Opting to leave the main roadway that veered south, Kifter chose a more direct route west along an ancient path now overgrown. Crossing wild grazing lands, the Fife and his young charge soaked up the blooms of colour, crossing hills and gullies awash with Fliryns and buzzes. This was a haven from the bustling life of a city. Wary eyes investigated the unusual rumblings of their passing. Scurrying off into well-concealed dens pending a return to normality, such intrusions were short-lived as the two riders pressed on. A bright sun arced like an enormous timepiece towards the latter parts of the turn, the ride going well. Slowing to a walk, drawing their labour to an end, it was an opportunity to get to know each other.
“Will you tell me about Brandor?” Hanor invited, refraining from prying into the Fife’s own story.
“Brandor!” the slender fellow jolted, as if pulled back from a daydream. “I have known him for a very long time,” he said, ensuring nothing untoward was on the move. Passing through thick patches of bumpy wild-grass and weed, they were on their own. “And I will share with you how we first met, if you are willing?” The telling of tales was his favourite pastime.
“Please do.”
“As a young cheeky Fife,” Kifter started, savouring the warm setting of this late short-turn in the day. “I was always on the lookout for adventure. Getting into mischief with my elders, I regularly outwitted those around me. My father was often away working for The High-house of Fion, so I had to keep myself busy. Then, one bright turn of day, the wise old figure of Brandor entered my life.”
A Fliryn with reddish fur and a light grey underbelly flew off just in front, flapping from amongst the long wild-grass up into a nearby tree.
“Bored as I often used to be,” Kifter continued, the small creature sitting on its hind legs and grooming its tight fur. “The Cook-house roof was a great place for action. Adjoined to the rear of The High-house, I had just discovered a nest of rotten eggs and was mulling over what to do with them. Searching for a target, who should walk along but our good friend Brandor. I had seen him before, but did not know anything about him. Self-assured as I was, not sensing a threatening manner to his person, I let him have an egg.”
“Have an egg?”
“Well…, I... threw it at him.”
Laughing, “Did it hit him?”
“Another of my favourite activities was to throw stones at very small targets. As we both know…, he is not the smallest of objects.”
“Where did you get him?”
“Only here.” Pointing at his smooth high forehead, he shrugged. “I was very young you might understand.”
“What did he do?”
Kifter sighed. “I am not sure you want to hear.”
“Was he furious?”
“Not exactly. I thought he was just an old man, but how wrong I was. Before I had left the roof, he appeared to cut off my escape.”
“What happened?”
“He threw me over the side of the building.”
“No…! Were you all right?” Hanor could not believe Brandor would do such a thing.
“My whole short life flashed before me,” Kifter said. An instinctive ability to tell tantalising stories drew his young charge closer. “Even in mid-air I could not believe it. Discarded like rubbish…, I was convinced it was the end.”
“Well…?” Hanor urged, the Fife’s pause leaving him dangling.
“Yes, like a piece of rubbish,” Kifter repeated. “So it was only fitting that I should land in a pile of kitchen waste.”
“Really…?”
“Of the very worst kind.”
“Were you hurt?”
“No, just foul to be near. When he came down, Brandor was not impressed.”
“I can picture it.”
“Presuming my torment was to continue, but to my fortune, he just laughed.”
Ushering the two new companions towards a new level of friendship, the light tale cleared the air. Disappearing behind the undulating hillside, the sun’s departure alerted them to the encroaching night.
“You can set up camp,” Kifter said, pulling in beneath a tree.
“Me!” Hanor was astonished. “I am not very good at it.”
“I will decide that for myself.”
“Are we troubled?” Kifter asked from across the fire. Commending Hanor earlier for his first attempt at cooking, the boy had done well considering he was not a master cook like himself.
“It is nothing,” Hanor said, suppressing what he felt. Missing Nole and Bane, the sense of betrayal was strong. Emerging whilst they had eaten, he could not shift the emptiness.
“A problem shared helps.”
Exhausted, and not really in the mood to open up, the Fife was still right. “It is my family. I am confused.”
“Loved ones should be considered in all that you do.”
The troubled youth frowned. “I have come on this journey at the request of Brandor, a person who I do not really know, and have caused a great deal of upset at home. He asked me to trust him, saying I would find out more when I was ready, but I have turned my life upside down on very little.” The encounter by the lake could hardly be called little, but his current mood would not let go. “I need convincing as to whether I am doing the right thing. He talked about threats to The Freelands, but what can I do anyway?”
Flames crackling, Kifter scratched his long chin, considering what should be said. “Most people would find it difficult to leave their friends and family like you have. It would be unwise for me to burden you with what lays ahead of us now. We have plenty of time to share details over the coming turns. What you are doing is honourable, and that is something to be proud of.”
Staring into the fire, Hanor was uncertain if the Fife’s words helped or hindered. He did feel as though he was doing the right thing, but the guilt of leaving Nole and Bane remained. Settling down under his blanket, he felt drained.
Gloomy, the deluge did not cease in strength the following turn, blurring the horizon. The greyness tried dampening Hanor’s spirits, but he held his nerve when riding into the after-turns. Levelling out, the terrain stretched far into the distance. Soft underfoot, the Kyboes bounded on as if free at last. Long ago, these planes had been their natural habitat, until adopted as bearers. Instinctive to life outside, even though content to serve their masters, their timid, adaptable natures had contributed enormously to life here in The Freelands.
By early evening, the downpour eased, diminishing to a saturating drizzle. Hanor treated the rain with the same dogged resolve he had Rainer. Digging in, stubbornness had its benefits. A small wood ahead welcomed them like a large ship amongst smaller, more exposed vessels. Protection from the damp was essential.
“I will spoil you now,” Kifter said, pulling in amongst the trees. Leaping down, he found a sheltered part and began clearing away the foliage. “Set the fire just there using twigs that are small and dry. Look under logs and bushes, damp wood will smoke.”
Proceeding as ordered, Hanor rummaged around the small clearing, ignoring the rapid snapping of branches behind. When complete, he was most surprised when the fire ignited. Turning, waiting for the praises of his elder, he stopped, astounded. The Fife had somehow conjured up a makeshift bed. Branches, vines and leaves spanning between two trees appeared lavish compared to the hard ground of last night.
“I do not believe you have made that.”
“I am not sure where you are going to sleep tonight,” Kifter teased.
Laughing, the grimness of the turn’s ride dissipating, “You have made that… for me?”
“At your service,” the lean figure replied, bowing. “Let us not get overexcited. A bed is a bed…, whether on the floor or in a grand room at the inn. You have a short rest, the rain has stopped so I will put up the canopy tonight and prepare the meal.”
“I…,” Hanor started protesting, but Kifter was not having it.
Indicating the makeshift bed, “Be wise in both word and deed,” he said, signalling for him to move. “I see someone who battled hard to keep going today. You need to rest.”
Enough to seal the argument, Hanor was tired. Not fully recovered from Rainer’s training yet, he laid his mat on top. Taking his time to settle into its clutches, the creaking motions of the cradle held his weight, closing in about him. Comforting, only now could he appreciate just how worn out he was. The relief was blissful
Kifter’s fixing of the canopy above went unnoticed, as too did the Fife’s hunting skills, catching a Rasser for their meal. Sleep claimed Hanor.
Rising, Nole’s eagerness to get going triggered further groans from Bane. Packing away their makeshift camp, thrown together in the dark last night like a couple of children playing tents with some bed sheets, the resultant damp blankets would have to be dried later.
Overcast, it set the mood for a gruelling turn in the saddle. Eating a cold meal before starting out, the two young men stayed focused on their appointed purpose. Without the sun for guidance, it would be difficult to stay true to their bearings. Estimating where the line taken yester-turn was, Nole picked out a tree on the horizon and aimed for it. What else could they do? Since leaving the main roadway late yester-turn, following this shorter route indicated by the old map, they could only hope Hanor had done the same.
“If we are to catch them…, we have to go faster,” Nole shouted to Bane when sweeping down another low-lying hill.
“We have to be careful not to overdo it,” Bane warned, digging in when the terrain began climbing again.
Nole did not answer, desires to find his brother too strong to let sense prevail.
Travelling on through the turn, it started raining, but it was not enough to quench Nole’s drive.
“Shall we stop?” Bane called, guessing the response.
Nole rejected the idea. “No!”
Still grumbling from having to eat his half-day meal whilst riding, Bane’s protests had been dismissed with, “No time.” Understanding his friend’s urgencies, but if not careful, there was a risk of running themselves ragged at this rate.
Daring to wonder how far in front Hanor was, Nole kept searching for movement ahead, hoping to see a tiny figure in the distance. When the rain got heavier, damp started soaking through their coats. Ignoring the inconvenience, Nole’s concerns were of a different sort. If they misjudged their direction, even by the slightest of margins, they might miss them.
Pulling up, darkness a wink away, they stopped for the night under a large tree surrounded by a wall of bush. Disgruntled, Bane was only prepared to tolerate Nole’s obsessive drive for so long. Stiff from the turn’s gruelling ride, when diving into his supply bag for something to eat, he made no apologies when sharing his feelings.
“I thought we agreed not to overdo it?” he complained, mouth half-full with quaner and dried berries.
“I am sorry,” Nole said, their purpose dominating his own aches. “It is strange,” he said, needing to explain himself. “I have thought of nothing else but reaching Hanor. Even my parents have not crossed my mind.”
“You should slow down,” Bane said, rummaging around for more to eat. “We cannot keep this pace up even if we wanted to.”
“I know,” Nole conceded. “But if we do not catch them soon, I fear we may miss them.”
“I accept that,” Bane agreed, empathising. “But this is new to us. No good having little strength left if dangers crop up.”
“It will be hard but I will try. Come on, let us set camp before nightfall. Last night’s efforts were deplorable. I know it was my fault for not stopping until after sundown, but I did not want to stop in case we were followed.”
“I am determined to get a fire going tonight,” Bane said, searching about for dry wood. “I was freezing last night.”
“Perhaps we should have brought Sulie to keep you warm,” Nole said, managing a taste of humour.
“Just mentioning her name has warmed me. Maybe this journey will prove to her that we have matured at last.”
“Perhaps,” Nole said, unconvinced.
Lying down, appetites satisfied, the two young men stared into the flames, thoughtful. Plumes of smoke exhaled into the darkness, the heat fending off the cold and drying out their soaked overcoats. Odd creaks and shuffles of movement behind did nothing to ignite their fears, too tired to worry about it. The fire was hypnotising, drawing them into its orangey glow. Bane’s berry concoction helped relax them into a silent numbness, both pondering what they were doing and why. Last night had been too hectic to think straight, and only now could the shock creep in.
“What if we do not find them?” Bane asked, troubled by the notion.
A thought mirrored by his friend, it was a tough question. “We will continue on to Tarden,” Nole said. Intending to catch up with his brother, he had not considered going the whole way without him.
“How many turns will it take to get there?”
“Ten…, maybe fifteen turns.”
“How… many?”
“I never said it would be an easy trip.” Nole was rattled. “If you are not up to it, just go.”
“I want to find Hanor just like you do,” Bane defended, his friend’s snappiness due to tiredness. “But… fifteen turns?”
“At today’s pace…, we could half that number.”
“And half our number too,” Bane scoffed at the potential danger.
“Now you are the one exaggerating.”
“Maybe,” Bane said, leaning on his elbow. Eyes sparkled in the amber light. “But this has happened so quickly.”
“I know,” Nole said. Refusing to allow doubts to bite all day, it was why he had not wanted to stop.
“What do you suppose he is doing now?” Bane asked, flicking woodchips into the fire.
“I do not want to think about it,” Nole said, unsettled at how he would respond when they did catch up.
Anger bubbled beneath the surface, still upset at his brother’s lack of concern for him and Bane. What could he really say? To miss him on the way would be a tragedy, but if found, how would he confront him? Sighing, the love for his brother he knew was all that mattered. “Go to sleep,” he said, closing his eyes, trying to shut out the issue. They needed an early start.