The Chronicle of Katya the Wanderer

The Journey to the Jaws

Written in 532 AU 33rd of Summer

From the memory of my own and many others

Before I could go on any adventures, I had to learn to write. Most of my fellow villagers knew how to decipher the basic vocabulary required in dealing charcoal to foreign merchants, but not much else. I had yet to come of age when I had been handed this journal, however, my desire for adventure, and the vastness of the world before me called towards the rising sun and the sea it lay above. So I said my tearful goodbyes and went south towards the Jaws. I carried in my pack a week's food, a large waterskin, a yard of rope, a bedroll, a knife and a hatchet. There were, as I remember, two towns in between Smokesburrough and the northern end of the Jaws. I cannot recall their names, though I do remember those who gave me hospitality on my second and fifth day of travel. Both towns relied on the sale of fur and pelts, sending them in wagons south and eventually on ships towards Sunton to be turned into coats. In much the same manner as my village relied on the export of charcoal on the same routes and sometimes to the same burgesses.

As I slept under the much familiar northern sky of the Thumb, I contemplated whether I would ever sleep under them ever again. From my campfire came sparks, which twinkled as stars under the black sky, and from the flames whence they came, I saw the infinite future. I spent both my waking and sleeping hours dreaming; dreaming of cities bustling with endless life, a place where the highest buildings dwarfed the mighty pines of my home; dreaming of tall misty peaks hiding the ancient treasure of long lost clans; dreaming of horizons which did not end. This was the fire which stoked the embers of my soul and the fuel which kept my legs moving in the freezing cold and howling winds.

After six long days of trekking by foot in ankle deep snow, I'd found myself in a rather shabby and run down town. It was night when I had arrived, most of the soldiers who were supposed to be on watch, had lost themselves in drink, and the company of ladies of the night. Walking down the wagon wide main street, I was surrounded by sin and the rabble of the soldiery. Taking my eyes off the lowly lights of this shanty town, I looked down the road. Before me was a stone fort. The Upper Jaw is a square tower which rose 55 feet in the air lined with similarly square battlements on top, and windows up and down the entire structure. I was so busy admiring the fort I did not notice the small spindly man and his tiny desk before me. The recordkeeper was not remarkable upon first meeting, he wore round rim glasses upon his stout nose, his ears round and soft and the rest of his face was plain. He held a look on his face of poorly concealed fatigue, the bags under his eye were so obvious that they were visible under dim moonlight. He looked up from his stupor and asked me two questions.

"Name and purpose of visit?" He said wispily

I responded, "My name is Katya and I have come as a traveler."

He looked down at a poster he had in his hands and then he looked back up at me. With a bit of intrigue in his voice "Usually these bounty posters are completely useless, but your case, I'm proud to say, is an exception." And then he blew a whistle.

Soon a slightly drunk soldier had awkwardly grabbed me by my arm, and after consulting my limited wisdom, I decided to not resist. I found myself being dragged into a cell for further interrogation. An officer with a curly black mustache sat down in front of me with a rather disinterested look on his face. He wore a wide brimmed hat with a red feather on top, a white shirt beneath a fine black coat and similarly black aristocratic boots. These soldiers were terrified, not of my apparent reputation but rather messing up the capture of a rather important criminal. The officer stood up.

"Before I begin our interrogation, would you please state your name for the record."

"Katya Tomson." I said timidly

"Do you, Katya Tomson swear that you will remain truthful in the face of the Four." He handed me a face of the Four, four symbolic wooden faces attached to a wooden plate.

I awkwardly froze for a second or two wondering what to do, until I was interrupted.

"Just grab it."

"I, Katya Tomson, swear that I will remain truthful in the face of the Four." I said with my distinctive northern accent. A soldier giggled, many soldiers stationed up at the Jaws are from down south as not many people live in the deep, forested north.

"Now ... tell me what you know about this man." He said while taking something out of the hands of one of his men.

The officer held in front of me a wanted poster, and I saw in it my own likeness. Dirty blonde hair, a sharp nose and distinctive long lashes, he was in all but gender, me. Lost in thought, the mustached man speaks before I could respond to his query.

"He looks just like you, doesn't he? Kelly Willemson is quite the famous horse thief out west. Shame is, you're not him. When we last spotted him a few weeks ago, we saw him with hair much shorter than yours and his voice is at least an octave deeper. However, he might be a member of your family or at least be from your village. So tell me, do you have any family members who resemble him and have left in the timespan of the last few cycles?"

"What does 'resemble' mean?"

"Anyone who looks like him." He answered

I reminisced upon the tearful goodbye I gave to my parents, and their proud faces flowing with endless teardrops. I had promised to write them as soon as I learned how to. As for the officer's question, I had no brothers and none of my other fellow villagers resembled this famed horse thief.

"No, I don't think so."

I heard another giggle.

"Well, thank you for your time madame." He put his hand forward and we shook hands.

"I need to get back to work. I have to make sure this criminal hangs ... Or else I'm losing my position."

Instantly an image appeared in my mind's eye, myself hanging on the end of a noose in the face of a jeering crowd. In this moment I learned the seriousness of life outside of Smokesburrough. How here in the hand of the king, my life was at the mercy of his men. I looked nervously at all the soldiers who surrounded us, at the casualness with which they held their weapons. Staring at the gleam of their steel I began to realize how a kingdom was run. At the point of a sword. Standing up I tried to conceal my fear. In that moment, I was so panicked I couldn't tell if they could see it. I was soon directed to a guest quarters which mostly consisted of bunked cots made for those who could not afford beds at the local inn. I took one of the bottom bunks after setting my backpack at its feet. Sitting down, I took off my shoes and then my coat to sleep in my shirt. Laying down and closing my eyes, I was glad to be alive for another day.