The setting sun cast long shadows across the Yerajar Valley, the twin peaks to the west making it the only spot range to get the full sunset and offering a view of the distant bay. When the light hit it just right, the water looked like an infinite expanse of gold fed by the stream through his valley. In all he could see, out to the horizon, not a single sheep to be found. A stone balcony had been carved into the cliffside, and the old man sitting on it idly rocked forwards to tap his pipe against the railing and send the ashes drifting down.

The man himself didn't appear too different from the stone of his home, his skin a rough and mottled tawny brown, wearing a crude leather robe leaving his spindly arms exposed. A fringe of rusty wiry hair framed the sides of his head, sticking out in all directions and flowing down to cover his chin with scarcely more abundance. Tucking the pipe back into his pocket he took a deep breath and heaved himself up, wincing as his knees popped.

He leaned over the balcony a bit, looking at the rows of planters set into the slope, the crop was getting close, but that was a matter for tomorrow. As the shadows ripened to nightfall, a light flared in the valley below, near the water. Squinting at it, he frowned, and then reached down for the telescope beside the chair.

Through the slightly warped lenses he could see a figure holding a lantern, struggling up the slope instead of following the winding path up, and then slipping on the loose and sandy soil to slide back down a bit.

"Dumbass." The old man grumbled, looking over at his tomato plants again. With any luck the fool would give up and go away. Putting the telescope back in the corner he went back inside and shut the door.

Hours later, in the pre-dawn stillness, he came back out to the balcony, hiked up his robe, and pissed off the edge. The stream sputtered as he saw the traveller was still coming, in fact trampling through a row of crops.

"Oi!" He shouted, the traveller jerking in surprise, losing his grip on the lantern which bounced down the slope. A human, his clothes were filthy, stained with dirt, tangled with thorns. His pack had come loose and was leaning at a dangerous angle. Average for his size, but he'd likely be head and shoulders taller than the old man.

"Oh?" He blinked in confusion, panting for breath.

"What are you gawking at? Never seen a Krokro before?" The old man let the front of his robe fall.

"Sorry."

"Why are you stomping through my plants?"

"Plants?" The young man looked down, and then stepped back, crushing several more delicate sprouts in the process. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"Use the path!"

"RIght. Yes. Sorry. I am Brother Flowing River, I am on a divine quest for--"

"The Chosen One? You’re gonna mentor him to save the world or something like that?" The old man interrupted.

"Yes! You know? Of course, the Brightest guides us all."

"Did you let any sheep go loose on the way here?"

"What? Oh, no, I didn't. Where is the child? My task is of the utmost urgency." The traveller huffed as he staggered his way back and forth up the path through the rows of crops. His head shaving routine had clearly not kept up with his pace of travel, and he was almost painfully thin, looking almost like a gangly hermit crab due to the bulging pack hanging off his back.

"How about Doves? Leave any birds in the valley?"

"No. I didn't bring any extra augury animals, sorry."

"Great. There's the door, the tunnel leads through the slope to the village on the other side, probably a few newborns to pick from, you'll be there before noon." The old man got out his pipe and indicated the door where the path ended at the stone beside his house.

"Thank you." The traveller pulled the door open, and then hesitated. "Could I trouble you for some water?"

"There's the pump." He pointed at an ancient water pump on the other side of the balcony.

The traveller hurried over, falling to his knees in front of the pump, mouth open below the spout as he worked the handle. After several seconds of nothing coming out he looked over at the old man in confusion.

"The pump works. It's a long way up from the river." The old man explained, as he lit his pipe and settled into his chair to watch the exhausted man struggle with the pump handle.

Eventually he got a bit of water flowing, and desperately slurped it out of his filthy hands before splashing some over his face.

"Thank you, sir, may the Brightest [Bless] you."

The old man shuddered as the faint glow settled around him

[Lesser Blessing: +5% global recovery rate. Duration 05:59:57]

"Don't mention it. There you go, right through there...dumbass." He pulled the door shut behind the traveller, ensuring the lock clicked shut. Manually activated mechanisms like this were undetectable to most danger sense skills, and besides there really was an ordinary village on the other side of the mountain, the man wasn't trapped even though that side of the door had no keyhole, so even most guidance skills wouldn't warn a person the door would lock behind them. The door at the far end would lock them on that side. At least the fool hadn't brought any extra doves like the last one had, a whole cage of the beasts. It had taken weeks with a slingshot before he killed them all. He liked the valley nice and clear of prognostically significant animals, to make it harder to utilize divine guidance skills. Life was so much easier when the fanatics couldn't seek last minute updates. The farther away the ritual was, the less precise it would be. Most of them didn't get more specific than "Seek the last light of day in the Yerajar Valley."

The old man was watching the sunrise and enjoying some fresh tomatoes and baked beans when he heard a faint pounding on the tunnel door. It was far too soon for the fool to have made it all the way to the village and back, or even to the end of the tunnel.

"Hello? Sir, the door appears to be stuck?"

He waited a while. Maybe the guy would go away by the time he finished breakfast. Unfortunately the man was still there, and had been getting increasingly desperate. The old man spent a while checking on the plants, grunting disapprovingly at the ones that had been stepped on. He'd have to replace them.

Eventually the door swung open, clattering to the ground, startling the old man. That had never happened before. The fanatic was standing there with a cloth tool roll in one hand, and the hinge pins of the door in the other.

"Huh. You're still here?" The old man stood and brushed the dirt from his legs.

"Couldn't you hear me?"

"My hearing isn't what it used to be. Why didn't you go to the village? That's where your augury pointed you, isn't it?"

"It did, but the compass is pointing back this way now."

"Compass? What's that?"

"A precious treasure of the church." He put away his tools and pulled out a palm sized glass sphere, containing a tiny needle floating in water. "It points the way. It's new."

"New?" He stared at the thing for a while, thumb rubbing on the handle of the trowel in his hand. It wasn't particularly sharp, but he figured it'd do just fine for shoving into that fool's throat. Then he sighed, he wasn't young enough for that anymore, and the ground was too rocky for digging graves. "Well it must be broken. If you're not going to the village you might as well head back across the bay. There's no babies here."

The man stumbled out of the tunnel, holding the sphere up to sparkle in the sunlight, the needle unerringly pointing at the old man who sidestepped around him.

"It did change direction a few days ago when the augury sent me here. But it seems pretty sure now." He shook it lightly, making the liquid inside slosh, but the needle stayed pointing the way it was.

"Someone sold you a broken baby detector, and there's no sheep, doves, or even unusually coloured chickens, so run along now."

The young man stared at the compass with a defeated expression.

"No sheep?"

"Nope, the Jupagobba got them all."

"What's that?"

"Locals call it the sheep sucker. Hunts all the sheep and kills them. Nobody’s ever seen it, real mystery. Here, have a tomato for the road. Best get going."

The man numbly accepted the fresh tomato and put the compass into his pocket. Then he looked up with fevered hope, stepping forwards, quavering finger rising to point.

"Don't!" The old man pointed the trowel.

"Are you…no, you're not human, you can't be. It doesn't make sense." He turned away, looking down to the valley, taking a bite from the tomato, and starting down the path.

The old man let out a slow breath, relaxing.

The traveller spun around, fist crushing the tomato, "Unless you're the last one! The last seventh son!"

"Ah, shit." The old man threw the trowel, which smacked the fanatic in the face and sent him reeling, and hurried into the house.

He locked the door behind him, and then headed for the bottle on the mantle, taking a long, gurgling, drink.

"Sir, please, you're our only hope." He banged on the door with fevered desperation.

"Go away!"

"The Brightest has chosen you as his champion!"

"I don't care."

"All the riches of the Shining Vault will be yours."

"I don't want it. You're young, lots of time to make your own seventh son." He took a last pull, emptying the bottle, and then slammed it back down on the mantle, muttering to himself as that fool was still jabbering on out there.

Then it happened. With a fanfare of trumpets and harps, the floating words appeared in front of him. A divine quest. It could not be refused or rejected, and the stupid thing would keep prompting him until this band of idiots was dead, or someone else saved them.

In his long three hundred and eighty eight years of life, he had lost track of how many times this had happened. As the years went by, there were fewer wars these centuries. Better quality of living, fewer baby girls being abandoned to the wolves in favour of sons. Being a seventh son had become increasingly uncommon, and now he seemed to be the only one for weeks of travel in any direction. He no longer had the energy to keep travelling and staying one step ahead of the fanatics. Now, someone had gone and invented some bauble that pointed right at him, rather than vague omens gained by splashing around a bunch of sheep guts or observing the drifting feathers of a freed dove.

These divine quests were coming for him more frequently, now that they were running out of other, more preferable, conscripts. He wasn't even a human. The Divines didn't care, they would ruin his whole life and not even notice. At first he had been happy, as a young and vigorous fifty year old, to have been Chosen. He had gone on adventures, saved people, fought monsters, and none of it had made a lick of difference.

"I'm too old for this shit." He whined as he looked around for another bottle. Pawing at the intangible window, he shoved it away. After digging out another bottle from the crate he took a swig, and then gestured the window open again. He stared at it while chugging the entire bottle in one go,

The next morning, he ran out of alcohol. The whole time, the quest notification lurked in the corners of his eyes, and in the morning that fanfare woke him up. When he sobered up a bit and looked outside the fanatic was still out there, slumped in the doorway. They blinked at each other for a moment.

"That compass thing. Give it."

When the confused man handed it over, he held it up, shook it a bit, and then hurled it down into the valley.

"Hey! That was valuable."

"I'm the Chosen One, aren't I? Something about all receiving all your treasures?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"Your face is a butt. Come on." He shoved the door open, rolling out his bicycle with a pair of bulging saddlebags on the back, and a wide seat amply padded with sheepskin.

"What?" The monk was still reeling, blinking in confusion.

"It's new." He grumbled as he got on and pedaled past the stunned man who started running to catch up. It was a far different start than his first divine quest had gone, over three hundred years ago, when a donkey and cart was the height of transportation. At each turn in the winding path the wheels sent up a spray of dirt. The man chasing him slipped, and started tumbling down the hill. Given the path's longer route, they reached the bottom of the valley at the same time.

The old man slowed to a stop, kicking down the stand, and then walked over to where the man had collapsed into a heap, half covered in loose soil. From the looks of it, the faint glowing around him indicated he had needed some divine protection to keep from breaking his neck on the way down.

"You still breathing?"

"Ow."

"Well come on, we don't actually have to take the whole fifteen years to finish the quest. Drink this, it'll get you moving. Probably." He tossed over a small, battered, metal flask.

The man clutched the flask with desperate fervor, gulping the liquid, and then wheezing and falling over. His face turned even brighter red and he convulsed. His veins bulged near to bursting as he gulped down huge breaths of air.

"Huh. Never actually seen a human drink it before. Good job on not dying." Then he got back on his bicycle and started pedalling towards the bay.

"Wait! Divine Brightness, save me from your Chosen One." The priest slowly stood, wobbling, numb to his injuries from rolling down the hill, and lurched into a stumbling run.

***************************

The old Krokro winced as he slowly sat on the deck of the ferry, and then lay back with hands clasped behind his head. Something in his spine audibly popped, and his satisfied grunt drew some disgusted glances from the other passengers. His bicycle leaned against the railing beside him.

Stolen story; please report.

He had a good view of the smokestacks coughing to life, sputtering smoke as the crew stoked the engines.

“New, huh?” He muttered. Such contraptions had started appearing up here a few years ago, maybe twenty, or thirty, and common sense had finally caught up with the humans. The scalding hot steam pipes had railings in front of them, and the smokestack had been raised. It was almost passable steamcraft, and if he closed his eyes, ignored the sound and smell of water, it was almost like being back home on the rail line. Like most things like durable clothing and good drink, it had taken a few centuries to make it to the surface.

As the boiler got pressured up, the whistle signalled they were ready to depart. Faintly a desperate shouting could be heard, and the old man leaned over to watch the priest staggering down the dock, waving his arms to get the attention of the crew currently stowing the gangplank.

“Huh, not bad.” He had fully expected the man to take at least another hour or two.

Shortly, the younger man was collapsing beside him, wheezing painfully and shaking. It took nearly twenty minutes for his breathing to calm enough to ask,

“Who are you?”

“You can call me Hoch.” He reached over and got out a canteen from his bike bags, holding it out, and then shaking it to make the water slosh and get the priest’s attention. "It's water."

“Thanks.”

“I’m not sure you’re cut out for the hero business, uh…”

“Brother Flowing River.”

“I’m not going to remember that. What did your parents name you?”

“I gave up my old life when I joined the church.” The priest drained the canteen, and then saw Hoch’s raised eyebrow. “Marthemion.”

“Okay, Marty, You’re really going to have to step up. The church must be letting their standards slip if you’re this tired already.”

“I spent all night climbing up that mountain, and then all morning chasing you back down it!”

“Just saying, do some stretches or something and drink more water. People are counting on you.”

Marty sputtered in wordless outrage, rising to his feet.

“I will not stand for this disrespect!”

“You just did.”

The man threw down the canteen to clatter on the deck, clenching his fists, and then took a deep breath before walking to the other side of the ferry. Hoch chuckled, and then got himself comfortable for a nap.

A few hours later, the ferry docked at the port. Hoch jerked awake with a snort as the ferry thunked against the dock. Around them the city of Kemeyar sprawled in all its questionable splendor. A veritable forest of smokestacks had sprouted up since the last time he had visited. The haze lingering around gave the city a peculiar mystique and odor, and significantly cut down on visibility.

He looked around for a moment before spotting the priest, passed out against the railing nearby. His boots had been taken off at some point, showing feet with painful looking blisters, some of which had popped and would make walking agonizing.

“Dumbass.” Hoch muttered as he stood and shook a few pops out of his knees, and then most of the rest of his joints with a few quick stretches. He waved over one of the crew members, a young teenaged boy, “Hey, cap’n, any idea when the rail going north leaves?”

“North? Um, usually half six?”

“Thanks.” Hoch checked the sky, a faint shape of a sun and moon appearing in the corner of his vision for a few seconds before vanishing, another three hours until then. Plenty of time. He leaned back against the railing, getting out his pipe and tobacco pouch and then glancing at Marty with a heavy sigh. After a moment he put them away again, and started to hum a slow rhythm.

Dust gathered in a light haze, catching the sunlight, looking much like a stray bit of smog drifting in. It swirled around the unconscious man, settling over him with the faintest shimmers. Marty tossed and murmured but did not awaken.

[Lesser Rhythm of Endurance: +25% stamina recovery, +12.5% armour, +12.5% increased health recovery]

Hoch kept humming until the last of the passengers had departed. One of the dock workers entered the haze, and stumbled as it settled over him as well with a shimmer. He looked up with surprise, and then nodded gratefully and continued on. Hoch rubbed his fingers together, the dust blending in with his rocky skin. Swirling patterns of dust encircled Marty, depositing more onto him, until Hoch stopped humming, and it all drifted away. The blisters on the young man's feet had become calloused, only a little bit of redness and swelling remaining.

He pushed off the railing, grabbed the bike, and lightly kicked Marty in the ribs on his way by.

"Huh! What? We're here?"

"Come on."

The man hopped after him, struggling to pull his boots back on.

"Wait, we need to--wait! The train! Does anyone know when the…" He trailed off as he looked around and realized they were the last ones on this part of the dock.

Hoch glanced back, scowling.

"You didn't even check the schedule when you had the chance? Did you sleep the whole way? How are you supposed to take care of your Chosen baby if you're that lazy?"

"I'm not lazy! You slept the whole way! I'll check at the station."

"Leave it for tomorrow, baby needs his bottle. Let's get some dinner."

"Fine."

They followed the smell of stewing meat toward a nearby tavern, where Hoch locked his bike to a railing originally intended for horses. A few other bikes were here already, the port being noticeably more metropolitan than the valley.

Once they were settled in a fortuitously available dark corner with a drink, Hoch asked,

“So, how did you get roped into all this anyways? I know we’re a decade or so ahead of schedule here, but you seem a bit...young.”

“Not that it matters, but I’m twenty three. I know that may seem young to a Krokro but I am an adult. My sister was murdered, and my family driven into poverty, and the Brightest has indicated that the Chosen One would attain justice for her, as well as the many others suffering.”

“My condolences.” Hoch raised his cup in a salute, and then took a deep pull.

“Thanks.” Marty still looked worried, frowning as he looked down into his pack.

“What you got there?”

“Oh. Baby supplies. I don’t suppose you need a diaper?”

“Hopefully I’ll never be that old.”

“I spent weeks in an orphanage learning how to care for a child. For nothing.”

“Was it nothing to those kids?”

The monk looked up, caught off guard.

“If your time there helped them, even a little, it wasn’t a waste. You kind of look like you’re having a crisis of faith here, which an old heretic like me says is a good thing. The Divines are just as much of dumbasses as anyone else. More, really, because the problem with being immortal and all that is they lose sight of the small picture. You can wait your whole life for a miracle, or you can do something about it yourself. Sure, your shiny sky guy sent you to those kids, but you’re the one who did the work. Oh, is that applesauce?”

Hoch reached over, grabbing a small glass jar out of Marty’s pack, and then scooped the contents into his mouth while the monk blinked at him.

A while later Marty finally picked up his own glass and drained it all in one go.

“None of this went the way I expected.”

“That’s life.”

“What reward did it offer you?”

Hoch winced a little, rough fingertips scratching the wooden table top as he clenched his fists. He stood up and walked towards the toilets without answering. Marty watched him leave in confusion, and then pulled out a journal to make a few notes.

The next morning, they rose early, and Marty stopped by the local church to donate his baby supplies that had now become unnecessary. A few minutes later his pack was nearly half the size, and they headed for the train station. As they waited in line by the ticket booth he flipped through a folio, muttering to himself as he glanced over a mixture of handwritten and typed letters and documents. Hoch chewed on the stem of his unlit pipe, and after a while sighed in exasperation.

“What’s it now?”

“I planned out the whole route back to the orphanage where the quest continues, with letters of introduction for stops along the way, and now I don’t know if any of them will be useful.”

“Got any breweries we could visit?”

“I was planning on traveling with an infant. So no.”

When they reached the ticket counter, Marty ordered one, and then glanced over at Hoch who shrugged.

“Did you expect the baby to come with a pocketbook?”

With a sigh the monk ordered a second ticket.

A few minutes later they handed off their bags and bike to be stowed, and then picked a seat on the upper level. Their vantage offered a view of the cargo being loaded into the rear cars, and a few more passengers boarding.

At precisely half past six the steam whistle rang out, as the engine roared and the train made a series of metallic clashes as one after another the cars began to move. Marty clutched the railing with a quick hand as their car jerked into motion. Hoch leaned into it without looking up from where he was filling his pipe.

"Have you been on many trains?" Marty asked, throat bobbing as he swallowed nervously.

"Guess so." He tapped the pipe against his chin thoughtfully. "It's been a while though. Couple of years at least, but they're more common Below."

"I've never been there. Is Huh-their-rock really a kilometer deep?"

"Hzerok." Hoch emphasized the deeper growl of the proper name. "Yes it is. The upper parts anyways. Maybe closer now that the new treaty's been signed. I worked on the surface line when it was just an idea, you know?"

"What was it like, the first time you came up?"

"It wasn't my first, I had been up a couple of times before, when I was younger, and that line took years especially during the raids when they kept collapsing the thing on us. But when the engine topped the tunnel it was like we were piercing the sun itself."

"How does this train compare to the Main Line?"

"Hah!" Hoch slapped the railing and almost spit out his pipe. "It's not bad. I mean, it works, but it's not really a fair comparison."

"I guess not."

They watched the port fall behind them as the countryside opened up, after a while Marty frowned, and then looked over.

"Wait, 'When it was an idea'? That was...they did the two hundred and fiftieth celebration a few years ago. Are you messing with me?"

"What? I moisturize." Hoch rubbed his hand across his rocky forehead and wiry hair, which sprang back into place with an audible twang.

"You're over two hundred? No, closer to three hundred years old?"

"You're getting there. Three hundred and eighty eight."

"I...was looking for a baby and found the oldest person alive?"

"Let's not go that far. I'll have you know my grand uncle made it to four hundred and sixty two."

“Is that normal? I mean I know Krokro live longer, but not that much, surely?”

“It varies.”

The conversation died out and they sat in silence watching the fields go by. Hoch sipped from his flask, and then held it out. He chuckled when the monk blanched and shuddered at the sight of it.

In the distance ahead, the track curved, and a sparkle of light amid a dark shape on the parallel service road caught Hoch’s eye. The train was already slowing as he squinted, turning his head slightly to get a different angle.

“You’ve got young eyes, what’s that shiny thing ahead?”

“Umm, “ Marty glanced up, but a moment later the engine of the train had started the turn and crossed their line of sight. “Looks like someone on the side of the road by the bushes. Why?”

“I’ve got a bad feeling. Might be nothing.” He got up and walked over to the other side of the passenger deck.

A moment later their car passed the clump of bushes, and he didn’t see anyone. He grunted and started to walk back, then stopped and cocked his head.

“Hey, Kid. Best keep your head down.”

“Huh?”

Hoch walked to the opposite railing, leaned over, and then hammered his fist down on the head of the man clinging to the side of the train. The body tumbled gracelessly to the ground beside the track, knife flipping through the air. Then he glanced along the length of the train and walked back to his seat.

“What was that about?”

“We’ve been boarded.”

“Stowaways?”

“They generally don’t have their knives out.”

“What? We should do...something.”

“Engineer should be handling it in a moment.”

Sure enough, a loud steam whistle started blaring quickly. A moment later a ringing of the alarm bell from the caboose could be heard as well.

The other passengers started chattering , rushing to the railing to look. Far ahead at the engine, a few shapes were struggling. Hoch frowned when he squinted at them, muttering and counting on his fingers. The passengers cheered when one of the distant figures was hauled up and thrown off the railing.

“Hah! Villain got what he deserved!” One of the passengers exclaimed.

Hoch took a long pull of his flask, then dropped it onto the tabletop with a loud clatter and rushed over to the rail to look down at the man as they passed him. Bright blood covered the man’s uniform. Shortly after two more bodies were passed, one wearing the same uniform, one in common plain clothing.

Marty came over as well, concerned at Hoch’s frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“That was the engineer and conductor. Dumbass must have unlocked the engine door.”

“We’ve actually been hijacked?”

They both stared ahead as the train shuddered under them, picking up speed. The whistle stopped, and a moment later so did the alarm bell.

Hoch walked over to the group of passengers, who were now settling down in their seats.

“Hey, did any of you see what car the Marshall was on?”

“That must have been him up front with the brigands.”

Hoch grunted and walked back to Marty.

“None of them have noticed yet, and I have no idea where the Marshall is. That could have been him tossed over the side for all I know.”

“Should we get off at the next curve? Make a run for it?”

Hoch looked out over the countryside, which was now past the cultivated fields and had become open prairie. Other than the train, there were no signs of civilization to be seen.

“Not yet. We’re a long way out. Let’s ride it out and see what happens. They may be planning on robbing the passengers and ditching the train at the next stop. We can make a run for it then.”

Ten ‘o clock came and went, the hijackers playing possum as the train rolled on. Hoch judged them to be running slightly faster than normal, not enough to be alarming, but by now they should be nearly an hour ahead of schedule. In the distance ahead he could see a small town, but the train was maintaining speed. Dark shapes on the horizon gradually rose up as the distant mountains approached.

“Okay. Maybe I was wrong. Or they don’t know how long it takes to slow down, but we’re going to overshoot that town by a lot even at full stop.” He grimaced and rubbed his knee, “I can still feel the last time I jumped off a train on a straight run, and that has got to be nearly a hundred and seventy years ago.”

“Should we...take the train back? You’d be able to operate it, right?”

“Oh, I can work the levers, but there’s at least five I saw up at the engine, and potentially more who climbed onto the other cars. They clearly have no hesitations about killing those who get in their way, but seem content to leave us alone for the moment. I’ve got arthritis and you’re a nanny, what are we going to do?”

“I’m not a nanny! Well, I guess...I mean, I did train in more than changing diapers. I was picked to protect the Chosen One. I’m not helpless. Surely some of the other passengers can fight as well, if we raised the alarm.”

“I’m sure they could, just as well as they could die trying. If the hijackers wanted to harm us they had many opportunities. My quest hasn’t updated, so whatever their goals are don’t seem to interfere. Besides, they’ve got the engine door closed. We’ll fight when we need to.”

They passed through the town without slowing, a few folk on the platform waving, whistling, or shouting. The hijackers gave no sign acknowledging them, the engine door remained shut.

“I say, wasn’t that Yorabar? We were supposed to stop there at half past eleven.” One of the passengers had stood and was now looking back towards the town.

That set the rest of them to muttering amongst themselves, as gradually the group realized they were ahead of schedule.

“Perhaps the conductor is making haste to the garrison at Farion’s Keep, the Marshal may have taken a brigand prisoner.” A woman suggested.

“Oh, maybe. Least they could do is tell us.” Her companion grumbled.

Hoch looked back and forth a few times, and then squinted up toward the front of the train.

"What kind of idiot rides a stolen train right into an army base? Dumbass, should have brought the telescope.” He muttered to himself, and then spoke up, “Marty, you've got young eyes, can you see anything up there? Anything like a long pole hanging off the side of the engine?”

“They’ve got a pole sticking out the side window. What is it?”

“Piss stones!” Hoch’s fist slammed into the railing, he jumped up. “They’re switching rails!”

“Switching? That’s, uhh…” Marty pulled out his bundles of papers, flipping through.

“South.” Hoch answered, staring up at the engine. “They’re taking us to the border. Right past the garrison. By the time the army moves we’ll already be across. If we don’t derail switching at this speed.”

Ahead, the pole caught the switching lever, and they saw the engine car shake as it diverged from the straight stretch. The vibration raced down the length of the train, causing their car to jerk alarmingly as it switched rails.

“Sir, you said we switched rails?” The woman asked Hoch with alarm.

“We’ve been hijacked. They turned us south.” He said absently as he got out his pipe and started filling it absently, hands shaking slightly as his mind raced. “South. South. Hills, track curves, forest, then valley, trellis..."

“What do you mean, hijacked?" The woman asked. Hoch ignored her, continuing muttering to himself. As the group started to shout, Marty stepped up.

"Good people! I fear that when we were boarded, the bandits took control of the engine. Do any of you have combat experience? Any soldiers?"

That caused a panic, as they all started shouting over each other. His placating had little effect.

Hoch ignored them as he shut his eyes and tried to remember what lay ahead. He hadn't been to this area in so long, not since the war. "No, the curve above the dam. We’ll derail." His mouth went slack, pipe falling.

"Don't panic! We outnumber them. I'm sure we can take back the train." Marty struggled as some of the passengers clutched onto him, shouting half-heard pleas lost in the noise.

A sound cut through the noise, an inhuman bellow of rage. They all turned to look as Hoch lurched into a run, vaulting the railing onto the car ahead. His feet rang like hammers on the deck.

"Hoch?" Marty called, and then used the chance to escape the group and run after him.

The old Krokro's sprint petered off four cars ahead, but he wheezed and staggered on. The monk caught up to him, grabbing his arm.

"What's gotten into you?"

"Graszy düm!" Hoch barked, shoving out of his grasp. "The Dam. Crash train into dam."

"How can we stop them?"

"Next switch. Shit."

Hoch wheezed, his run faltering. Ahead, a man emerged from the stairs to the deck below, a long knife in his hand. After only the briefest moment of surprise he raised the blade, stepping forwards. Hoch covered his head with his arms and barrelled in, only to be passed by a blur.

Marty dashed in, hands darting up to catch the knife arm as he pivoted to throw his weight into the man's legs, tossing him over his shoulder to land face first on the deck. The bandit crumpled bonelessly as his knife bounced off the ground and was caught in midair by the monk.

Hoch wasted a moment gawping, mentally revising his opinion of the scrawny monk. Not scrawny, whipcord lean without an ounce of fat.

“Get the pole. Still time.” Sucking in a deep breath he continued running towards the engine.

The thick steel door was locked tight when they arrived. Hoch smashed his fist into it, barely scratching the paint.

“What do we do?” Marty asked, glancing around.

Hoch leaned over the railing, the pole was back in its brackets, and one of the bandits had his head out the window on the side. They looked at each other for a moment, and then at the pole.

“No!” Hoch shouted, lifting one leg over the railing and reaching. A hand on his shoulder pulled him back down, and then a knife whipped through the air, sticking into the bandit’s arm. He screamed, yanking his hand back, and then used his other hand to pull the pole from the bracket and toss it off the side. The pole tumbled out of reach, quickly being left behind.

Marty hopped the railing, one hand trailing along as his bare feet found impossible traction along the smooth steel as he ran along the side of the engine car. The window slid shut just as he was reaching for it. His pace faltered, feet slipping, until he dashed ahead, across the narrow slit in the windshield and back along the other side of the engine to land back beside Hoch.

“It’s shut. Three of them in there, can't get in. How much time?”

Hoch looked ahead, to where the next, last, switching point was approaching just before the curve. In the distance this track started to slope down.

“Minute.”

“Tools?” Marty looked back towards where he had left his bag, and then shook his head. “Block the smokestack?”

“Too long, won’t make them stop.” Hoch raked a hand over his wiry hair, looking around with growing panic. “The pin!”

They hurried over to the junction between cars, where a massive clamp was tight around the hinge pin of the next car. Hoch grabbed the emergency disconnect lever, straining to pull it. When it refused to budge he snarled, adjusted his stance, and tried again. The lever itself started to bend from the force, but the clamp would not loosen.

“Is it stuck? I’ll try the next one.”

Marty hopped the railing and leapt up to the roof of the car. Hoch hammered his fist onto the clamp until his thick skin split, and then tried the lever again to no better result. A moment later Marty called out,

“This is stuck too! How do we fix it?”

“Too much force from the speed, it won’t loosen until we hit the slope, and that’s too late.”

Marty came back up to the front, and they watched the rapidly approaching switching lever for a moment, and then it was gone, and the train continued toward the sloped curve. Hoch’s fists clenched until blood dripped through the grating onto the track below.

“Is there anything we can do?” Marty asked, hands absently patting his pockets and finding nothing useful.

Hoch stared at the approaching curve of the track along the hillside. The track had sloped down, they could disconnect the cars, but it was too late now. Momentum would carry them over, off the track and tumbling down towards the dam.

“You have any monk tricks?”

“I can probably keep us alive if we jump into the water.”

“Nevermind. I’ll stop the train.”

“What? How?”

Hoch didn’t answer as he climbed the ladder to the roof of the engine and looked up to the hill ahead. His blood continued dripping down onto the crushed rock below the track. He took a deep breath, and then started humming. Particles from the smokestack dived down to swirl around him, joined by stone dust from the track below. Within seconds a thick cloud surrounded him, and Marty stumbled back as the particles started rushing fast enough to scour his skin.

The hum increased, resonating through the steel, and into the ground. An echoing response started bouncing off the hill ahead. The dust coated Hoch, forming thick slabs.

“What are you doing?” Marty shouted over the roaring wind.

Hoch raised his hands, reaching for the stone in the hill ahead, and then started to sing. It was not a human sound, and ripped out of him with a groan like shattering stone. The force of the song shook the train, the whole hillside rippled.

Marty pushed his way through the swirling dust, grabbing Hoch by the shoulders and shouting something inaudible.

As the song echoed off the hill it continued increasing in intensity. The train shook violently, and rocks began falling from the hillside.

Marty screamed something, even as the cloud of dust drew blood where it tore at his bare skin, and then he stumbled back to dodge a falling rock the size of his head.

Hoch fell to his knees, blood streaming out of his mouth to join the swirling dust, but he continued singing, until the landslide overtook the train. Small at first, the rocks of the hillside shuddered, tumbling down the hillside even as the curve approached faster than before. Marty lunged forwards, reaching through the dust that swirled fast enough to look solid.

The engine bucked as it hit the first of the rocks, and then a boulder smashed into the side of it. Hoch’s momentum sent him flying, Marty clutching onto him. As the engine was buried under the landslide, they soared through the air.

Marty screamed. It may have been words, but Hoch was unconscious and tumbled through the air as a comet trail of dust and stone shards fell off him. They passed over the curve in the tracks, falling down towards the water below. Marty wrapped himself around the old Krokro, and desperately focused his energies. Almost imperceptibly they slowed. The technique had never been meant to support two people, and certainly not a Krokro