It took less than a week to reach the archipelago, much to Benold's relief. The greater difficulty was chartering a ship there, as few vessels were built for more than skimming along the coast. Few ventured straight across the large bay, but Benold did not wish to waste time with the safe route. Ships were always so cramped, the food was terrible, and the company lacking.

Benold stepped off the tender boat, quickly shuffling out of the reach of the lapping waves so as not to waterlog his fine leather boots. Caorain who picked up her skirts and steadied herself as the boat tilted a little, pushed by a larger wave that joined the beach. Benold's shoulders drooped and he sighed. Then he rolled his shoulders back, lifted his chin and strode over, erect and genial like a proper gentleman as he put his hand out to her. She stared at his hand in confusion at first, but then took it and hopped out. Water splashed onto Benold's breeches and he sighed again, but held Caorain's hand as he walked her up the beach.

Standing side by side, Benold and Caorain watched as more boats rowed up to the beach, carrying camping gear. As the luggage piled up on the beach, he realised he'd brought perhaps more than they could easily transport. Benold cursed himself for not buying a donkey cart.

Once the handcart had been delivered from the ship, Caorain quickly and efficiently loaded it. Perhaps she did have some use after all. Benold didn't originally think much of it when Caorain lifted the handle and began the arduous journey up the sloped beach, the wheels not ideal for the sand. He'd almost forgotten, for a moment, she was his wife and not a servant. Nonetheless, the reality set in as he saw her straining, and he quickly rectified his lapse and rushed over to help.

Between the two of them, they managed to get their things to where the ground was level and the dirt more compacted. Benold dropped the handle and dabbed his forehead. Caorain hardly looked winded. Seeing Caorain's ponderous eyes on him, he coughed. "Ah... it's a very warm day. Hot."

"Hot. Yes," Caorain nodded in agreement. She picked up the handles again, seeming eager to move on. She then looked at Benold and tilted her head away, into the shade of the overgrowth.

"Ah. I guess we'd better get a move on while we still have daylight," Benold murmured, reluctant to cut his rest short.

Chirps, chuffs, and clicks pinged all around, a little chatter here, a little chatter there. And no amount of burying his head in would drown it out. Benold sat up in frustration. The last time he'd made the journey to the hidden village it he only had the shirt on his back. When he'd planned this excursion, he failed to factor in the weight of extra gear. Logistics was never his purview and he hadn't realised how complicated it was.

Benold's eyes adjusted to the darkness and he looked across the inside of the tent to Caorain's bedroll. No matter how he squinted and changed his angle, she did not appear. His stomach lurched in a mild panic. Where could she be? Did she run off? How dare she!?

Benold donned a dressing gown and stepped out. Caorain huddled by the remains of their campfire, stirring and blowing in an effort to rekindle it. Benold sighed with relief. She looked up at him, giving him only the briefest sign of acknowledgement, then turned her attention to adding more twigs and dried grass to the fire.

"Difficulty sleeping? Me too," Benold said conversationally as he crouched down across from her. Benold was impressed with how quickly Caorain had managed to get their camp set up, while he slaved ineffectually away at the simplest of tasks. Even during the war, they were seldom far from civilisation. The beauty of a revolution is that most of it was waged in the comfort of one's own streets.

"Who Trosyn?"

Smoke and bewilderment compelled Benold to blink several times. He scooted over so as not to be downwind from the fire that Caorain was nursing. "Well, before you came to me, I had..." Benold looked down. How could he convey who Trosyn was to him? "...a wife." Caorain's eyes widened, but then she looked down. "But she was taken away from me."

"Wife gone?" Caorain looked up again, studying Benold closely.

Benold nodded. "Yes."

"Chay, I am here. She not," Caorain said, muttering something in her own language.

Benold sighed. It was easy to forget that she had complex feelings because she could not express them. Benold ran a hand through his dark hair. "But do you want to be?"

Caorain peered at Benold, momentarily bewildered. She wrapped her arms about herself and brought up her knees, pulling her skirt down over her shins. "I want my happy family." Caorain furrowed her eyebrows and shook her head. "I want... family be happy."

"You want your family to be happy? Your parents, you mean?"

"Yes. To be happy. I be your wife, and they be happy." This time it was Caorain's turn to sigh. "But you not happy."

It was true. He wasn't happy. Caorain's addition to his family complicated matters and inconvenienced him. However, he had to admit that the blame ought not lay with his unsolicited bride. Benold scratched his chin, and then set about patting dirt off of his sleeve. "Coreen-"

"Caorain."

"Right. Caorain. I am trying to find Trosyn. That is who I want to be happy with." Benold could not imagine any way to be honest and spare the girl's feelings.

"I know." Caorain pushed out her lower lip. "You find Trosyn. What do I do?"

Benold swallowed hard. He had not thought that far ahead. "Do not worry, Car... Caorain. You will be taken care of." Benold squinted and thought about what Mrs. Gray said about Caorain needing a purpose. But what role could he give her other than wife that wouldn't be diplomatically damaging? Surely if he put her to work it would look bad on him. She wasn't a slave after all. At least, he didn't think she was. "It will be easier to sort all this out once I find Trosyn. She can translate."

Caorain's chin quivered at the mention of Trosyn's name and she remained curled up by the fire, her bare toes wiggling into the warm earth. She said something in her native tongue, which despite not understanding the words, Benold could tell her tone was displeased.

"Well. We should, ah, try to get some rest. Some of the noisy creatures seem to have piped down. We'll have another long trek tomorrow." Benold sighed when Caorain didn't even look up at him. "Sleep, Caorain. Sleep."

She looked up and then nodded dismally. Benold got to his feet and headed towards the tent, but paused as he held the tent flap open. "Oh. And wipe your feet before you come in," Benold pointed to her dirt crusted toes.

----------------------------------------

"You again!"

The loud hostility from the big-framed man was just another layer of irritation. Benold was sweaty, dishevelled, tired, and his hands, despite the use of gloves, were blistering. Seeing the sentry, who doubled as his own barricade, glare and point a stone spear at him was just the icing on the cake. Oh, how he longed for a nice slice of cake with a drop of mulled wine.

"Yes, me again," Benold said bitterly. "I have come to make an offer to your people. Take me to Alethe."

The sentry frowned, then looked at Caorain. "Who is this?"

"She's my..." Benold squinted. He was getting tired of having to assign labels to this tricky situation. "...wife."

"You didn't waste any time," the man said, his scowl not letting up. Although, this particular fellow whose name he'd forgotten seemed to make sport out of wearing grim expressions.

"Well, will you let me in or not?"

The sentry sighed and turned, cupping his hands to his mouth and hollering "OY! POPINJAY HAS RETURNED!" This elicited an audible groan from someone on the other side of the palisades. The sentry turned back to Benold and thrust his thumb towards the gate. "Go on in."

Benold bore himself up to his full height, about to render unto the sentry a diatribe so cutting his descendants would hear it in their dreams. To his credit, Benold re-measured the difference in mass between himself and the man. Interested in his own well being, the tired governor held his tongue. Instead he lifted his chin as he sauntered through the gates, Caorain pushing the handcart behind him.

Benold could feel the stares on him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Still, he did his best to remain cool and composed, as if showing any sign of weakness would incite the rabble to attack. Benold stopped and considered for a moment. To them, he was the rabble. He cleared his throat as the locals hesitantly returned to their tasks.

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"I need their help, but we're not friendly," Benold explained, although he was unsure how much Caorain understood. She nodded all the same, muttering something to herself.

Cutting a clear path through the villagers was a woman of an abnormally tall stature, her black hair cropped close to her head. She looked down at Benold with a frown that appeared permanently carved into her face. "Ovollar. What are you doing back here?"

"Alethe, I see you are in good health," Benold said, refusing to dispense with formalities. Alethe rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow and eyeing him expectantly. As his social nicety was not returned, Benold decided it best to answer her question. "I have a proposal for you."

"Don't you have enough wives?"

Benold drew in a sharp breath, but did his best to not be baited. He cast a side glance to Caorain, licked his lips, and then looked back up at Alethe. "How would you like amnesty for your whole village?"

Alethe's other eyebrow raised, though not as high due to the obstruction of a scar. Then both brows snapped low, making her sunken eyes appear more severe. "We're doing fine on our own."

"Really? Because that eruption when I was last here-"

"We're doing fine!" Alethe repeated.

Caorain looked attentively between the two, and despite her poor handle on the language, spoke up. "No children."

Alethe glowered at the other woman. "What's that?"

"No children, village end," Caorain observed.

"We're not looking to grow. We're just here to live out our lives in peace," Alethe said, crossing her arms. "Not that it is any of your affair."

Caorain furrowed her eyebrows and pushed out her lower lip in pouty bewilderment. Benold was undecided whether Caorain was baffled by words she did not understand, or that anyone would let a village die out.

"Is that really how the whole village feels? Because I know that I was eager to get back to the finer things in life. And most of you were upper class before the revolution. Don't you miss it?"

"Isn't this what you Kayonn wanted?" Alethe asked, swinging out her hand and gesturing to the village of thatch-roof huts and dugouts. "To see the upper class living in the dirt alongside them?"

Benold coughed. "No. We fought for the freedom for anyone to rise to the top."

"And then enslaved the aristocracy," Alethe sneered. "Slaves! You called us tyrannical, greedy, and callous. But when Trosyn told us she had been enslaved, we were all horrified of what Ayokonia had become. Why would we want to go back?"

This conversation was not going as Benold had hoped. He could not fathom why they would all live and die in their dinky huts when given the opportunity to go back to civilisation. "Yes, well, that was an unfortunate decision. I admit, turning the Loyalists into slaves was taking things a mite too far." Benold put a hand to his chest. "But I was quite opposed to it. But be glad we rejected the other proposal, which was to simply execute you all."

"When you put it that way, why, I see slavery in such a new light!" Sarcasm dripped off of Alethe's words. Following such remarks, Alethe's countenance turned grim again. "There is nothing you could offer that would tempt us." Alethe's hand dropped at her side, her voice lowering to a mutter, "I don't understand what Trosyn saw in you."

"I beg your pardon." Benold cried indignantly. "No reason to get personal."

Caorain gripped the handcart and shifted her weight, looking between Alethe and Benold as they seemed to be at an impasse. "What do now?"

Alethe looked at Caorain, shrugging. "Is she some sort of simpleton?"

"No, she's from Klogvan island. They don't speak Siperian."

"Oh. So you have a wife you can barely speak to. Quaint." Caorain bit her lower lip, giving Alethe a heated glare. Benold held up his hand, shaking his head at her. She snorted softly and looked away. "Well, for Trosyn's sake, wherever she is, I won't throw you out of the village."

"Thank you for your hospitality. Is there some place where we can pitch our tent?" Benold said, trying to remain civil with the belligerent giant.

"There's space near the pig pen."

Benold stared at Alethe for a good long while, expecting her to tell him she was kidding. No such response came. She just lifted her chin, crossed her arms, and stared down her nose at him. It was unnerving to have a woman taller than himself, and soon he was muttering under his breath and gesturing for Caorain to follow.

Another sleepless night had Benold tossing and turning. Although the smell was the complaint he vocalised most, his wakefulness was spurred by the struggle to wrangle pervasive thoughts. Again he found himself sitting up, covered in sweat. Again he looked to see if Caorain was as perturbed by the circumstances as himself. Again, all he saw was a crumpled bedroll with no occupant. Grumbling, Benold got himself dressed, not wishing to be seen by any nocturnal villagers in just his thermal wear.

Once appropriately attired, Benold stepped outside into the cool night air. Cool enough that he could see steam rising from dark piles in the corner of the pig pen. And casting a silhouette against the low fence was Caorain.

"You'll wear yourself ragged. You worked hard today. Get some rest," Benold scolded, but not without some concern for the young woman's welfare.

Caorain shook her head and stroked one of her twin braids. She spoke in a jumbled mess of her own language, but he was able to pick out a few words, like 'wife' and 'family' and 'home'.

"Slow down. What are you trying to say?"

In the moonlight it wasn't easy to make out Caorain's features as she turned to him, but her eyes caught the light more than usual. Then he heard a sniffle. Benold quickly looked away. He was never sure what to do when women cried, so the only option was to pretend it wasn't happening. Surely, she was just overtired. Yes. "Chay, why here?"

Benold stared straight ahead. A pig snorted in its sleep, reminding him of his current surroundings and bringing the stench to his attention again. He wrinkled his nose and turned away from the swine. There seemed no good place for him to face. "I want help from these people. And Caorain... why do you call me Chay?"

"Chay... is... is what I say to you. I am wife. I call you Chay. But other call you Chay not. Only wife call man Chay."

Benold listened, nodding as she spoke. "So... a wife calls her husband Chay? A term of endearment?"

"Yes. No." Caorain sucked in some air and let out a long sigh. "...We not..." she held out her hands, holding them level with each other. She then lowered one hand and raised the other. Shaking the lower hand she continued, "This me, wife." She then waved her higher hand. "You. Chay. If..." she brought her hands back to rest side by side. "...we this, then call you Cheli."

Benold smoothed his hair as he watched her demonstration in the low light. "So... because I am... a Governor? Um, like a chief? Ah... Chanfath?" Caorain raised an eyebrow, staring somewhat bewildered at Benold. Seeing this, he felt some warmth in his ears. "Did I say it wrong? Cha..."

"Chanfath, yes," Caorain said, although with some hesitation.

"So, it's a respectful term. And what do I call you?"

"Wife."

"No, I mean... if I were speaking your language. What would Chay call his wife?"

Caorain looked at Benold as if he had grown a second head, then giggled sheepishly. Benold wasn't sure whether to join in the laughing or to be affronted. He clearly said something that made her feel awkward, but it was perhaps better than some of the other expressions he had seen her wear. Or perhaps worse. But anything was better than crying. He let out a hesitant, 'heh'.

"I call you Chay. You call me... Banlar..." Caorain said, and Benold could hear her swallowing noisily. Normally he'd be annoyed by this, but he instead had a rare moment of insight, seeing that she was ashamed of the word Banlar. Once again, Benold was looking away from her, placing his hands at his waist.

"I shall continue to call you Caorain. Is that well with you?"

"Yes." The relief in her voice was thinly veiled.

"Well then, Caorain. Call me Benold." Benold cleared his throat. "When we're alone, I mean.'' He was not quite ready to abolish all deference from this woman, who he still knew so little about.

"But..."

"No 'but'. When it is just you and I, call me Benold, not Chay."

"...Benold..." Caorain repeated in a whisper. Another silence enveloped them. Benold wasn't eager to break it. He longed to sleep, but knew such an attempt would be futile. To his surprise, it was Caorain who broke it.

"Big woman like Benold not. Why ask her help?"

Ah yes. This was certainly a valid question. The answer to which Benold tried to recall. The comforts of home were already calling him, urging him to give up this foolish endeavour. After some hesitation, Benold shook his head. "The big woman is named Alethe. A-leth-eh. I need to find a way past Crethal Thane, and I believe these villagers can help. In return, I would offer them a new life in New Karebryn."

Caorain listened attentively, muttering some of the words she heard under her breath as she processed. "Past... Crethal Thane? But..." Caorain frowned and wrapped her arms around herself, turning away. "Go... Crethal Thane. No."

"Yes. It's where Trosyn is, I believe."

"Then Trosyn come back not. Trosyn gone. Gone," Caorain said, holding out her hands for emphasis.

"But the shaman I spoke to said she wasn't dead. Just out of the spirit's reach. Beyond. But not gone. If she can go, then I can follow." Benold's voice became sterner as he spoke, unprepared to brook any argument.

Caorain went silent. She gripped a nearby fence post, staring at the sleeping pigs huddled together, cosy and at peace. "You go there... you never come back." She looked back over at Benold. "Who Gov... Governor of New Karebryn?" Caorain fretted and frowned. "Maybe new Governor be not good. Bad. Hurt us again." Caorain curled in her lips. "Hurt us. You hurt us. You try do good now. But... sorry. Chay. To you, I speak bad words not."

As the broken words reached Benold, he became progressively more horrified. Somehow, he had allowed himself to disconnect Caorain from the actions he had taken against her people before the attempted reconciliation. It was very possible he had hurt or killed someone she knew. Someone she loved. An uneasy fluttering sensation tickled at him, like the feeling before a fight, or worse, the experience of seeing a comrade go down.

"Caorain..." The question was on the tip of his tongue, but he decided he could not ask. If he didn't know, he would not need to apologise and make this situation more awkward. "That is a valid concern." Benold smoothed out those unsightly emotional wrinkles. "It is true, it would be remiss if I left my position as Governor. But I will find Trosyn, and I will come back. In the very small chance that I fail, well, then I shall make sure something is in place." Benold looked directly into Caorain's eyes. "I said I will make sure you are taken care of, and I am a man of my word."

Benold tried to ignore where giving his word too lightly placed him in an unpleasant situation. His carefully pruned recollection was all he needed to feel confident.

"Benold. None come back from Crethal Thane," Caorain repeated, her tone becoming serious.

"Then you'll be rid of me. Surely, that is not such a bad thing for you?"

Caorain's eyes went wide. In stunned silence she gawked at Benold. The whites of her eyes crescented as her eyelids became heavy and she turned back to the tent. "You will go? My words... not do?"

"No. My mind is made up."

"Oh." Caorain turned back to Benold. "Alethe?" Benold nodded uncertainly. "Alethe talk loud, but I see others mad not. Maybe talk to others. Then they talk to Alethe. Maybe they help." Caorain bowed her head and headed towards the tent. "Good night, Benold."