Sojo knew there was something wrong immediately. A searing light drove her up, cutting out of existence as fast as it came but leaving a crackling taste to the air and her vision such a wreck that it seemed bright still. She felt the urge to flee from the brightness, from the unnatural glare of colour it left on her eyes, but mastered herself before she could run.
Seeing the night sky vaguely through the window, she climbed out and flopped to the ground. Her balance was off in the darkness, and she took extra care not to land on her knife as she rolled over. Shakily regaining her feet, she lumbered to the wagon to find Eyn still crouched in it, two blurry shapes nearby rolling on the ground, hands clutching at their eyes. She considered the spots still lingering in her own vision, and felt a moment of pity for the two before moving on.
“Eyn!” She called hoarsely, stepping onto the wagon. Slowly, Eyn withdrew her head from the crook of her arm, and looked up at her. She was cradling her other hand, which looked as if it had been scoured with sand. Red blisters were already forming, and it looked sunburnt even in darkness.
Eyn grimaced. “Two I could see sneaking up on the wagon. Sounded like more in the houses around. Sounds like they’re still there.”
The sounds were slow to filter to Sojo’s ears. In the aftermath of the roaring flash – silent, yet still somehow deafening – she hadn’t paid attention to the noises of the town. It sounded like they’d woke the lot of them, and the scuffling of nearby shoes was audible under the whimpering of the grounded men.
“There’s no coming back from this,” Sojo said, thinking desperately. “They won’t accept what we say and we don’t have the clout to make any decisions for them. We have to go.” Eyn shivered, looking properly miserable in the late night chill. “Get the horses calm, then unhitch them. I’ll grab the others. We go before they think to stop us.”
Without waiting for Eyn’s confirmation, she hopped off the wagon and ran over to their room’s window. “Pack up!” She shouted in. “Eyn beat up some thieves, we’re getting out before questions get asked.” A dark shape flew at her, and she ducked just in time for a bedroll to pop out the window and over her head.
“Already packed, we guessed.” Mirrel called back, before clambering out. Sojo noticed a long knife sheathed at his belt, one that had definitely not been there at yesterday’s dinner. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who’d been prepared. Brehen climbed out afterwards, about as gracefully as she had just after the flash. She helped him to his feet, and the group darted back to the wagon.
Sow and Fallow were still whinnying anxiously, she saw, but Eyn had unknotted most of their hitching before trying to calm them. She didn’t have a way with the animals despite any training she’d received. They calmed quickly once Brehen got near, and he unmoored them. They didn’t have time to harness them properly, but he was rigging up something functional before she could worry.
As he worked, she took the chance to look around the village. Candles were being lit, and people were starting to emerge from the buildings in the commotion. The hitching posts were on the side of the building, so they hadn’t been noticed yet in the dark, but people would search more as their eyes cleared. It hadn’t been two minutes, though it felt horribly long as she stood waiting by the cart.
Finally the horses were set, and they stepped away from the hall. Brehen set them at a jog and the group abandoned subtlety, hoping merely to pass fast enough that the villagers wouldn’t be able to grasp what they were seeing in time.
The hodgepodge placement of the huts was to their advantage now; they turned out of sight of the farmers almost at once. Already she could see the gateless end of Eastgate, where the horizon started to stretch out.
As they passed through the gap, a shape ran across the top of the wall and leapt down, landing squarely in their wagon. A second peeled away from a nearby hut and started jogging beside them. Sojo whipped her head around, looking for any further additions, but it seemed the two were it. She waved to Brehen to keep moving, and let the wagon pass her by to see inside.
Two shapes were wrestling in the back, hard to distinguish in the dark, but the smaller and less dirty shape subdued the other with a sharp jab and a headlock. The other extra traveller was still jogging along at a slight distance, and didn’t seem inclined to start a fight.
Nearly a mile later they stopped, Mirrel gasping more heavily than she expected for someone so well-traveled, and Eyn tossed the stowaway off the wagon. He got to his feet as the other one joined him, and with the village a modest bump glimmering beneath the night sky Sojo studied the arrivals.
One was easily identifiable, Tom the Filthy Farmer who they’d first spoken to near the hall. The other, she thought she recognized as one of the villagers talking to Brehen as they waited for Orik to show up. Not too helpful for explaining why they’re here, she thought.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Why are you here?” She asked, feelingly distinctly impatient.
“You seem t’ask just the worst questions,” Tom replied, fists clenched at his side. “First wantin’ to meet that waste of water Orik, now askin’ why the starved peasants are followin’ you from the starved village.”
“So… because you’re starving then,” Sojo said. “Right, well, no thanks. Head on home.”
“I told you, Tom. Blind as Teph’s curse, the lot of ‘em.” The woman threw her arms up in disgust, but Sojo noted she didn’t move so much as a step away from the wagon.
“Who are you, again?” She asked, pointing at the woman.
“Do you care?” She rebutted, crossing her arms and staring angrily.
“Ech, maybe not,” Sojo sighed. It was too late in the night for this much aggravation, or maybe too early. Definitely too late if she had to worry about the difference. “Look, we don’t have the food to add two people to the roster, nor do we need any skills you have unless you can somehow survive in a parched desert on sand and grass alone.” Tom looked ready to jump in, but she bulldozed through. “And more to the point, we aren’t going to another settlement further east. The Scouts said they all failed anyways, so there’s nothing this way for you. No farmers needed. Go home.”
Tom and the woman looked taken aback at the admission, but she recovered quickly.
“So you’re not going to a settlement, then?” She asked, eyes narrowed.
“No, we’re just-”
“Then take us west, back to somewhere livable,” she demanded.
“Ok, now I want to know,” Mirrel cut in. “What is your name, ma’am?”
“Enell,” the woman answered.
“Enell, you have a frightfully demanding way about you, for someone in no position to demand anything.” Mirrel stared at her, head cocked to the side as if trying to puzzle something out in his head.
She scoffed. “Is it really so demanding to expect decency from strangers? To expect travellers not to leave their fellows to die?”
Sojo gritted her teeth and stepped forward. “So what do you want? We have food, but not a crumb less than we need to complete our voyage. Would a few loafs of bread save you? Or a few days of water? We have a cart and horses, but could you not make the journey back with what your village has stockpiled? Are you really so desperate that you’ll keel over the moment we leave?”
She felt sparking anger inside her and let it rise, breathing embers growing hotter with every word. “No, your village wouldn’t be sitting in mud huts letting the days pass while crops wither if you truly hadn’t the food to carry on. You’d be plowing every inch of land, digging deeper every day for the well-water sitting somewhere beneath you, or forcing the scouts to bring you westward one at a time if need be.” She stepped forward, Tom and Enell retreating in the face of her sudden anger.
“No, you’ve simply decided that our goals can’t possibly be more important than yours, and have thrown the burden of your failure on our backs. Well consider it returned. We don’t want you. You can’t have us. Leave.”
Sojo turned back to the cart, breathing deeply to calm herself. She glanced at Eyn and Brehen, seeing stricken looks on both of their faces. They were clearly as conflicted as she’d been, sympathetic to the strangers and unhappy with the hard decision to be made. Mirrel, on the other hand, still seemed to be puzzling at the farmers.
Enell was clearly fuming, but Tom – ever the voice of apathy – was trying to direct her back to the village. It seemed he’d lost the stomach for daring action after Eyn had choked him into near-unconsciousness. Sojo turned away before the sight could provoke anything further out of her, and grabbed a few loafs from their supplies.
“Here,” she said, tossing a pair to the farmers. “Your little misadventure got you breakfast, at least.” Finally, Mirrel shrugged and looked away from the pair, giving up on his personal mystery. Sojo patted Brehen on the shoulder. “Let’s get going.”
-
Even hours later, the exchange was still roiling in Sojo’s mind. Something about the situation had struck her as particularly unfair. She couldn’t be expected to derail her life for strangers, ones who’d come by their problems through their own actions, yet neither had she thought of herself as one who wouldn’t help those in need.
There was something romantic about it, coming across helpless people and allowing yourself to be put-upon for aid. Something foolishly noble, which might just be the same thing.
Instead she’d found her entire expedition threatened by the demands of these farmers, with no real compromise to be found. Anything less than their full commitment would be no help at all, but the expedition had cost more than she could easily afford. More than she could afford at all, in fact. If they came back with nothing, there would be reckonings found.
More surprising to her, though, was the steady resentment building towards the farmers themselves, some part of her wishing them ill for having the gall to make such demands, to come to this foreign land and expect to be indulged. It surprised her mostly because she hadn’t noticed it building until she was nearly cursing their names. She hadn’t felt such quick dislike before, not without far better reason; maybe the voyage had taken a greater toll than she’d realized.
Her thoughts spiralled even as they walked on, taking a much slower pace than normal. None were eager to press hard with the lost sleep, and they were worried that the creatures in the night might be returning to haunt them again. It was only with the coming of sunset that she finally managed to break free from the mire of her resentment and sympathy, and the party set up camp with quiet comments and general confusion, staring upwards.
The darkening sky was lined with tears of purple, streaking the noble blue as a faultline in the reality of the air. It mingled with the early reds of sunset and set the dying light to crimson, a canvas of blood dripping from the descending orb over a land wracked with thirst.
None in the party could say quite why the horizon had turned to blood before the night, but those on watch had little trouble staying awake despite their pre-dawn flurry. And in the night, barely audible over the wisps of wind, they heard again the shifting sands of passing forms unknown.