Chapter 8

For the next several days they continued their normal training. Along with that, Ezhno spent extra time coaching Mato on what to say, and when.

Departure day arrived before Mato expected. They had counted down to it, packed their kits, checked in with their travel companions daily, and done everything possible to see that the journey would be a success. Despite that, Mato was mentally unprepared when they walked through the east gate and headed into the salts.

Their group was twenty-eight students and two priests. These were students hoping to earn spirit blades of their own, and Ezhno called them seekers.

“Stay away from the seekers, Mato. Generally you should walk with me, but if you are alone, stay that way. Do not let them surround you. These are young men hoping to make reputations for themselves. The priests will encourage them to fight, and they hardly need encouragement.”

“They won’t be punished if they attack me?”

“Of course they would, but that won’t save your life.”

They walked through the night and finally stopped when the heat began to rise. Ezhno made the rounds, making sure everyone knew how to put up their shade cloth. Mato went with him, observing what was said and why.

Based on his own training, the seekers made numerous mistakes, but Ezhno only mentioned the most egregious.

They set their own shade cloths using a single stick and stakes at the other corners of the cloth. By sharing a stick, they created a large patch of shade that they could share. There was just enough room for them to lie underneath and leave a few inches of space between themselves and the cloth roof.

“You are not showing them everything you show me,” Mato said.

“No. They are not my students. If any of them come to me with questions, I will answer them, but I will not volunteer. And we will be careful how we answer questions. Anything that a priest might know should be referred to them. The worst thing we can do is come into conflict with the teachers assigned to this cohort.”

“That makes sense,” Mato said. “If I were teaching someone, I would not want someone else to interfere with my lessons.”

“Exactly,” Ezhno said. “Now go to sleep.”

Mato wasn’t sure he could go to sleep. First, it was far too bright out. Second, he was worried about being ambushed by seekers. Instead of sleeping, he thought about the trip.

Distance in Abo was simple. A knuckle was about the width of your thumb. If you needed to be precise, there were measuring tools based on the width of Sotsona’s thumb. A hand was four knuckles wide. A foot was three hands long. A pace was three feet. A throw was three hundred paces--once again as measured by Sotsona’s throw, not the average. A clip was six throws. Finally, for whatever reason, a march was fifteen clips.

The route they traveled typically took oxen twenty-two days. An ox could generally walk one march per day. So could the average person. Ezhno aimed to cross the salts in ten days, thus they were covering at least two marches per day, generally a bit more.

Mato woke to the sound of dripping water and smiled. As usual, thinking about numbers had put him to sleep.

“Did we get thirty clips today?”

“Not quite,” Ezhno said. “About twenty-eight. It will take us a few days to get used to the pace.” He set a small cup next to Mato.

Mato rolled onto his side, then awkwardly drank the water of life. It would keep him from getting sore muscles and blisters during the next set of marches.

They ate some travel cakes, little bricks made from dried fruit, berries, seeds, nuts, and meat. Then they packed up their shade cloths and prepared their packs.

There were two small twin-wheeled carts, each carried the supplies for one priest, and a water barrel. The carts had two long handles, and two sets of straps. Pairs of seekers took turns pulling the carts.

The largest of the seekers pointed at Mato. “You. Your turn to pull.”

Mato started toward the cart. In his peripheral vision he saw Ezhno approach one of the priests.

“Stop,” the priest said.

Mato looked that way and realized the priest was speaking to him, so he stopped. The priest walked to the big seeker and stood face to face.

“Who put you in charge?”

“No one, Wisdom.”

“Who leads this cohort?”

“You do, Wisdom.”

“Tonight we cover three marches. You will pull the entire time.”

The big man’s eyes widened, but he bowed to the priest and said, “Of course, Wisdom. Thank you for correcting me.”

Ezhno snapped his fingers and pointed to a spot in front of himself. Mato hurried over and faced his teacher.

“I am not happy, Mato. You are here to help the seekers. Not to cause discord.”

“Yes, Teacher.”

Ezhno got Mato’s pack fastened on, then strapped his own pack on Mato’s load. “This will teach you to make trouble.”

“I’m sorry, Teacher.”

Ezhno strode ahead, and Mato hurried after him, struggling not to look like he was struggling. Once they were about a hundred paces in front of the group, Ezhno chuckled.

“Don’t feel bad about this. I’m doing it to keep the seekers from feeling jealous of you.”

“I understand.”

Ezhno took a water bag off of his pack, took a swallow, then handed it to Mato.

“Drink this. It is coffee wine, brewed with the water of life.”

Mato took a swallow and nearly spit it out. It was fermented milk, with coffee, some sort of fruit, and then it was watered down.

“That is awful.”

Ezhno chuckled. “You will learn to love it. That swallow will get you through most of the first march.”

His teacher knew what he was talking about. Within a few minutes Mato felt a spring in his step, and he marched along, almost oblivious to the extra weight. Every once in a while they stopped to wait while the seekers caught up.

While they walked Ezhno taught. The prevailing winds blew northeast. They created a subtle grain to the salt that you could feel with your fingertips.

He picked up a scale of the surface salt and handed it to Mato. Sure enough, by running his fingers over it, he could tell. The grain had a direction, and if you tried to go southwest, it dragged a bit.

They talked about the stars. Mato already knew how to identify the east, west, and north stars, but Ezhno said there were many days when clouds or haze blocked the sky enough to make them hard to find. Instead Mato began learning about surrounding constellations and how they could help him navigate if he could not see the three main stars.

The light dimmed and eventually they walked across a plain of white salt, covered by a sky of brilliant stars. Ezhno got out his poncho blanket and put it on, but Mato was carrying two packs and did not need one.

When Ezhno determined they had completed the first march he called a halt.

“Foot inspection,” Ezhno said as soon as the group was gathered.

Everyone sat and pulled their boots off. Ezhno lit a tiny lantern and went from person to person, either telling them they were doing well, or giving them help and advice. Some received salve, others got help relacing their boots. One got a cuff to the side of the head and an order to put on socks.

They all ate a couple of travel cakes, then set out again. As before, Ezhno and Mato took the lead, and Mato got a big swallow of coffee wine.

Despite the wine, Mato began to feel the strain of carrying two packs. He huffed along, listening to Ezhno talk about weather signs and how to protect yourself from sudden storms on the salt flats. Every couple of clips Ezhno got out a travel cake and made him eat it. Halfway through he got another sip of coffee wine.

Ezhno continued the routine, stopping everyone at the end of the second march, inspecting their feet, and making sure everyone drank water and ate something. Mato luxuriated in the sensation of weightlessness when Ezhno lifted the packs off.

“See this spot?” Ezhno said, pointing to the side of one of Mato’s big toes. “This will become a blister. You need to put a dab of salve on it.” He offered Mato the little jar of salve. The stuff was thick and white, with an herbal scent. Not bad at all. It went on with a cool sensation that transitioned to burning over a few minutes.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Is it supposed to burn?” Mato asked.

“Yes. It is healing you. Rapid healing always hurts.”

Even with the coffee wine the final march was grueling. Mato plodded along, struggling to stay balanced, trying to maintain a good pace, and generally feeling exhausted. Ezhno walked beside him, singing a soft marching chant that Mato found very helpful.

It was amazing how fatigue affected him. He thought he’d been tired before. Working with his parents had not been easy, and then training with Ezhno had increased the strain. The original march around the city had been a trial because of the pain in his feet, and his constant need for water.

This was different. He felt like keeping his balance, even on the flat salt plain, was difficult. His feet ached, and his shoulders burned. The packs shifted, and added to his balance problems.

Then the wind picked up, and for a little while he felt like he could complete the march. It came from behind, propelling him forward, and cooling him at the same time.

“About halfway,” Ezhno said. He reached into his pack and then handed Mato three dates.

Mato chewed the dates gratefully. The sweetness made him forget his aches and pains for a few seconds, and over the next while he felt slightly less tired.

Around them the salts brightened, until the sun peeked over the horizon. They weren’t exactly marching into the light, but they were close. Ezhno helped him get his salt goggles on, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Ezhno stuck something in his mouth, and he chewed. It had a vaguely chocolatey flavor, with hints of coconut, plus things he couldn’t identify.

“What is this?”

“Trailmaster chew. Used in emergencies only. If you eat it all of the time it loses its potency.”

It didn’t take long, perhaps half an hour. Mato slowly perked up. The fog on his brain lifted, the pain in his feet and shoulders subsided, and he found himself whistling as he plodded along.

“How many of those do you bring?” Mato asked.

“Two. Of course, I put two in your kit as well. As I said, use them in case of emergency. I have seen men grow reliant on them, and then they cannot function without.”

In spite of Ezhno’s various techniques for increasing stamina, Mato was overjoyed when the final march was over. He set up shade cloths for Ezhno and himself while Ezhno was out doing foot inspection. Then he laid out his poncho, took off his boots and socks, and promptly fell asleep.

Chapter 9

The shift from salt flat to grassland was stark. Over fifty paces one went from barren desert to healthy steppe. They walked for one more march, and arrived at Nambe.

Nambe was far smaller than Abo. Most of the dwellings were outside the city. Huge fields of wheat and other grains grew around it. Mato tried to watch everything, in every direction, as they approached. These people didn’t have rooms of flax, they had fields of it.

Grains like corn grew row after row, almost as far as the eye could see. Compared to Abo, this was a treasure of agriculture. He’d thought Abo was rich, but Nambe had food to feed ten Abos. Maybe twenty.

“As always, be very careful of what you say, and to whom,” Ezhno said.

Mato nodded and continued scanning the area.

Nambe was an oblong city, with one rounded end to the west and one squared end to the east. It was made of gray stone, much different than the reddish hues of hardpan.

People seemed to be mostly farmers, wearing simple clothing and eating simple foods. The market they passed through had many kinds of bread, but few vegetables, and no meat.

The city smelled bad, like rot, piss, and shit.

“Ezhno, am I seeing what I think I am seeing? The people here seem to have very bad teeth.”

Ezhno nodded and spoke softly, “Yes. They do not have access to Abo’s well. This is just the first sign of ill health you will see in the outside lands.”

One of the priests joined them. And they walked in silence for a bit. Then Mato saw a wagon with a body on it. Then a wagon with two bodies.

“Why are there so many dead on the same day?”

“They do not have Sotsona’s blessing,” the priest said.

“Nor do they have Sotsona’s wisdom,” Ezhno said. “You never see waste in Abo, but here it is piled in the streets.”

The priest kissed his fingertips and pressed them to his forehead.

That caught Mato’s attention. It was the first time he had heard Ezhno say something definitely good about Sotsona. Usually his comments were neutral, and occasionally negative. It made sense that he would say something positive in front of the priest, but it was also a good observation.

They crossed most of the city before they arrived at a boarding house. The place was three storeys, and very long. The priests haggled with the owner for a bit, then handed over some gold.

The boarding house had four rows of rooms on each floor. The two outside rows had windows. The two inside rows had no access to outside light or air.

The air inside was stifling, and it grew worse when they climbed to the third floor. Mato got a glimpse inside a few of the inside rooms, and breathed a little thank you to the Great Spirit when Ezhno led him into an outside room.

Even with some airflow, it was hot and stagnant. Flies flew in and out through the windows, and the air smelled just as bad here as it did everywhere else. Ezhno got out a small jar of paste, put a bit on his forehead and wrists, then passed it to Mato.

The paste smelled of… coconut… and perhaps saffron. He followed his teacher’s motions, then asked what it was supposed to do.

“It keeps the flies away,” Ezhno said. “Without this, they land on you. At best, they are irritating. At worst, they bite.”

They napped for a few hours, then Ezhno took Mato to his first bathhouse.

“This is when you learn that different cultures have different ideas. In Nambe, men, women, and children all bathe together.”

That caught Mato’s attention. He entered the building with trepidation. Ezhno led him to a changing room, where a naked woman surrounded by three children smiled at them, then continued drying herself.

Ezhno picked a bench for them, then stripped. While he was doing that, a group of five men entered. They greeted the woman as if everything was normal, said hello to the kids, then found a spot and proceeded to undress.

“Um…” Mato said.

“Strip,” Ezhno said.

Mato undressed, praying to the Great Spirit that his little spirit would sleep through this experience.

The next bit shocked Mato more than anything else. When they entered the bathing area, water poured from several holes high in the wall. People would stand under the stream of water, wash themselves, then find a spot to soak in a tub. How many people did it take carrying buckets of water to the uphill holding tank for this to work?

Ezhno rinsed himself thoroughly, then went to an empty tub and settled onto a seat. Mato followed him, worrying at every step about his posture. Should he try to walk naturally? Should he put his hands in front of his manhood? Where should he look? There were naked people everywhere.

“Do you remember my story?” Ezhno asked when he was seated.

“Of course,” Mato said.

“If I can get used to this, anyone can get used to this.”

“You could have warned me.”

Ezhno chuckled softly. “If I had, you would have refused to come.”

“Of course I would,” Mato said.

“Then you would stink. Why should I have to smell your stench?”

Mato glanced around the room. A man rubbed himself dry with a cloth of some sort. A woman finished drying herself, then applied oil to her skin. Mato had to look away.

“How am I supposed to leave here without humiliating myself?”

Ezhno passed him a very small package wrapped in waxed leather. “Eat this.”

Mato chewed the bitter contents, then breathed a sigh of relief as his little spirit subsided.

Overall Mato felt he could enjoy the baths immensely if he could just find a time when there were no women in attendance.

“This is a secret, Mato.”

He looked at Ezhno and gave one sharp nod.

“I wish I could marry some day. To have a wife at my side, perhaps children… I thought that training you would be unpleasant, but a good investment. Instead I have found it rewarding, and I wonder what it would be like to guide a child from cradle to adulthood.”

“Why give up?”

“I am not giving up. I am thinking about the consequences. What if I had a child, and they were like me? I am a monster, Mato. Allo spent ten years teaching me to play at civilization, but underneath?”

Mato studied his face, and found something like despair lurking under the grim expression. “Allo already taught you how to work with a difficult child. You are better prepared than most.”

“I am not as strong as Allo.”

Mato laughed softly. “Perhaps not right now, but if you have taught me anything, it is that strength of any kind can be developed.”

“You are a good friend, Mato. And a good student. Come, we have work to do.” He pushed himself up, grabbed his drying cloth, and set to with it.

Mato followed, and then they made their way back to the dressing room.

They passed a very attractive woman about Mato’s age as they approached the door, and he had his head turned back in her direction just long enough to collide with two more young women as they exited the changing room.

“I’m so sorry,” Mato said.

His head whipped around, and he looked into a pair of milk-white breasts with perfect, pink nipples. His little spirit threw off the bonds of Ezhno’s medicine, and he whipped his drying cloth in front of himself, only to drop it.

Mato bent, grabbed the cloth, and straightened, only to bump her soft parts with the back of his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said. Her hair was brilliant red, and her face was covered with freckles. Her eyes were brilliant green.

A second female voice burst into laughter, and he realized the exotic woman had a friend. A friend with piercing blue eyes, pale skin, and hair so light it was almost white. Her breasts were, if anything, larger than her friend’s.

“Excuse us, ladies,” Ezhno said. He grabbed Mato by the arm and pulled him to the side so they could pass.

“Thank you good sir,” said the redhead.

The whitehead put a finger under Mato’s chin and raised his eyes to hers. “What is your name?”

“M… M…”

“His name is Mato Stone Foot, and I am his teacher, Ezhno. He’s very bright, and hard working. It’s just his first trip to a bathhouse.”

“I see,” she said. “Well, you seem very honest, Mato Stone Foot. Never lose that quality.”

Then the two beauties walked away, hips swaying. Their giggles sounded like songbirds, and Mato felt like he might faint.

The dressing room was blessedly empty when Ezhno dragged him in. They sat, pulled their clothes on, and then walked outside.

“What are they?” Mato asked in a whisper.

“Women, Mato.”

He shot Ezhno a hard look. “I know what women are, Ezhno. I have a mother, sisters, and friends. But I have never seen women that color. Blue eyes. Green eyes. Red hair. White hair, but not like an old person.”

“That light color is called blonde, Mato.”

“They are beautiful.”

Ezhno laughed and patted his shoulder. “I noticed.”

“Where are they from?”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard about people with their coloration before, but I have never seen them. Which brings me to my next point. When you meet anyone who surprises you, you should fall back on your manners. Greet them politely, try not to stare, and get out of their way.”

Mato put his hands over his face. “They think I am an idiot.”

“They were flattered that you found them entrancing, Mato.”

“Do you think so?”

“It was obvious.”