Wix didn't have much to compare Tantern to. Hadn't traveled enough. Hadn't even been to the other neighboring towns that were like sister-places to Roldart.

There were lots of people living in it. In Tantern. There had to be, because the Kaine company needed people to run the crystal processing and mining work.

Because there were people here doing mining work, those people had money to spend. And so in Tantern, there were all the normal ways to spend it. From drink, to good food, to gambling. To...other things, involving wanton women, in places that Wix had never been allowed to enter.

Whereas Roldart was structured in an efficient and intuitive way, with it's districts and sidewalks and paved streets, and slatted rooftops that all looked the same, Tantern's accommodations seemed to have appeared naturally, at random, and with little sense of coordination. Like weeds sprouting up out of the ground. Whereas Roldart's buildings were held together with high quality materials, monuments that were meant to last, Tantern's structures often appeared hastily constructed, and held together by the force of will of those who needed them to be there. Tantern was a mining town, and as soon as the mining was done, whether that was in twenty years or a hundred, the entire place was likely to collapse on itself and disappear completely.

Wix sat next to Kedrik in the front seat seat of the cart as they headed west down the dusty street which cut through the middle of town. They passed a consistent stream of townsfolk, some on horseback, some walking on the far side of the street. Some of them waved to Kedrik. Often, he waved back or nodded and touched the brim of his hat. As hard and abrasive as Kedrik was, a lot of the townspeople seemed to like him. And some of them--only some--he didn't seem to mind so much, either. It took time and effort to gain the trust and respect of ol' Kedrik, but it could be done. Though the price and time investment seemed a bit steep, in Wix's opinion.

Kedrik respected people for the same reasons the townsfolk of Tantern respected him in return. For the same qualities that were needed to survive out on the west range. A certain hardness. A willingness to work day and night without respite. The pluck to put one's life on the line, at any given moment that might demand it, to protect one's family and property.

Wix wasn't like that, and he doubted he ever would be. The western range was a harsh and unyielding wasteland, and he didn't want any part of it. He would travel east, eventually. He would find a small village, in a temperate location. Some place cool and green, and beautiful. Where the ground was soft, and a variety of plants would actually take. He would grow some of his own food, but maybe he would also do odd jobs. He had plenty of farming and ranching experience, though he didn't want that to be his primary job, not anymore. But there were plenty of ways that people made money. He could even--this was something he'd been considering lately--be a writer, maybe. He loved to read, after all. Though he'd yet to actively try his hand at the skill, he often got ideas for stories. They played around in his head during the day sometimes, distracting him. At night they manifested in his dreams. He was fairly certain the daydreams would continue until he'd finally put the thing to paper. Whether or not anyone would want to read it was a concern, but also beside the point. One thing at a time.

The best way for him to raise the money he would need for the endeavor, and quickly, would be to enlist. He didn't love the idea, but it would be a few short years of service, while he was young, and he would walk away with the resources to live the way he wanted to for the rest of his life. The alternative was to continue to keep working on the farm, and keep saving, until he'd spent half his life in a place he didn't want to be, and still might not be able to leave. Would he stay single during this time, lonely and yearning for a woman's touch? Would he marry, have kids, and become so rooted in the place that he could no longer leave?

Just a few more days, Wix thought. Maybe sooner than that.

What would he say to Jenny? He didn't know. After everything she'd done for him, it was hard to excuse the feeling that he would be abandoning her. Of course, the possibility remained that once he got back from his time in the Federation, he could bring Jenny with him. If she wanted. She didn't deserve to be in a place like this. She had no family, here. Unless you counted Kedrik and Wix himself.

And what about your father? The rogue question of a thought flashed across Wix's mind.

He looked over at Kedrik. His 'pa'. The man was stooped as he held the reins. His jaw was locked, hard lines tracing his face. His eyes were distant and filmy, as they often were. He always seemed worried. Always focused on taking care of things, keeping his family safe. It was one of the few genuinely good qualities the man had.

Wix stared ahead, absently waving at Brax the butcher, walking down main street in a bloody read apron.

Kedrik...Kedrik would be all right.

But Wix wouldn't be if he didn't get out of there. It would be a lifelong regret.

He glanced back at Jenny, sitting in the back of the cart. She was wearing her finest dress. A garment she'd had for many years, though it was well-maintained. He'd seen her wear it maybe twice before. It was blue, with a high collar that stopped halfway up her neck, and a skirt that came down to her ankles. The bodice was frumpy and modest. She wore a straw hat with ring of lace that circled the head and was tied into a floral-looking knot.

Kedrik pulled back on the reins a it, slowing the cart. He peered over his shoulder at Jenny. "Where would you like us to drop you off?"

Jenny squinted at him. "Now, Kedrik. You agreed."

"I agreed to attend the service," Kedrik said. "But the boy and I have an errand to attend to until then. And I don't think you're going to want to come with us."

"You believe so," Jenny said, "But you never asked me if I did."

Kedrik made a quick glance over at Wix that seemed to say, 'Can you believe this?'

"We're heading down to the mines," Kedrik said, facing forward. "To get ourselves some crystal. I had assumed you would not want to accompany us. Mining work is evil, I seem to remember you saying."

"It's the slave work that's evil," Jenny said, exhibiting a slight lift of the chin. "A mine is just a mine."

"They're one and the same," Kedrik said with a tone of finality, as if that settled the issue.

Wix frowned. Normally, crystal was transferred to the processing plant before being sold. Unrefined crystal could be purchased from the mine workers directly, at a cheaper price. But what did Kedrik want with unrefined crystal?

"I suppose," Jenny said, "You're not going to tell us what the crystal is for?"

Kedrik just looked back at her, straight-faced. Of course, his straight, 'normal' face gave the appearance of just having just bit into a bitter root.

"Well," Jenny said, "It was worth a try. Sometimes, Kedrik, I think you're difficult just to be difficult."

Kedrik opened his mouth to say something, but he seemed to think better of it. Jenny was a patient woman, and she could take a lot from Kedrik, but she also had the ability to talk Kedrik's ear off if she thought there was something he needed to hear, and he knew it.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

She leaned, looking at the Calbreian Chapel ahead on their left. It was a quaint little plot, with a dirt pathway leading up to it to the Chapel from the road. The building itself was impressive in it's craftsmanship, especially compared to the types of places that surrounded it. The walls were fashioned from grey stone brick. There were mosaic glass designs set into the windows, some of which appeared to depict Calbreia herself. Sometimes she was in her more commonly known pose, in a wide stance with her sword held aloft. Other times she would be kneeling, eyes closed and head bowed, hands clasped. Though to who or what a god might be praying to, Wix didn't know.

The roof was arched down the middle with slants of roofing on either side. At the far end of it was a tall tower emerging out of the chapel, with a bell in it.

There were already people milling about outside. Some were still arriving and hitching their horses.

While much of the mining workers spent their time drinking and whoring, it seemed the more respectable of Tantern's townsfolk hadn't much better to do than stand around and talk to each other.

"Perhaps," Jenny said, "You could drop me off here, all the same."

"That's what I thought," Kedrik said, under his breath.

He brought the cart to a stop just off the path.

Jenny hopped off onto the path, but she held onto the cart with gloved hands. "Don't forget. The service starts an hour past noon."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Kedrik said gruffly.

"I'm serious," Jenny said. Stern, and with an energy as vibrant and fiery as her crimson hair. "If you're not here when the bell rings, you'd better be here soon after. Or you'll never hear the end of it, Kedrik."

Kedrik grunted. "Of that I have no doubt." He clicked with his tongue and slapped with the reins. They were off, trudging steadily down the street. Jenny standing with her arms folded and watching them go.

Wix turned his gaze ahead in time to see Dallon on the opposite side of the street from the chapel. One of the few young men Wix's age around the town. And the primary reason that Wix didn't have any friends his age. Not that he wanted any anyway--or so he told himself.

Smirking, he waved to Dallon. He was a blonde-haired kid, and slightly shorter than Wix. He wore a leather vest over his shirt that appeared to have some kind of fancy embroidering. His clothes were clean, even his boots. He had a red and white checkered scarf, folded and tied and resting low on his neck. Unlike Wix's dusty brown scarf, which he used for travel, Dallon's was a fashion statement. He dressed like some of the townies, though he wasn't anything like them. It was all for appearance. Like he was posing for a portrait.

His father was Guthran Mays; Kalana Kaine's secondhand man. He helped run the local mining operation. It was a temporary gig. Unlike Dallon, he dressed like a northern upstart, with his bowler hat, his gold cuffs, and his fancy pocket watch, it's long silver chain dangling from his vest pocket. When he spoke to the locals, he saw past them. Through them. This place, these people, were his ticket north, to higher and better places.

Dallon thought himself important, like his father. He wanted respect, to be seen as being better than everyone else. But he also wanted to be treated as if he was one of the Tantern townspeople. Some of the locals let him live out this fantasy. Wix was not one of them. Every time he shattered Dallon's delusions in front of him, new fires of resentment were stoked.

At this point, Dallon's derision for Wix was always obvious, and quick to be communicated. As the cart trundled past, Dallon spat.

It was water off a duck's back to Wix. But it was also a challenge.

He took a deep breath, tilted his head back, and hawked a loogie. It arced magnificently, and quite nearly hit Dallon, who spun sideways to avoid it, cringing and looking mildly shocked.

Wix slapped his knee and laughed. It was a deep and full laugh, originating in his belly and reverberating throughout his entire body. He doubled over. He shouldn't have been surprised to find that when he looked over, Kedrik was just staring at him. Not only that, but after a couple seconds of silence, he just shook his head. Ah well.

After a long moment that Wix hoped would clear the air, he said, "Are you gonna tell me what was going on with that man?"

"What man?" Kedrik said. There was a harsh flatness to his tone.

"The man you were speaking with earlier," Wix said, doggedly. His interaction with Dallon had lifted his spirits a little, giving him the energy to pursue the topic. “That stranger.”

“Do you remember what I said the last time you asked about it?”

“That it wasn’t any of my business?”

Kedrik gave him a long, flat look, as if to say, ‘Well, there you go.’

“So you’re really not going to tell me what happened?”

For a good several seconds, Kedrik was quiet. He seemed tired suddenly, his eyes distant. “Have you considered that if I am keeping something from you, that I have a good reason?”

There was a time when Wix would have believed it. Though he only had a few disparate slivers of memories of when Ivalyse was around, he knew that Kedrik had been different back then. Something had changed in the time since then. He had gone from an open, honest, and optimistic man, to the manipulative and controlling codger he was now. Everything he did was some form of damage control. Including this, Wix knew. Somehow.

But Wix didn’t say so. Perhaps it truly wasn’t his business. No reason to get himself wrapped up in it. Soon, he would join the Federation, and none of this would be his problem anymore. One day he would live his life on his own terms, without Kedrik constantly trying to control him.

As the wheels rolled, and the cart rocked and bounced, a crack began to open in the earth, bordering the western edge of town.

It was something of an optical illusion, standing near the middle of town and looking out toward the western range. The illusion of an unbroken landscape, dismantled only once you were so close as to nearly drop off the edge. It was an elevation thing. As you moved west, the ground curved up slightly, before dropping off into the steep, half-mile wide canyon below.

Kedrik pulled the cart to a stop, hopped onto the ground, and hitched the horses. Horses tended not to like the canyon. Not to mention having to ride the passenger system in order to get down to the canyon floor. Not likely. It was the only way down there.

Leaving the cart behind, Wix followed Kedrik toward the drop off. Past the bright colored flags on posts, denoting the edge of the massive chasm, cloth fluttering gently in the breeze. Past warning signs with large, emphatic lettering.

They approached the platform elevator, stepping through the pay station. Kedrik dropped two tarns into a wide bowl on a table. An attendant nodded to him. Wix could hear the sound of rattling chains from the below. From the pulley system of the visitors’ elevator, and, likely, from those connected to the manacles of the workers below. Workers, that was.

Wix held his breath as he followed Kedrik on the platform. It was set into a rail system that ran down the height of the sheer canyon wall. He’d never ridden it before. There was a low, waist high railing, and nothing else protecting he or Kedrik from a great fall. It was hard not to imagine the platform cracking away from the rail and sending them plummeting, scratching and scraping and rolling down the wall before finally making impact.

The elevator shuttered, dropping suddenly before catching itself, and beginning a slow descent downwards.

Wix started, his legs wide apart, one hand on the railing. He dared not look at Kedrik. The old fart would be smiling, for sure.

“That was normal, right?” Wix said.

He turned enough that he could make out Kedrik shrugging in his peripheral.

“Never happened to me before,” Kedrik said. “Not that I come here often.”

“Why are we here now?”

“I told you,” Kedrik said. “For crystal.”

It was a solid, straightforward answer. And it was no answer at all. And Wix knew that, for now, it was the closest thing to an answer he was going to get.

He looked out at the far canyon wall, fingers flexing as his grip tightened on the railing. The elevator's vibrations it made Wix feel unsteady on his feet, as if at any moment the platform might tip sideways or be yanked out from under him.

Below, the mining compound. The one place that Kedrik had forbidden him from entering only a few days ago.

The mines themselves were mostly on the east side of the canyon wall. Wix couldn't see them from his current vantage, but he could see the Darovenians themselves, dotted along the floor. Some walking, stretching their legs. Ambling with short, chain-constrained steps. Others sat or lay sprawled across the grey sand. The manacles on their wrists and ankles were connected by chains to a metal bar, held suspended in front of them by the tautness of those chains.

Shadows dyed half the canyon floor in an almost perfect horizontal line down the middle, cast by the canyon's edge as the sun moved upward across the sky. Bright, sunlit sand met the great bar of shade, like night and day touching each other. Some of the Darovenians chose to bask in the light, during one of the few times in the day that they were probably able to. Others opted to stay in the shade. One, a tall, spindly-looking man, was sitting on the ground, curled up in a fetal position in the dark half of the canyon. Wix stared, until he realized that the man was staring back at him.

"Wixton," Kedrik barked. He'd stepped off the elevator. Wix had been distracted he hadn't noticed it had come to a stop.

With effort, Wix unclenched his fingers from the railing, as if his hands had been glued there. He tore his eyes from the sad, desiccated man, cowering in the darkness. He stepped off the platform, and his boots touched down on the rocky, sandy shoal.