Aris Tuttle in the Realm of Logic

Chapter 4: Bandits

Beyond the Norsea headland was a chain of rocky hills that isolated the  seaside village from the rest of the Realm of Logic. They were not  impressive like the lofty peaks of the Ryme Archipelago – summits  crowned with thick vegetation that enticed the most intrepid of  huntsmen, as Princes Dedus and Indus once were –  but Aris knew the  climb would test the limits of his endurance.

He reached the foothills by late morning and already the day had grown  warmer. He was thankful for the borrowed cloak; at midday, the minimal  cloud cover would burn off and he would be exposed to the full might of  the afternoon sun. With a sigh of trepidation, Aris ventured into the  mouth of the craggy hills, determined to make Essen before dusk.

Surrounded  only by scraggly trees growing from high walls of weather-beaten stone,  Aris's mind turned to the arrival of the Chaoticians. But he quickly  realized pondering the events of the morning was fruitless. Trying to decipher the meaning of their actions is as irrational as the rogues themselves, he reasoned.

But  once he resolved not to think of the Chaoticians, Aris was plagued by  the portreeve's warning of highwaymen. So he distracted himself with the  clouds of dust stirred by his footsteps, kicking at pebbles, counting  the small boulders that had fallen along the pathway and seeking  patterns in the shifting shadows cast by the sun, traveling ever higher  even as Aris did.

After a bound, the  ascent steepened considerably and soon a squeal of air released from Aris's ears as they adjusted to the diminishing pressure. His legs grew  tired and his progress slowed. He rested often, nibbling away at his  ration of bread and cheese and washing it down with sweet water.

At the higher altitude, the air cooled and all manner of  rock-dwelling rodents appeared. They skittered across the path and  climbed along the walls, but they were not entertainment enough to  distract Aris from the ache that had settled in his lungs. His waterskin  and satchel grew heavier with every labored step. Yet, even as Aris fought to reclaim his breath, he tried to keep pace with the sun tracing  its arc across the sky. Eventually, the towering walls of stone that  bordered the path began to recede, as though slowly sinking into a dusty  river.

Realizing that he neared the summit, Aris raised his eyes with anticipation, only to be  struck with terror at a most unwelcome sight. At the top of the pass  stood a cloaked figure silhouetted against the sky, watching him. With  shaking hands and hammering heart, Aris fumbled to find the coins in his  satchel that he hoped would secure him safe passage, but when he looked  up again the figure was gone. He closed the coins in his damp palm and  held them tight, summoning the courage to make his way to the peak.

When Aris finally reached the ridgeline, he was relieved that no bandits  awaited him. With weary feet he made his way to a signpost at the  crossroads of three paths, reading as he coughed through a rattle in his  lungs. As pleased as he was to see his destination carved into the  sign, Aris took the opportunity to ease back his hood and survey the  grand vista.

Before him was the  majesty of the Realm of Logic, unrolled like a rich tapestry. The beauty  of the natural wonders splashed with sunlight in the full bloom of the  late afternoon stirred Aris's heart and he filled his lungs with air as  sweet as the waters of Ryme to prepare himself to continue his journey.

"You there!" someone shouted.

With  the coins still clutched in his hand, Aris worked to loosen his stiff  fingers as two persons marched toward him with extreme purpose.

"You're alone," noted the lead stranger, a girl judging by her  deceptively pleasant voice. "Are you with the prince's entourage?" She  threw back the hood of her cloak revealing a mess of tangled pale-blonde  hair and dirt-smudged face. Her companion did the same and shook out  her snarled, sun-streaked curls.

These highwaymen are actually highwaywomen? Aris thought. And sisters, he guessed,  based on their physical similarities. "If you were hoping to rob the  prince on his way to Essen," he said, hoping he sounded braver than he  felt, "then I'm sorry to disappoint you. But I do have some money if you  would kindly let me pass."

"We're not thieves!" snapped the second girl, turning up her nose as though Aris was as repugnant as a rotting fish.

"We  live in Essen," the first explained, speaking so fast she was tripping  over her own words. "We've been expecting someone since we saw the  strange ship embark from the archipelago and head toward Norsea. You  have the letter?"

Aris relaxed  his guard and returned the coins to his satchel. He was impressed that  these girls not only concluded that something had happened in Norsea  after spying the Chaoticians ship, but also foresaw that a messenger  would be dispatched to report the situation to Essen ahead of the  prince's visit.

Aris patted his satchel. "Yes, I have it."

The  assurance seemed to put both sisters at ease. "Then we thank you for  coming. My name is Jest Whimsy and this is my sister, Wit. What's your  name?"

"Aris Tuttle."

"Nice to meet you, Aris. Follow us and we'll take you to Essen."