NOVEL NEXT Chapter 13 : Departure
Arc II : The Journey Begins
Chapter XIII : Departure
Earlmorn of Somnus, First Day of Autumnmoon
Not long ago, Angkor’s capital was a small, inconspicuous stronghold by the sea. But after half a century of impeccable leadership, it matured into one of the world’s most magnificent citadels. Nestled along the southern coast of Gaia’s Northern Continent, it was a beacon of influence and power. Bram was proud to be part of this nation and would do anything to help it maintain its grandeur.
He arched his back and stretched as he rode in a horse-drawn carriage down a cobblestone street leading out of the city. Judging by the clear blue sky and intensely bright sun, he knew the day would be hot. Even so, he preferred dry heat over an early return to the rainy season. The summer had run long that year, leading to a bountiful harvest for Angkor’s farmers. And as long as his homeland prospered, Bram was content.
His ride took him through the township of Niedam, a bustling outpost right outside the main city walls. It had its own shops and taverns on either side of a well-traveled road. From Primoris to Diapente—the days of the week—vendors laid out popular wares, while bakers lured in prospective customers with scents of buttery breads and pastries. On Terminus and Somnus—the weekend—farmers set up booths laden with fresh vegetables and produce, while fishermen spread out catches across large buffets, stretched underneath towering pavilions.
Tradesmen lined the streets, too, hoping to fill their purses with silver. Importers entered by ship at the southern port, bearing jewelry and antiques, while Koban merchants came on ox-pulled carts from the east, brandishing exotic trinkets. Demand for foreign goods had catapulted in recent years, thanks to the influx of wealth following The War.
Bram looked over his shoulder from time to time, watching the towering walls of the capital slowly shrink into the distance. Rosa was still inside, on a mission of her own, and each turn of the carriage’s wheels took him farther away.
Ever since leaving his audience with King Richard, Bram wrestled with his decision. He didn’t believe for a moment that Virgil relinquished the sunstone for anything but self-serving reasons. Rosa was right; the chancellor had something sinister planned, and the incomprehensible power of the sunstone now aided him.
The threat was too huge to ignore, yet sharing that burden had been the hardest decision of Bram’s life. Under any other circumstance, he would have never exposed Rosa to his problems. But, had he kept the knowledge to himself, he would have endangered her, nonetheless. The right decision—the only one he could have made—was to join forces with the woman he loved and trusted the most.
Now, with his voyage to Kitezh still ahead and his best friend from childhood at his side, his first task was to procure a pair of mounts for the long voyage. Rather than risk exposure by riding along the transnational byways, he and Kane intended to traverse the Zeugma mountain pass to the north, trek across the arid wastelands of Saladin, and enter Kitezh through its unmonitored western border. To do that, he would take the king’s carriage to the western rural farmlands, to a place that carried a particular type of animal.
It was a tiny settlement, tucked away among gently rolling hills, tall grass, and wild berries. Travelers aptly named the village Providence, based on how the community supported one another. During hard times, folks would pool resources and ensure that no family ever went hungry. Few villages boasted such altruism, yet it was this familiar farmstead that—many years ago—Bram called home.
The carriage dropped the two warriors off at a fork in the road, near a gently flowing brook. They veered from the path and descended a hill, until they reached an ancient oak at the bottom. Adjacent the oak was a wooden shack, with stalls along the side. The proprietor was an old friend of Bram’s father, and he happened to trade in the animal that Bram believed would best suit his journey.
Folks called them viscars. Unlike horses, they had lizard-like heads and tails, dark scaly skin, and pointy ears that perked up at the slightest of sounds. They ran on muscular hind legs and were swift and effective over hilly terrain. A pair of undersized forearms hung limply at their sides. Travelers appreciated these animals for their tame disposition, and they outlasted horses when food or water was scarce. They were ideal for desolate regions, including the mountains and deserts where Bram and Kane intended to travel.
Bram approached the shack, while Kane chose to remain outdoors. The Royal took a comfortable position beneath the oak, lying atop a patch of grass and forming a pillow with his crisscrossed fingers.
Bram approached the door and knocked. Moments later, he heard a faint voice from within. “Just a moment ….”
He waited patiently until a man, ancient in years, opened the door. Around his eyes were decades’ worth of creases from labor and hardship. Coarse tufts of hair protruded from the sides of his head, and a pair of thick spectacles rested on his nose. He squinted in an apparent attempt to get a clear view of his visitor, only to be visibly alarmed at finding a Gnostic Knight at his doorstop.
“Oh, dear. We don’t get visitors like you around here. No, Sir. I hope there’s nothing the matter.”
Bram wasn’t wearing his helm, so he felt a tinge of disappointment when the old man didn’t recognize him.
“Mister Oakley? You might not remember me, but I used to live past the crick and up the hill. Out yonder.” He pointed to an empty knoll back and to his right.
Mister Oakley calmed and gave Bram a second inspection. “Yes … you’re the young Morrison boy. My, haven’t you grown!”
Bram felt almost embarrassed to be seen as a child in the eyes of this codger, but he couldn’t help but smile. “It’s nice to see you, especially after all these years.”
“I should say the same, Sir Knight. But, please, call me Marcus—like you used to.”
“Of course. And please, call me Bram.”
“That’s right … Bram. Won’t you please step inside?”
He took Marcus up on his offer, leaving his companion under the oak. The home was quaint, with a pleasant cedar smell. A cauldron of soup hung over a small fireplace in the corner, while a charred log underneath crackled and popped. Marcus stoked the flame while glancing over his shoulder.
“So to what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you since you left for the Academy, and that was more than a decade ago. I figured you’d stop by sooner or later, but I suppose you’ve been busy with your own life, now that you’re a Knight and all.”
Bram fought back a slew of painful memories. Midway through The War, his father’s farm had been hit by a Kitezhian raid. Bram trained at the Academy at the time, only leagues away. If he had just come home that weekend, he might have been there to help do something. Instead, Bram’s father was one of many victims who burned in their homes that night. Bram never returned to the family farm after that day.
He steadied his voice. “Just thinking of this place … has been difficult. But I should have come to pay my respects.”
Marcus brought a hand to his lips. “Oh, the Goddess curse my terrible memory! I should have known your father was among the casualties that night. Truly, I offer my condolences, my dear boy. He was a hard worker and so very much loved by this community.”
The pain was real, but Bram refused to dwell on the past. He had other things to accomplish. “Thank you, Marcus. I look to the hill where I grew up, but the fields are overgrown, and the structures are gone. It’s as if there never was a farmhouse there. Nevertheless, I’m sure you realized I didn’t come here to reminisce.”
Marcus nodded. “You need a mount, is that it? Just know that you’re always welcome, Bram, even if it’s just for soup or tea … or to chat about old times.”
Bram appreciated the kind words more than Marcus could have known. “I need to travel north with a companion, across the mountain pass. I’ll need two viscars.”
He retrieved his coin purse only to find Marcus pushing it away. “No, no, no … I can’t take your money. Take what you need. It’s the least I can do.”
“I won’t hear of it.” Bram pressed five silver coins into the old man’s hand.
Marcus’s eyes widened. “But it’s far too much!”
“Consider it a gift, then, for all you’ve done for me and my dad.” Bram forced one of his signature smiles that folks would have remembered from his youth. He rarely showed the same face since his surrogate father passed. Even in the right moment, it took effort.
Marcus hesitated but eventually accepted the money. Five silvers were a week’s worth of work to the peasants of the western farmlands. With his transaction now complete, Bram bid his farewells and met Kane outdoors.
“You should have joined us,” he suggested to his old friend. “You remember Mister Oakley, don’t you? He would have enjoyed seeing you.”
Kane shook his head. “Things have changed. I’ve changed. I don’t think he would have recognized me.”
Bram shrugged and threw his bags over one of the mounts. Kane did the same, and both Gnostic and Royal climbed atop their viscars and continued their trek.