Ad Kal, 27th Day of Refinement
“Kalen, three more bowls of pottage!”
From beyond a creaking door and across the tavern’s floor, Kalen heard a girl’s voice call out to him as he was mixing a viscous soup in the kitchen.
“Three more bowls?”
Kalen mumbled. He bent over the kitchen’s fireplace to look inside the wall’s alcove. Kalen gazed at what remained of the insides of the pot that was cooking over the fire.
He tipped the pot slightly over to his side.
“What do you think Layla, does that look like enough for three more bowls?”
To Kalen’s left, a brown-haired girl sat perched on one of the tavern’s kitchen counters. Her legs idly swayed over the counter as her mind was preoccupied by the large bundle of grapes in her hands.
She wasn’t plucking them off one by one, but instead taking large bites of the whole bundle, frequently getting chunks of stem along with the actual fruit caught in her teeth.
“Mrmrmrhm?”
Seeing the mouth of his sister try to sound out a reply while filled with a huge bite of the fruit bundle in her hands made Kalen laugh.
Layla finished chewing after a moment and replied.
“What does…Kally think?”
Kalen raised a brow as a grin crept to his face.
“But I want to know what Layla thinks.”
Layla’s head tilted.
“...What does Kally think?”
Kalen’s grin turned into a mischievous smile. Layla began to return the same.
“Hm…but I want to know what Layla thinks.”
“What does–”
BANG
The creaky door in the corner of the tavern’s kitchen burst open.
“Kalen! Where are those bowls!?”
Ayana rushed into the tavern’s food preparation area, tossing an empty stein platter to the side.
To Kalen and Layla, it felt like a whirlwind had entered the room as Ayana ran from dish to dish that had piled up in the kitchen with a panicked look.
“What have you been doing this whole time?!”
Ayana’s hands ran back through her hair in frustration.
Before Kalen could answer, the girl’s eyes were suddenly drawn to the partially tipped pot of crude stew in Kalen’s gloves.
“Is that the last of the pottage? Why haven’t you made more?”
Kalen’s half smiled as he chuckled slightly.
“I have been making more. It’s just that the village is very hungry today.”
Ayana rolled her eyes before looking at Layla.
“Whatever, we just need more before lunch ends, alright? And what are you doing on the counter?”
Ayana’s stressed voice lost its edge as she witnessed Layla’s entire face buried in the bundle of grapes. Kalen laughed as he saw what she was looking at.
It had seemed like Layla had been eating nothing but expensive produce ever since they had come to the village, but as it turned out in Yurth, these commodities were not as rare as they were in Willowhearth.
Kalen was appreciative of that fact, as Layla’s complexion had never looked so healthy, and it had been a long time since she had smiled so frequently.
“You two are just…agh! Impossible!”
Ayana’s hands clasped the sides of her head. She shook it multiple times before grabbing one of the remaining clean platters and loading up some more full steins on it.
It was still a bit early in the day for the villagers to be drinking, so the steins were filled with Sage Water, a kind of tea-like drink created from soaking a pitcher of water in sage over a few days.
Ayana put the steins on the platter and rushed out of the back kitchen again just as some voices began to call out her name on the other side.
“I’ll be back in a second alright? That pot better be filled when I get back! Don’t slack off!”
Ayana’s last words rang out before she disappeared.
Kalen just shook his head and laughed. His eyes went back to Layla before he started making more of the stew.
“How are those grapes?”
Layla brought her face out of the bundle and looked up with her mouth still chewing.
“...?”
With careful consideration, she looked back down and plucked a single grape from the bundle, before holding it out to Kalen at mouth-level.
Kalen was tempted to just eat it like that, but instead took it from her fingers with his gloved hand.
‘She realized she could separate the grapes from the bundle but still chooses to eat them like that?’
Kalen shook his head as his attention went back to what he was supposed to be doing. The kitchen got quiet again.
More than a week had passed since he had visited Breila for the first time, and as per her advice, he had started to adjust to a period of normalcy in the village of Yurth.
During Breila’s absence Kalen had begun to work at the tavern she owned, which he had come to know was called the Auslander. Due to the nature of Breila’s position, they were in need of a cook and a room cleaner for the inn, and Kalen was happy to oblige.
Ayana had worked in her mother’s business all her life and could manage the inn’s business and serving the village patrons, but there was only so much one person could do after all.
The best part for the boy was that as both a chef and cleaner of the rooms, Kalen had a valid reason for why he needed to be fully garbed and gloved, which had solved one of his vital concerns.
If anything, his desire to stay covered and clean made him seem more diligent to Ayana and Breila, who was still in recovery from the seasonal cold.
Stolen novel; please report.
Which was another thing, Kalen thought as he started to clean some of the pans and platters while the next pot of stew was cooking.
Breila was still battling her illness, even now, which was worrying. After coming to Yurth he had learned that people who usually contract the seasonal disease often do so in the winter period or the month before, yet it was long before such a period started, and Breila had still fallen ill.
The village doctor, whom Kalen hadn’t had the chance to meet, had even visited Breila out of concern and had verified that it was the disease as suspected, just that her duration of sickness was questionable.
Though odd, the diagnosis had once again quelled the worries of Kalen who had started to suspect for a second time that he had a hand in Breila’s symptoms.
‘But as it turned out it was just a disease that’s native to the area around Yurth.’
Also called the Redlanding Empire, as Ayana had explained.
Yurth was situated close to its southernmost border, and the woods to the south of the village marked the dividing line between the empire and the next country.
Which meant that Willowhearth, that was far beyond the nearby woods, was located within Redlanding’s southern neighbor.
The Kingdom of Arkhos.
The information was helpful to Kalen, who was in the process of planning his journey back, but that wasn’t so for the villagers of Yurth. Of whom, during the past week, he could seldom wring out any useful details on the surroundings.
It was only because of his station at the tavern, and his relationship with Ayana and Breila that they even replied to his questions. Village life being the secluded and isolationist thing it was, most of them were hesitant to speak with an outsider at first.
Still, nearly all conversations with the villagers had been fruitless so far.
‘Though I suppose a village ruled over by a church isn’t the best place to be looking for information on the surrounding land. After all, why would they care what countries or territories are close by if they don’t owe fealty to any of them?’
Kalen thought as he turned back to stirring the new batch of pottage. Now that he thought about it, Willowhearth had no lord or church that governed over it.
Did the Kingdom of Arkhos operate its territories in a different manner, or was there something special about his home village?
Rumble
Suddenly the wood floorboards of the tavern began to shake. Kalen stopped what he was doing and stood in place.
An expression of concern filled his face as he glanced at Layla.
“Wait here Layla, I’ll be back in a second.”
Layla nodded as Kalen disappeared around the side of the kitchen. Opening the creaky door and entering the tavern floor.
“What’s going on?”
Kalen asked Ayana, who looked equally as shocked as him. As Ayana turned back Kalen noticed the villagers around them leaving their food and drinks on the tables and running to the door.
The raised windows of the buildings were primarily for natural lighting, so people had to go outside to see what the commotion was.
“I…I’m not sure?”
“What?”
Kalen tried to follow Ayana just as she started to run out the door as well, but stopped when he heard the sound of footsteps from behind him.
“What are you doing out here? I told you to wait back in the kitchen.”
Kalen frantically motioned with his hands at Layla.
“But everyone is outside?”
The little girl cocked her head to the side. It was seemingly unquestionable to her that since everyone was rushing outside, she should as well.
Kalen had the temptation to retell an old maxim of his mother’s about following someone jumping off of a bridge, but bit his tongue. It wasn’t important at the moment.
“Agh! Fine, come with me then. Stay close!”
Kalen ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He had no idea what was happening, but the nervous expression on Ayana’s face didn’t fill him with optimism.
He didn’t have the time to argue with his little sister either, so he carefully led her by the hand next to him as they joined the group of onlooking villagers outside.
Kalen stepped out with Layla, and as soon as they passed the door of the tavern they heard loud voices.
“Denizens of the village of Yurth, and Subjects of The Redlanding Empire! May I call your attention!”
Having come to a stop in the middle of the village road, situated between the most commercial-oriented buildings in Yurth and at this time of the day, the most used, a man yelled from the top of a horse.
He was dressed in a gleaming set of bronze-colored segmented armor with draped fabrics of red over his shoulder and around his waist. On his head he wore a plumed helmet, like that of an exotic bird.
Behind him sat half a dozen men who were also on their horses, all equally as armored. The plumage on their helmets were a little different, and likely indicated a rank or status as Kalen now realized, but he had never seen anything like them before.
Their appearances were far from the humble leather-bound guards of Willowhearth that Kalen had grown used to.
The man shouted to call attention in the form of a question, yet from the expression of his face beneath his helmet and the hand he had rested on the pommel of his saber, no one present heard it that way.
“The Empire has sent me to your village as a Publicani, meaning for the first time in several years, your settlement will be expected to offer a certain amount of your harvest as tax for its continued use of imperial land. The tax will be twenty percent of your annual harvest, or the equivalent in gold at market value.”
“Twenty percent?”
“A tax?!”
“What did he say?”
Shocked conversations of the onlooking crowd erupted around the publicani and his retinue. People started to shuffle in place from shock and discomfort.
The Publicani continued.
“Do not expect this to be temporary! You will be expected to pay such a tax every year from now on, into perpetuity. If you cannot pay one year, we will accept alternative forms of tribute, but this should rarely be the case.”
Kalen saw the Publicani scowl at the panicking villagers before turning back to one of the riders behind him. At the same time, an elder of the village started to weave through the crowd toward the men.
“Gellius, what kind of village was this again?”
The Publicani asked the man on the horse behind him, who rode up a few steps to be alongside him. Gellius unfurled the scroll of parchment in his hands.
“Uhhh…says here they’re fruit farmers. Like melons, grapes, and shit.”
The Publicani's brow arched.
“Hm, and they’re so unwilling to pay the tribute? What’s the matter with these—huh?”
The Publicani looked over to where his attendant motioned and found a bundle of gray hair that barely made it to the height of his saddle.
“Old man, what do you want?”
The village elder bowed.
“My lord, please excuse my disrespect, but our village has lived for generations under the guidance of the church. If our governance were to change, surely at least we would have been informed through a letter?”
The Publicani scratched his neck, a little amused of the honorific offered by the villager.
“And what church is that?”
“Th-the Church of Vermeil, my lord. The Earthen God.”
The elder shook as he met the eyes of the armored tax collector. His voice stammered.
The Publicani looked back at his attendant, before sharing a grin and facing the elder.
“Well, as they say, the Churches tend to take after the gods they worship. I’m sure the Church of Vermeil is equally as slow moving with official matters like this, but the fact is that the governance of your village is now the duty of the Empire, as it rightfully should be. That remains true whether or not you were informed beforehand.”
“Oh–”
“And besides, you think even if you were to receive a letter here anyone could read it?”
The Publicani chuckled. He looked around at the listening crowd.
“Can anyone here even read Sterling?”
Not one of the villagers present returned his gaze.
Though the Publicani’s eyes stopped on one individual.
The Publicani’s focus briefly went over Kalen’s form. Some unreadable emotion passed through his eyes as he saw the purple hair of the boy.
His attention returned to the elder.
“I thought not. Well, it's not an issue with your positions anyway. Just focus on gathering the twenty percent for your tribute within the hour.”
The man motioned to the horse drawn wagon behind the last man of his group.
”So long as you pay, we’ll be out of here quickly. We won’t even bother to hitch our horses.”
The shuffling crowd started to murmur amongst themselves again.
Seeing this, the Publicani spoke to the elder. There was a certain underlying tone in his voice. One that Kalen who was listening couldn’t understand the meaning of.
“Unless of course…you are unable to pay. But I wouldn’t worry, my officers here are very good at finding alternative forms of tribute.”
The elder gulped.