Twenty-Nine

Using the multi-purpose hiking stick he carried with him — a gift from one of the other workers — Markis prodded at the small smoky fire. It was always hard to find enough to make a decent fire, and they burned with a half-hearted sluggish flame that did little to cut through the chill. At least it wasn’t raining, and he could be thankful that the wind had died down. He tugged the cap lower over his forehead, trying to capture and retain some of his own warmth.

He looked around the rude camp, wondering what he was going to do next. He’d left his fellow travelers a few days back when news of the happenings had reached him, convinced that there would be at least something he could do. The messenger had told them of the things happening around Bortruz and beyond, some sort of activity, but the details were sketchy.

He looked around the blank hillside, down on the estates and across the empty landscape. He’d found a slight hollow which provided at least a hint of shelter, but that’s all he had: a hint of shelter, the clothes he wore, a pack with a few travel essentials and the walking stick. It wasn’t much to reflect where he had come from. He poked at the reluctant fire again. Still, change went two ways. Things either got better or things got worse. He couldn’t see how things could possibly get worse from here. He’d lost just about everything. At least he still had what he believed in. In the meantime, he would have to find some way to keep himself alive. He could forage from the land, take what he could, but the estates were hardly likely to be taking on workers in the current circumstance. He looked up at the sky, at the remaining streamers of darkening light, then back down at the fire. It would be night soon, and the cold would descend. He leaned back and rummaged through his pack, pulling out the blanket and bundling it to one side. He patted the heap and thought about the things he’d learned over the past few weeks.

His companions may have been relatively low in the order of things, but they’d been open and giving. They had shown generosity where there was no reason to give it. They’d offered him solace and shelter and taught him, when there was nothing they owed him. Compared to the others he knew in his former life within the Guild hierarchy, these men who had virtually nothing to their names were a different sort. He wondered briefly how people all descended from the one origin could be so unalike. Everyone, all of them, had come from the First Families, or what remained of that population who had made it down to the planet. They were all the same stock, the same set of beliefs and values, and yet such variation still existed. Had such diverse groups existed on the ship itself during the many years of travel across the void?

With a grunt, his thoughts returned to his own situation as he poked at the fire again. He didn’t know which estates he was near. He’d headed blindly in the direction that the Storm Season holdings lay, guided by the brief directions given him by Abaile, but he was in no position to tell one from the other. Somewhere down there, not visible for now, lay his own family holdings. Not seeing the Ka Vail estates — he wasn’t ready to deal with that yet — was a relief. He thought he was somewhere close to the Ky Menin holdings, but he couldn’t be sure. Somewhere nearby sat his father and brother and the knowledge filled him with a strange mix of emotions. Somewhere nearby sat everything he had once held dear.

Some motion in one of the fields ahead drew his attention, and using the stick to bear his weight, he pushed himself to his feet. The firelight, meager though it was, made it difficult to distinguish anything, and he stepped away from its circle so that he might see better.

A pair of figures was approaching. They were heading directly for where he stood. They both looked old, though how he could tell from this distance, he didn’t know. One of the figures seemed to be supporting the other, guiding him. Taking a firm grip on his staff, Markis headed down the hillside to meet them.

As he neared the approaching pair, Markis felt his breath catch. Even through the descending gloom, he could recognize one of the two men — the one being helped across the field, his weight supported, one hand held out in front of him as if trying to feel his way. It was his father, Aron Ka Vail. He barely had time to wonder what had happened to him before he was charging across the intervening space. Anything that had gone before didn’t matter. The old man was obviously in trouble.

“What’s happened?” he asked as he pulled up in front of them. He at least had the caution to think better about revealing his identity just yet.

“This man needs help,” said the older Guildsman leading Aron Ka Vail. “Do you want a job?”

“What is it?” said Markis again, adopting the speech of the itinerant workers he’d been traveling with. “What you want?”

“You can earn some money if you take this man to Darthan. There will be people there who will take him.”

Markis peered into his father’s face, but Aron Ka Vail didn’t appear to see him. “Who is he?”

“That doesn’t matter,” said the Guildsman. “All you have to do is lead him to Darthan and look after him.” The Guildsman dug inside one pocket and pulled out a purse. He hefted in one hand, showing its weight.

Markis’s heart was pounding in his chest, and it was all he could do to keep his voice level, to keep the torrent of questions from tumbling from his lips.

“He don’t look well,” he said after a pause. “What’s happened to him?”

“Leave me,” croaked Aron. “They will take it out on you if you help me.”

“What’s he talking about?” asked Markis, still peering again into his father’s face.

“That doesn’t matter either,” said the old man leading Aron Ka Vail. Markis noted his livery and recognized the marks of Technologists: Karryl Ky Menin’s personal household. “There are just some of us,” continued the old man, “who want to make sure he’s looked after. Now, will you do it?”

Markis nodded and the old man tossed him the purse. “Take him to Darthan. Find Men Darnak’s men. They’ll know what to do. Treat him well. He deserves at least that,” he said and turned away without another word. Markis watched him disappear across the fields into the gloom toward his estate.

Markis turned back to his father, the questions still tumbling in his head. Aron Ka Vail was an old man. Whatever ordeal he’d been through had taken its toll. Markis had no idea what revealing his identity might do. It was better not to risk it. Not yet, especially after all that had already passed.

“Here,” he said, guiding Aron’s hand to his walking stick. “Lean on this. Let me help you back to the fire.”

Aron frowned, as if puzzling over something, but then a cough racked his frame, and he doubled over, leaning his weight on the staff. Markis rushed to place his hand on the old man’s shoulder.

“Are you all right?” he said.

“No,” said Aron. “I am not. I will never be all right again. Not after this.” He coughed again. “The Prophet fills our lives with cruel jokes. See, how it works? My misfortune makes you better off.”

“I don’t...”

“If this hadn’t happened to me, you wouldn’t have this job.”

Slowly the old man straightened, Markis’s hand still on his shoulder. Aron reached out with one hand, pawing at the air, and then making contact with Markis’s arm. He felt up the arm until he found his shoulder. Markis swallowed back his horror. It was suddenly clear. His father couldn’t see. He bit his lip, struggling to maintain control of his voice.

“Come. This way. We’ll get you to Darthan.”

“Darthan!” Aron gave a hollow laugh. “No, boy. Just take me somewhere where I can die. I just need somewhere I can end this bloody misery in peace.”

“No, master,” said Markis. “I’ve been paid to take you to Darthan, and that’s where we’ll go.” He applied gentle pressure to the old man’s shoulder, steering him forward.

Aron took one hesitant step, then another, leaning his weight heavily on the walking stick.

“You know,” said Aron as they made painful progress across the ground and up the base of the hill. “The Prophet knows how to play with us. It’s a cruel joke. You remind me of someone. It’s something in your voice.” Again, he gave a short hard laugh. “The Prophet’s just reminding me how well I treated my own. No better than this. No better than this. And now, when I can no longer take it back, I would give everything to be able to do so.”

The old man stumbled, and Markis caught him. He placed an arm around his father’s shoulder to help guide him up the hill.

“I’m sure it will be all right,” he said gently. “Once we get to Darthan –”

“Didn’t you hear me, boy? Just take me somewhere where I can die in peace. The Prophet can’t do any more. There’s nothing left. Nothing.”

“Come on,” said Markis. “We’ll look after you, that’s for sure. I’m sorry I haven’t even got no padder to take you there, but maybe we can find one. We’ll get you there. You’ll see.”

He caught himself, but the last words had already left his lips. Would the old man see? Markis just didn’t know. Aron Ka Vail seemed not to have noticed.

Chapter Thirty