A Tainted Story

20: Encounter

Silva had spotted a low-slung roof through the trees at dusk, and the group stopped, hoping to spend the night at the farmhouse.

They were greeted by an amicable family who introduced themselves as olive farmers. They welcomed the trio in, who gratefully settled in.

Over dinner of wild game and bread dipped in homemade oil, they engaged in polite chatter. It didn't take long before Pat's proclamations made themselves heard once again on the dinner table.

The family had repeated the same things: no striders, and trade was getting difficult all over the countryside.

The dinner conversation had left the group discouraged, and they went to sleep sullen. It wasn't just the news- it was the resigned way in which their hosts spoke about it.

It was becoming clear that this wasn't some crisis that had appeared, suddenly. It was a slow-burn, over months of setbacks and struggle. Once again, Silva wondered how Valle could be so isolated from the rest of the world- and why the droughts had only reached them now.

They left early the next morning, Silva anticipating that this would be their last day of travel. They would reach Mechademia by nightfall, she told them.

They rode, watching the unchanging forest, the sparsely dotted houses. Basil checked a gauge on the dashboard absently, more out of rote boredom then anything else.

Further back, Hannah read a book she had brought along for the ride. It was a travelog some merchant had sold her almost two summers ago. Next to her, Silva was half-asleep, basking in the morning sun.

Basil forced himself to listen to the rhythmic sounds of the strider. They helped to sooth his nerves, pull him away from thoughts of the wagon crash, still fresh in his mind.

Instead, he focused on the road, trying to gauge how much countryside they had left to traverse.

He picked up on little things, indications that they were reaching more urban parts of the country. The road beneath him felt different, a smoother ride than the hard-packed dirt he was used to.

He could see fingers of smoke in the distance, curling against the sky.

They were the effluent of strange, unfamiliar towns and cities, places that Basil could only picture in the vaguest sense. They were tantalizing snippets of a wider world, but Basil coaxed the strider on, tamping his blossoming curiosity.

They spent hours of solitude on the road, despite the distant signs of life. The sense of desertion was, eerie, strong- as if the road should have been bustling, filled with travelers.

So when a sharp crack cut through the air, it was more startling than it should have been.

Basil took a quick breath and turned his head idly toward the forest along the road.

Expecting a deer, he slowed the strider down a touch, in case it tried to bolt across the road. But he couldn't see anything amongst the nearby shrubs and trees.

"Look," hissed Silva, pointing. The others had been peering into the woods as well. They all turned to the face that peered out from behind a tree.

Squinting, Basil leaned over the side of the strider for a closer look. It was a young boy who stared back at him, dirt spattering his face. There was a strange slackness about his features, but his eyes were alive and piercing.