It was the first day of Spring, and his first trip into town for the year. He had stacked up his cart with pots and figures, hitched it up to a donkey, borrowed from a neighbour, patted Daisygreens on the head, and set off.
It hadn’t been an easy winter. The storms had broken through the roof twice, ruining the floor and getting into the dry wood he’d stored in the back of his workshop. Luckily he always had a lot, due to the kiln, but it hadn’t made things easy.
Most things died back during winter, the cold and frost working their magic, but the literal magic meant that other things bloomed. What this amounted to was that the road from his house to the maintained road between cities was pretty much gone.
He had been living here in the wilds for almost three years now, and if he was being honest with himself, he was getting kinda bored with it. The first year had been interesting, building the house, setting up his kiln, and learning to survive off the land. The second had been a challenge, taking what he’d learnt from his first year and building off it. Now in year three, he was merely existing, going through the motions. It was too easy.
Brickwrath broke the path as he walked, machete in one hand, the other on the neck of the donkey as together they forced their way through the overgrowth. His goal for this trip was to sell a few of his early crops and gargoyles at the first Spring market.
Those figures that didn’t sell would find homes in the city anyway, he smiled at the thought. Most of them were the size of a mug, but he had some smaller ones that he liked to sell as household guardians, to live on a shelf and watch over pots or books.
Strapped to cart and underneath everything else he had a carved table-top that he’d spent most of his winter on, the face in the centre looking out at the world in a savage grin. He wasn’t sure it would be much use as a table, the carving being fairly deep, but maybe somebody would buy it as wall art or something. He had enjoyed the challenge of making it, but had no use for it otherwise.
After an hour or so of hacking and chopping, together they reached the main road. It was a wide affair, at least ten paces across, the dirt trodden flat. It had been carved out of the forest by generations past, and part of his work whilst in the army had been to keep roads like this clear and functional.
He ran an eye over it as he emerged from the brush, and stopped, frowning to himself. It was far more overgrown than he’d expected, the path lined with thick grass and even the odd sapling. At this time of year it should be clearer than this, especially at this time of year. Had they made up a new road elsewhere and he’d missed it?
Things to consider as he walked along. Without really thinking about it he plucked saplings out of the ground as he passed, tramping down the holes left behind with his boots.
The only other explanation he could think of was that war had broken out somewhere, and the standing army which would normally maintain this route was needed elsewhere. Nobody travelled much in winter, so the lack of cart tracks through the grass was odd, but within the realms of expectation.
He hoped that wasn’t the case. He was out of the army now, but he felt like if they really needed it then they wouldn’t hesitate to browbeat him back into it. He wasn’t even forty yet.
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He could get somebody to change his face to look older, maybe, but he was happy with how he looked right now. His long hair, tied back behind big ears, a matching beard around his mouth and chin, neatly braided. His face was homely and friendly and already looked older than he felt.
He had been much taller and prettier once, but it hadn’t been him. He had found a good Changer specialising in using a person's ideal image of themselves, and he had been surprised to see how it turned out, but not unhappy.
It was a day and a half walk to the city, so he should be there by tomorrow evening. Yawning to himself, he patted the donkey, and they walked on.
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He would have liked to say the city loomed before him, but life didn’t work in such dramatic ways. Instead, the city crept up on him. First, it appeared in the form of lone farms like his own, and then as fields and houses, the woods and gardens slowly giving way to wider and wider stretches of land, until the whole area around him was open and cultivated. In the distance he could see the high white-granite walls, glinting in the sun.
His worry only increased as he walked towards the city. It wasn’t the biggest place, in the scheme of things, but it was the closest one he had. It was the local governmental hub, which made it officially a City, with a dedicated building in the centre where they dealt with all the civil issues for a hundred miles around. There was also a post office and a big square for festivals and markets.
On top of that, a lot of people lived there, which was why the complete abandonment around him was worrying. The farms, which should have been in full swing for the oncoming Spring, were empty and overgrown with weeds.
Normally this close to civilisation things should be better maintained, not worse!
Even if the city had been taken by plague, the farms around should have been relatively unscathed. People here still lived far enough apart and hygiene practices were adhered to closely enough that things like that should be easily contained.
Brickwrath stopped and looked around, slowing the donkey with a touch. The growth around him was weeks old, small trees and weeds sprouting up through what had, last time he visited, been meticulously maintained fields. Now that he paid attention, he could see the spring crops rotting on their vines.
Maybe he should turn back. He could go home, and then take the week's trip south to the next major city, see if things were better there.
Beside him, the donkey started to walk again, and he reluctantly followed, no longer pulling up saplings or weeds, keeping one hand on the side of the donkey and the other on the machete sheathed at his side.
In the distance, he could see the inner walls of the city rising into view. The whole thing had been built all at once, three concentric rings of shops and houses, all surrounding the central market area and governmental buildings. The walls rose higher the nearer the centre they were, like a child's stacking on a gigantic scale.
The donkey had done this journey many times and carried onwards, unbothered by the silence around them.
As they neared the city, his worry only grew. This close to the gates there should be the noise of people on the wind, instead, there was only more silence. He could see birds in the sky above, and once or twice nervous dogs, gone wild after time alone, but otherwise, nothing.
He was really worried now. At some point, he had unsheathed the machete and pulled his scarf up around his face, looping it twice, just in case there was something in the air.
He wished he had gloves and a proper mask, but he had left the army with nothing, and hadn’t ever thought he would need them enough to purchase his own.
A glance at the donkey, and then he halted it with a touch, unhooking the cart and leaving it in the centre of the road. He could come back for that later. His first stop was to get to one of the city gates, of which the city had four, at the quarter-marks. There were normally guards stationed in there, to tax those coming and going with goods and to keep out undesirables. He had never done the job himself, but it was always a viable retirement path.
The guard stations should have masks and gloves and fresh water, he wouldn’t trust washing in rainwater for a while after this, and maybe he could find out what was going on.
Mind made up, Brickwrath and the Donkey headed towards the silent city.