He spent hours examining the pictures, imagining what sort of animal it was he was looking at. Great white bears. Strange-looking giant fish. Four-legged El’Dar. Big hunting cats that resembled Cave Jags and a slew of strange beasts he’d never have imagined existed.
He had already found his favourites. The penguin, for instance, was a funny little bird found in the icy wastes of their world. He’d been told that despite having wings, they did not fly. He found them to be very curious, and when he asked about them to his guard, the guard was only too happy to explain.
That was an oddity as well. Hatsch had killed one of them. He should have expected torture, execution. Or at least to be tried and found guilty and subjected to greater punishment. Instead, he got hot meals in the form of pizza pops and ravioli. He received medical care, conversation and picture books.
His own people would never treat prisoners in such a fashion. They’d get fed bread, but only if they needed to be kept alive. Otherwise they’d be left to starve for a few days before being brought to a headsman or gallows.
Hatsch had spent the past few days wondering when his time to be executed was. Then he’d finally asked the guard, only to receive a confused look. The guard told him that they didn’t execute prisoners.
Hatsch had thought it a trick at first. Something to give him hope that he might again see the sky, but for some reason, considering his treatment, he believed him.
Six days he’d been a prisoner. About once a day, the one they called Boone would stop in, ask a few questions, and leave again. Sometimes he'd come alone, other times that Andy Johnson fellow would come with him, or another officer. He hoped for a release from the prison sometime soon, and in order to do that, he took it upon himself to be a model prisoner.
He flipped through a few pages in the magazine, marvelling at the pictures.
He understood Ladysmith's story well enough. For a short while there had been another man in the cell next to his-- stupid on the drink, of course, but still very talkative. He had kept referring to their prison as the tank, and spent long hours in the night explaining where Ladysmith had really come from. Another world entirely, which Hatsch had suspected on his own, especially after seeing the wheeled contrivances which whisked people to and fro on the streets of the strange, alien town. He knew their world was called Earth, and that the gift of magicwas very new to them.
He also understood that they intended to challenge Vector's claim to the Disputed Lands. It could never happen, even with all their wonderful tools and weapons. The Emperor’s ambition was too great for that, and General Ryde would personally slaughter every man, woman and child in the town on the Emperor’s whim.
He may even slaughter Hatsch, just for the audacity of allowing himself to be captured alive. He knew that if the time came that he were ever released, he could never go back to Vector. His home was lost to him. That thought hung over him like a dark cloud. One way or another, he’d never be able to go back home.
He looked up in surprise as the outer door to the room which held the cells opened with a loud clank. He quickly put the magazine down to one side. It couldn't have been time to eat, they had just served him a meal an hour earlier, strange tube-shaped pieces of meat held between two pieces of bread and lathered with a thick red topping they called ketchup. Hot dogs, his keeper had called them. They tasted good enough, but he found himself questioning the odd consistency of the meat.
As the door finally swung open, he saw Boone standing there, regarding him. A moment later, a second person came in. Hatsch had never seen him before, but his style of dress was unmistakable. The mark of Halen that he wore on his collar, next to his Lieutenant's Bar, a metal clip that signified a person of rank. The man was Halish. A Halish Lieutenant. Hatsch wore a grim look on his face.
“How you doing today, Hatsch?” Boone asked.
Hatsch looked to Boone, then to the newcomer. “I am well,” he said. “As a prisoner, I have no complaints.”
“This is Lieutenant Wicket,” he said. “He’s from Halen. We've got a few more questions for you.”
“I will answer if it will get me closer to my freedom,” Hatsch said.
“Well, it's a step in the right direction. Everything you help us with will be taken into consideration once this is all over.” He looked to Keltz.
“Vectoran forces are beginning to amass south of the town,” Keltz announced.
Hatsch blinked. “I had not expected that so quickly,” he said.
“Neither did we,” Boone replied. “But we need to know what their plans are-- their intentions.”
Hatsch shrugged. “I could not say with any certainty. How big a force?”
“We’ve only managed to spot about a couple of dozen men,” Boone replied. “They look to be doing reconnaissance, but they’re trying to keep quiet about it.”
Hatsch cocked his head to one side. “I doubt they are the General’s elite scouts. You would not see them at all unless they wanted to be seen.”
Keltz looked back to Boone. “I think we should show him.”
With a nod, Boone pulled out a black rectangular device from his pocket. He tapped upon its surface a few times, they turned it toward Hatsch. To his surprise, a moving picture appeared on the surface. Hatsch looked on in wonder. How did such a thing function? Moreover, it showed exactly what Hatsch had denied. Sure enough, they were Vectoran scouts moving through a forest. They were washed in green, but it was clear to him what they were.
“How did you capture this?” Hatsch asked.
“That would take way too long to explain,” Boone said. “What can you tell us?”
Hatsch looked again at the moving pictures, then nodded. “They’re scouts,” he said. “Their function is to lay eyes upon a target area, collect information, and report back. They will not attack you directly unless they were ordered to. I imagine they will test your borders, look for weak points. They may attempt to capture and interrogate any lone people they come across. Their role is to help formulate a strategy for the main force. But so many of them make me think the main force isn’t far behind them. General Ryde is shrewd, but I should think he will gauge your defences before launching an all-out attack.”
“The Ladysmith militia wishes to parley with Vector,” Keltz went on to say.
Hatsch shook his head. “The scouts will not parley,” he said. “Only officers will engage in communication, and even then… it depends on how much of a threat they perceive you to be. If Lieutenant Ynnia is among them, he will no doubt have told them of your gun weapons.”
“So the main takeaway here is that we shouldn’t expect these soldiers to attack?” Boone asked.
“As I had expected,” Keltz said. “Ryde will not send his men in to face an unknown enemy. This force is for reconnaissance.” He looked to Hatsch. “You participated in the raid on Stone's Mouth, correct?”
Hatsch nodded. “I did. We had scouts in the area for two days before we raided them. My unit lingered behind to keep the area secure. These scouts may observe for longer, or they may usher in the main force as soon as they see a clear path into the town.”
Keltz nodded. He turned back to Boone. “It’s as I suspect,” he said. “You should evacuate the residents near the southern border.”
Boone nodded. “There’s about a hundred residents along the coast that are being difficult about moving,” he said. “I’m thinking we should try to draw the scouts attention to the electrical pylons west of there. They probably already know about the base at Kamper’s Korner, but the clear land under those pylons acts as an open invitation. At least if they try to enter there, we can keep a better eye on them. Those towers already have cameras equipped.”
Keltz nodded, then regarded Hatsch. “Your Emperor has a plan for the Disputed Lands. He believes that it is Vector's divine right to claim them. What are your thoughts on this?”
Hatsch looked Keltz in the eye. He darted them in Boone’s direction for a moment.
As a Vectoran, it was an easy question to answer, but a hard question to answer truthfully. One did not easily denigrate the Emperor without serious repercussion.
Hatsch took a moment, then sighed. “When I was a child, my father told me of the time he met the last Emperor, Erik. Said that he was good and kind and just. Under Erik, Las Drui flourished. It was one of the jewels of Vector. Then, when he died, and Cuerian took power, Nostra appeared to care less and less for the well-being of Las Drui and her people. Erik ruled with love for Vector, but Cuerian rules with a love for power. I could never speak it aloud before, but I wish that Erik still ruled.”
“You speak of your father. Does he still live? Your mother? Do you have family, friends in Las Drui?”
“My mother died when I was a child. My father died last summer, just before I was conscripted. I have a sister, but she married and moved to Nostra. I have not seen her in years.”
“So there is nothing tying you to Vector?”
Hatsch cocked his head to one side. “What are you getting at?”
Keltz smiled, then looked to Boone. “I think he can be trusted. The morning after next would be the most ideal time.”
Hatsch raised an eyebrow. “The ideal time for what?” Hatsch asked.
Boone looked down at Hatsch. “You murdered one of our people,” Boone said. “By every right, you should be rotting in a cell for at least the next ten years. But this is a unique situation, and we need all the help we can get. Keltz thinks we can trust you, but I’m not totally sold yet.” He leaned in. “So the question really is, how badly do you want your freedom, Mister Hatsch?”
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Ryan reclined on the big, thick bed and stretched. He winced as one of his vertebrae cracked. “I don’t understand why I’m so stiff,” he said. “I feel more wiped by relaxing in that coach all day than I’ve been for the past week of being constantly on the go.
“You get used to the exertion,” Nalya added as she lay in her own bed next to him. “Being stuck in the same position for several hours will do that.”
The group had arrived at the Hillside Downs Inn before the sun had started to set. Cilasia was almost in sight now. Nalya said they would arrive early the next day. The first leg of their journey was almost done.
Ryan and Nalya, however, were dog tired when they arrived at the Inn. They discovered once they arrived that it was a simple two-room inn, a tavern downstairs, and one large room with several beds in it upstairs. They would be sleeping in the company of other travellers that night. Many of whom were coming from all around the Pactlands into Cilasia for the Harbinger’s Festival.
When they finally got settled in, Ryan spied one of the staff of the inn lifting up a straw-filled mattress and spreading dry soil all around beneath.
“It's for the bed-pests,” Nalya explained. “They can't walk across the soil. It kills them.”
In another place and time, Ryan would have outright refused to sleep there. He'd had bedbugs once as a kid, and to that day would slap and scratch at his skin whenever he felt the slightest tickle, but he was already covered in numerous bug bites just from travelling through the Disputed Lands, so he found himself accepting the possibility of bedbugs more easily than he otherwise would.
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When they’d gotten off the coach, Terra took a moment to admire the mountains in the distance. Nalya had identified them as the Cilasian mountains, and Terra excitedly ran to the top of the hill to look over.
At the top of the hill, Ryan could see the city of Cilasia nestled in a long valley around a large lake in the distance. The sight was certainly something to behold. The city was purely downhill from where they were. It was still a few hours away by coach, but it was clearly a city.
Suddenly, Terra had looked back at them, away from the city, and gasped.
She then reminded them that it wasn’t the first time she’d seen those mountains. Surely enough, Cale was wearing his Queens of the Stone Age t-shirt. The moment from her first vision had come to pass.
Terra grew strangely silent after that, and said she wanted to be alone for a little while. Bayne insisted he stay close to her, but Terra said she needed some time to herself, and found a spot on a rock near the top of the hill.
Afterwards, Nalya and Ryan went to lay down in their beds for a time while Bayne and Cale sat in the tavern on the first floor to have a meal.
“We'll arrive in Cilasia in the early afternoon tomorrow,” she said. “The city will be busy, but the Swift will have delivered the message to the King by now. We will first go to my family’s manor in the city, then make our way directly to the Sculpted Palace to see the King.”
“It’s the Harbinger’s Festival. Won’t he be busy?” Ryan asked.
Nalya nodded and brushed a thatch of blond hair from her face. “He will,” she said. “But he will at the very least make time to meet with us briefly. And I must further explain my actions.” She looked down in somber silence.
Ryan had heard about what happened at the Seer’s Tower. Terra had explained what had happened. Ryan could tell that whatever bothered Nalya was related to that, but it was clear she wasn’t ready to talk about it.
Nor did he intend to make her. “Look,” he said. “You've already helped us out more than I can thank you for, personally. You're doing a good thing in helping us, and even if it doesn't pan out, take some comfort in knowing that your help is appreciated. At least by some of us.”
Nalya smiled. “Thank you,” she said. Suddenly, she looked up, a thought occurring to her. “The Gala at the Palace will be tomorrow night,” she said. “Have you put thought toward performing yet?
Ryan nodded. “I have a few songs in mind that might work.” He motioned toward his guitar. “I could play them for you. Maybe you can help choose.”
“Perhaps,” Nalya said. With a sigh, Nalya stood up and walked over to the window, looking out.
“Hey, I know you’re going through a lot right now,” Ryan said. “I’m no therapist, but if you need to talk about it, I–”
“No,” Nalya said. “You and your people have been ripped from your home. You are going through a lot. For me it’s… just more of the same, I’m afraid.” She turned to face him. “I will be fine, Ryan. Thank you for your consideration, though.”
“I’m not going to pry,” Ryan said. “But the offer’s open if you need it.”
Nalya laughed softly to herself.
“What’s funny?”
She shook her head. “I had thought your people naive,” she said. She looked over to him. “Did you know that?”
“What do you mean?”
“You, Terra, the Constable. You come from a place that is so saturated with art you wear it upon your clothing.” She motioned to Ryan’s t-shirt.
It was a picture of Sigmund Freud, except he was pink. Behind him were the words Pink Freud, written in the same font as the band Pink Floyd.
She continued. “I had thought, what a blessed life they lead.” She looked back toward the window. “Your music, the movies you speak of. The tales you tell. Very little death. Full of hope. I thought this made you weak.” She shook her head. “But it was me that was weak all along.”
“I don’t think you’re weak, I–”
“You care for others,” she said. “I could see it in you while you played for the Featherclaw. The small one. Longfeather? She brought you joy. The sort of joy I rarely see in one past childhood.” She looked back to him. “I thought that was making you naive. But perhaps I got it backwards. Perhaps I was naive in thinking that I could not experience that sort of joy again.” She smiled. “I have many responsibilities, Ryan. Many duties that I cannot shirk. That is what is required of me. Joy was not something I could fall into. But in your eyes, at that time, I saw it in you. Empathy. Care. Love. Joy. What I thought was naivety was your strength. Terra proved it to me in the Seer’s Tower.” She looked back out the window. “I was so focused on my own survival, my own duties. So focused on ensuring my father’s legacy would not go to waste, that I forgot. If joy is merely a privilege to be experienced by children, then what is the point of going on? Happiness is only ever a fleeting emotion. But joy. That is something that comes from within. I’d forgotten that. Then to see you playing your music. To see Terra with her jokes, and even the Constable. It makes me think joy isn’t out of reach for me, either.”
“You just have to find what makes you happy, Nalya.”
“No matter what happens tomorrow,” Nalya said. “I have decided to seek joy in my life.” She looked back to Ryan once more. “I have to thank you and Terra for showing me that.”
Ryan smirked. “Any time, I guess?”
She nodded. “All right. Pull out your guitar,” she said. “I think I should like to hear what songs you have in mind for tomorrow.”
----------------------------------------
Terra took a long, satisfying haul off of a joint as she sat in the fading evening light at the top of the hill. Off in the distance, she could see the last remnants of the setting sun, casting light out from between two mountains and reflecting off of the distant waters of the lake she’d seen in her vision.
When she’d realized her vision had come to pass, it gave Terra pause. Certainly she’d already accepted that her visions were real, but actually seeing the moment come to pass was something else entirely. It made it more real.
Terra could see the future.
That meant the other vision would also come to pass. One where she was trapped in a room, and the other where she…
…where she took a blade to the throat.
She gripped her lighter tightly. There was still no context to her visions. She wasn’t sure if simply having the lighter in her possession would lead her to the other vision. Or maybe both visions were bad and the idea was to avoid both eventualities? There was no handbook to those visions. If only she had taken the book written by Wendell Mair with her. There might have been information in there she needed.
But the book was a thousand years old. It was a miracle it had survived that long. At least in Ladysmith, copies of the book could be made before the whole thing was destroyed.
Still, she wished she had it. She also wished she was back in Ladysmith, and that Ladysmith was back on Earth. She wished she could go online and order tickets to a concert in Vancouver, then plan a trip with Lily, or some of her other friends, and take a girl’s trip. She was thankful that Ryan was with her. She was also thankful she’d made friends with Nalya. Hell, she was even thankful for Cale and Bayne. But as thankful as she was, she’d have traded it back for a normal life.
She took another haul from the joint in hopes that the familiar dulling sensation might distract her from her thoughts, but it seemed no relief was coming.
Suddenly, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and quickly looked over to see the shape of a young woman approaching her from the side of the hill. She had long red hair tied back into a ponytail, and wore a simple green dress. She smiled in Terra’s direction.
“I'm sorry,” she announced. “I smelled the sweetflower, it reminded me of home. I came to say hello.”
Terra looked at the joint in her hand. Right. The people of the Pactlands had weed, too. She offered it to the stranger as she approached. “You smoke?” she asked.
“Thank you,” the girl said, then took the joint from Terra and took a puff. She coughed violently, then handed it back to her.After a moment, she coughed. “My, but that's strong!” she exclaimed. “It strikes quickly. I’ve naught tasted sweetflower smoke so strong! I suspect this isn’t grown in Halen.”
Terra shook her head. “No, It’s from a place called Ladysmith. It’s… uhh… south, in the Disputed Lands.” She didn’t feel like explaining further.
“I hadn't heard that Sweetflower grows in the Disputed Lands,” she said. “Not in the wild, anyway.” She curtsied before Terra. “My name is Henna,” she said. “I'm travelling to Cilasia to meet with my family for the Harbinger's Festival. I’m catching the morning coach.”
“Terra,” Terra announced, putting her hand out. Henna seemed confused by the gesture at first, but then got the idea, and shook her hand. “Have a seat,” she offered.
Henna sat down next to Terra and looked out to the west. “I hope you don't think me rude for asking. But your hair--”
“Bloodcrawler's ink,” Terra said. “I dye it in bloodcrawler's ink.” It was an easier explanation than the truth.
“I see,” Henna said. “I hadn't known there were bloodcrawlers within the Disputed Lands, either. So you are a Freeman? I did not think Freemen were so widely travelled.”
“First time for everything, I guess,” Terra commented. “This is pretty new to me,” she said.
“Truly?” Henna asked. “You’ve never been to Cilasia before?”
Terra shook her head. “No. First time.” She sighed. “Let's just say that I'm new to the Pactlands in general.”
Henna remained silent for a moment, then cocked her head in thought. “Ah,” she said thoughtfully. “I have heard some rumours abound about a new settlement in the Disputed Lands. Rumours what they are, I suspect there is some mixture of truth and gossip. Is that where you’re from?”
Terra nodded. “Yeah. What have you heard?”
“Some strangeness about people from another world. And a man with a strange instrument playing beautiful music the likes few have ever heard,” she explained.
“That’d be Ryan,” Terra said.
“So then the rumours are true?” Henna wore a look of surprise.
“Yeah,” Terra replied. “We’re here to speak with the King. There’s… a lot of stuff going on in the Disputed Lands. We need help if we’re going to survive.”
“I see,” Henna said. “Then I wish you all the fortune you need, Terra. It is an honor to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Terra said. She offered the joint to Henna again. “Another toke?”
Henna took it, and with great care took a small puff, held it in for a few moments, and then released it. She didn't cough.
“Look at that,” Terra said. “Like a pro. You'd think you were a lifelong pothead.”
“A... what?” Henna's face twisted up into a look of incomprehension.
Terra shook her head. “Never mind,” she said. “It's just nice to meet someone in this place that has something in common with me.”
“The traveller's curse,” Henna said. “It strikes us all. Strangers in strange places don't always make the best of friends. But sometimes you'll meet a kindred soul.”
“Like now,” she said.
“So, who are you travelling with?” Henna asked.
“There's six of us,” she said. “Me, Ryan and Cale are all from Ladysmith. Nalya and Bayne are from Halen... or Rasza, or something. It’s complicated. Then there’s Quick.”
“Quick?” Henna asked.
“Yeah, he's a… well, he’s a Tyl. My little buddy. We picked him up in the Disputed Lands on our way up. He's off catching bugs or something.”
“A Tyl?” Henna seemed somewhat taken aback. Not disgusted, just... shocked. “Interesting.”
“So why do you ask?”
“I was curious,” she said. “I hadn't thought you to be travelling alone, it's not always safe out here for women by themselves.”
“Tell me about it. So you’re travelling alone?”
Henna nodded. “I am. I came from Arronay, but I'm perfectly capable of defending myself,” she said. “Still, it would be nice to travel with people I can call friends.”
“Well we’re catching the morning coach too,” Terra said. “I’m sure there’s room for one more if you want to come with.”
Henna nodded. “Yes, I think I'd like that,” she said.
“Great,” she said, then put out her doobie and threw it into a little plastic baggie where she kept her roaches.
“What is that?” Henna asked, pointing at the baggie. “I've never seen such material. Clear like glass, and yet it's soft! Pliable!”
“It's plastic,” she said. “Trust me, that's not even the cool part.” She put the baggie back in her bag. “You wanna see something cool?” She pulled out her phone and earbuds, then stuck a bud in her ear. She offered the other one to Henna.
“What's this?” she asked.
“It's music,” she said. “You put it in your ear and you can hear it. It's okay, it's Sublime.”
“It is?” Henna asked.
“No, I mean they call themselves-- forget it,” Terra said. “Just listen.”
Henna took the ear bud from Terra and did as she asked, placing it in her ear. When Terra pushed play, her eyes popped open, and she nearly scrambled away across the ground, the earbud falling out.
“What kind of magic is that?” she demanded. “You've captured the sound of music and the voices of men?”
“No, no,” Terra said. “It's not magic. It's science. It won't hurt you, it just plays music.”
Henna blinked for a moment, then relaxed. She moved back over, and then put the earbud back in her ear. This time, she listened.
“This music is very strange,” she said. “This is from your town? Ladysmith?”
“Kind of,” she said. “The band's called Sublime, but they're not from Ladysmith. In fact, I'm not sure where they're from, but they're good. And that's all that matters.”
Henna remained silent for a little longer, and listened to the music. It took her a moment to get into the groove, but soon she started to sway, feeling the music.
“Good stuff, huh?” Terra asked.
Henna smiled back at her. “It... takes some getting used to, but yes. It does sound good. Powerful. Spiritual.”
“That could be the weed talking,” she said.
“Weed?”
“Sweetflower,” Terra explained.
“Oh,” Henna said. “You have a queer way of speaking, Terra, but your music is good and your weed quick.” She smiled.
Terra laughed. Besides Nalya and Bayne, she hadn't really met anyone else from the Pactlands she had liked. At least, none that were human. However, she liked Henna. It was good to have made a new friend. A part of her hoped the friendship would continue, but a nagging thought at the back of her mind was tugging at her. She just couldn't put a finger on it.