“ISAIAH, WE ARE so very sad to see you go. You are among the best workers we’ve ever had.” Lord Huxley rewarded him with the very same compliment every time they spoke.
“Pleased to be of service, my Lord.”
“Oh yes, boy. Indeed, it seems you have been immensely pleased here. Brother, are you sure you will need him? He is probably no good for those wild journeys of yours anyway.” It seemed to be something in between a joke and a half-hearted attempt to keep him there, for they had already discussed and agreed on the matter, and both he and Tzelem were ready to ride out. Isaiah felt slightly offended by the remark – although it was true, and although he suspected it to be a strange way for the Patron to show his appreciation.
“He’s coming.” Tzelem replied, and Lord Huxley rolled his eyes and sighed exaggeratedly.
“Well, alright then.” He said, turning towards his former worker with a throw of his cape (dyed with a similar shade as the wine Isaiah suspected he’d consumed at least half a glass of from his pacing). The Patron then mimicked an apologetic frown, twirling his blonde, finely trimmed mustache that was at least two shades lighter than his younger brother’s.
“This is the price we pay for our heritage boy, and all we can do is to bear the burden with grace. If you decide not to, you will always be welcome back here, and we’ll make sure there’s a free bed for you.” His words felt more comforting than they should have, for Isaiah had already told himself that there would be no going back. Still, it was nice knowing that if things did turn very grim, the fortress would be his sanctuary. Though a potentially dangerous thought, the assurance calmed his nerves.
“Now,” the Patron said for everyone to hear, holding his arms out before searching the pockets of his vest. They always appeared terribly tight, and this one had delicate, golden threads drawing a plant-like pattern over the silky, black fabric. “Here is your salary.” He pulled out a small, dark, green bag from his pocket and handed it over to him. Looking inside, Isaiah found four large, gold coins.
“My Lord?”
“Your payment – one coin for each year. If you come back, I’ll give you two a year, maybe even three!” He winked at him, now standing so close, Isaiah could see that strange flicker in his eyes. Some had prattled about it, suggesting the patron was unwell in more than one way, and with this gesture he wondered if there might be some truth to it.
“Thank you, my Lord.” He uttered, astonished, as he’d already been gifted a new, black cloak identical to Tzelem’s. His impression had always been that they, under no circumstances, were getting paid for their labor – that this was the very reason that captives complained about being captives. Gold coins were not the usual form of payment in Delta, and it was the first time he’d held any in his own hand. Unlike many of his companions, he’d never really cared for them either – still he thought he’d might be able to spend them while still in the Nahbí region. Perhaps a good spade or a rake would be of use – a nice gift to bring home. He put them in his pack, taking nothing more than his knife and one change of clothes (initially, he’d brought a spade too, but Tzelem had told him it was foolish and unnecessary). Before turning to the saddle, he nodded towards Lady Huxley that was standing in the shade some feet away. She had looked straight at him earlier that morning, not even minding him lifting his gaze as they’d spoken together. To ease her worries of his departure, he’d promised that he would return safely and without a scratch. He regretted this now, realizing there was no certainty to this premise at all. The Lady’s expression was still tense, puzzled almost, and in a way her silence was a better compliment than any of her husband’s words could ever be.
Some of the children waved as Isaiah rode towards the gates on the largest (and only) horse he'd ever sat on by himself. Nineteen hands long, it seemed to him Indra had to be the largest animal in the world. He’d suggested taking a smaller one that he’d made himself familiar with for a year – but Tzelem insisted he needed a horse that could keep up with his own stallion. For once Lord Huxley had agreed with his brother. The mare had recently been given to them from the Zuras – seemingly being a way of paying their respects to the patrons. Due to the fact that Lord Huxley never rode, he had kindly re-gifted her to Isaiah, seeing that he was on a mission on the Patron’s behalf. She was a wholly black and marvelous animal. One he did not feel worthy or competent enough to be riding in the slightest. Climbing her for the first time had been an awkward and apologetic act, and nothing like he’d once pictured it would be. Still, he rode out, hoping his gift would be fast enough to escape whatever danger they might encounter. If he was as lucky as he felt there and then, she might even be able to outrun his master, carry him back home and give him something more than just gold coins and a rake to show for.
*
It took less than an hour of riding, for Isaiah to notice that four years’ time had turned his master into a slightly more cheerful man. That wasn’t to say they’d brought happiness upon him necessarily (he was yet to actually catch him smiling). Nevertheless, his tone bore less irritation and was far less condescending than it once had been (the fact that he was talking at all, was something to take note of in itself). Perhaps it had to do with the more comfortable, physical distance between them – as they were riding separate horses this time. Perhaps he had truly changed and wherever, or whatever, had kept him from coming back before, had taught him some manners. Whatever the reason, Isaiah decided it was not so important, seeing he wasn’t planning to stay around for very long - regardless of how bearable his company might be.
Unknowing of his protégé’s lack of commitment, Tzelem had briefed him on the route he’d planned for the next few days. Though giving little detail on the mission itself, he assured him it would be a difficult journey – but that it would be worth all the troubles. “Trust me, you will thank me in the end.” He’d said. This didn’t encourage Isaiah, of course, having no intention of making it till this ‘end’ of his, or going through any unnecessary inconveniences. What had been a pleasant surprise was that their first stop would be in a village further north where they were to get necessary supplies. This meant they were at the very least going in the right direction, and if they stayed the night, he would perhaps have a chance of escaping sooner than he’d dared hoping for.
Tzelem was not at all fond of providing answers, and so he tried his best to ask the fewest questions possible. On the occasions he found himself with a burning one, such as: “Will Indra get angry if I give her a kick to go faster?” or “Will it be very long before we eat?”, his master did not ignore him or respond with his usual hostile muttering – he simply replied back. This was not to say, he’d gotten any fonder of pointless chatter or breaks. Isaiah had never been one to mind silence, and being inside this particular one, he realized this was perhaps the only thing the two of them had in common. As to the breaks, riding the whole day with no more than one stop to drink, was a much more displeasing experience. His stomach had grown used to the regular feeding hours of the fortress, and though he’d eaten an even larger breakfast than usual, it still felt unsettling. Tzelem had said they wouldn’t have supper till they stopped to camp for the night, and knowing he had a much bigger appetite for movement than food, he was well aware they’d be riding till they couldn’t see the path ahead of them anymore.
The Nahbí forest was dull and lifeless, and compared to the one in Delta, Isaiah thought it could hardly be called a forest at all. For hours, there was nothing to see but repetitive roads of tall, gloomy trees and a narrow path (hosting a troublesome number of edged, gray stones). Though twisting its way forward, it hardly ever split into more than two directions at once. It wasn’t the lack of pleasant scenery or his empty stomach that came to be the worst of it. The most displeasing side of the matter did not appear until the night sky did. It was a grim sight, that didn’t come in the shape of some scary beast or a group of bandits. No, it was as innocent as him looking up at the stars and remembering something of crucial importance – though Tzelem had said they would first head north, they were further south than they’d been earlier. He had followed his master quite mindlessly until then, certain he was bringing him closer to Delta every minute.
“Do you mind me asking, master – were you not saying we would first go to Duroya where they produce the best ropes?”
“I did, but we can get a hold of rope in another village and instead tie them together. It isn’t so important we should let it delay us.” For Tzelem it was perhaps nothing but a minor change of plans. Nothing else than some knots and a different village, so considering his tendency to spare his voice, it was not so strange he hadn’t mentioned it. For Isaiah, it had quite severe consequences, and he had to contain his urge to turn around and run. Even if Indra had proved herself to be just as fast as Tzelem’s stallion, he would surely be lost – if not dead – within a few hours out there by himself. The Nahbí roads were notorious for its robberies, rapes, and manslaughter.
“I was hoping we could visit my grandfather on the way.” Despite the obvious unfairness in his situation, it was not a sort of request he was entitled to make. Even if Tzelem thought he needed him, he was still expected to act as his humble apprentice.
“On the way? I just told you, we’re heading south.”
“I am aware, Master Tzelem... but, could we perhaps ride back – I just want to make sure he is alright. We don’t need to take any breaks tomorrow.” Isaiah tried.
“There’s no time for such nonsense. Maybe if you’d asked earlier, I would have considered it.” He damned himself for not realizing they were moving in the wrong direction before. At the same time, he suspected such a consideration would have been short-lived and eventually declined, regardless of the given distance.
“Theodore is fine. Now, focus on the road ahead.”
“How do you know?”
“I went to see him.” He said this casually, as if it was something he did frequently.
“When?” Isaiah asked, daring to make his way next to him, although the path just barely allowed it. Tzelem’s gaze didn’t stray from the road, the lowered corners of his mouth and pointed nose just vaguely visible underneath his black hood.
“Just before I came back for you.”
“Did he ask about me?” Though he wasn’t quite sure he believed him, he felt the slightest of relief. Tzelem was yet to tell him the reason for being gone for so long, so It was possible he’d actually been in Delta.
“I told him you were at the fortress being trained. That I was on my way to get you. He seemed pleased.” Training wasn’t exactly how he would have described it himself, but it sounded much better than “working the fields”. Still, he was skeptical, as he couldn’t see any reason as to why he’d visit him.
“If you must know, I had an injury and went to get some of that salve of his. Remember that day?”
“Yes.” Isaiah said. Of course he remembered. It’d been the last where he’d felt his bare feet on the green, wet grass and heard the thrushes sing in the morning. His heart ran warm by the very thought of it – their garden, their little wooden house, and the person he loved more than anything. He would never ask for anything more, if he could just have it back, and the only thing keeping it from him was riding right next to him – bringing him further away than ever. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, Tzelem stopped and looked to his left. There was not much to see there other than more trees that, though darker, looked no different from the ones they’d been passing for the previous fifty miles or so.
“I believe this is a good place to hunt. You haven’t gotten any better at it, I assume?”
“They hire the Zuras to do it.” Among many things, the tribal people were masterful hunters. Once he’d seen a young girl through a hole in the wall, as she arrowed down a deer from two hundred yards without blinking. Even if he’d had half her talent, the probability of dinner that evening would still have been low. There was little game left in the area and it was dark.
“Having slaves out hunting, would perhaps be foolish. But you wouldn’t have run off… they should have given you the chance to practice.”
“Yes, well…they didn’t.” Having no desire to kill anything, Isaiah was happy they hadn’t. Tzelem jumped off the horse, signaled him to do the same and handed him his arrow.
“I thought you said we were going to camp and eat at nightfall?”
“Yes. But unless you want to eat my hairy, wounded leg, you’ll need to catch our dinner first.” Isaiah wanted to protest. He knew very well they’d been provided with plenty of food for the next few days.
“Listen,” Tzelem said, looking at him for the first time that day. “I might have been a little rough on you before. But this is for your own good. Not only for the sake of your survival out here, but the thrill that makes it worth living for.” It seemed well-intended, but this thrill he spoke of, simply couldn’t bring him any joy. Even after eating their flesh for years, killing another creature still seemed barbaric to him.
“Off you go.” Tzelem commanded, and so Isaiah went.
After perhaps an hour of searching in the falling darkness, straining sounds that seemed unfriendly, Isaiah returned to the roadside where their camp was – just as empty-handed as he’d been after his first hunt. In the end, it was not so much about his unwillingness to kill. When it came to it, he realized he still considered his own survival more important than that of an animal.
“You failed me again.” Tzelem said, his tone dismissive and his face unsurprised. Isaiah bent his head, muttering an insincere apology. Fortunately, his master didn’t bother wasting his breath and had enough sense to make use of their resources this time.
“No fire?” Isaiah asked, a slight hope of warmth as the hunger and chills crept back into his core.
“No prey, no wind – no fire.” Tzelem said solemnly. Unheated, the potato stew tasted blander than usual, but at this point Isaiah was ready to eat almost anything – including Tzelem’s leg. Despite feeling cold sitting on the bare ground, he was somewhat relieved he didn’t need to fetch wood or worry about getting burned while sleeping. He knew how dangerous fire was, having burnt down large parts of the Nahbí forest. Entire villages even. In comparison with such large things, he’d be an easy prey, and exhausted as he was, even the hard ground came to be a good enough nest for him to finally rest.