The Lost Puzzler. Eyal Kless
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or something. Both of my parents were marked, so their fear was that I would be born, you know, a naturalist.”
This time I wasn’t sure whether he was bluffing or not, so I just shrugged and focussed my attention back to Vincha. “So the boy ends up here, and …?”
“Hold your trigger, soldier,” she said with a smirk. “You paid well and good to hear the story, so I’ll tell it to you as it was told to me. When you reach my age, you learn to appreciate the slow things. Like Galinak over there.”
Galinak grunted something rude under his breath and busied himself picking eel skin from between his teeth.
“When I came back from the Valley, I went cold natural,” continued Vincha, “unplugged, vegan, call it whatever you like. As soon as I got over the craving sickness I went to the boy’s village, to see what happened to his family. Even though I was without any augs, they shot at me. If you think they’ll get used to us in time you’re wrong, Twinkle Eyes. It’s the same in all the outlying villages: some towns are dangerous, no matter what religion they follow. Makes me wonder how many of us got butchered out there just for having been marked.”
“And how many died for having a simple skin rash.” I nodded, trying to nudge her back to the story.
“And for a bunch of zealous religious freaks preaching the Prophet Reborn and trying to go back to the pure old ways, they sure packed some nice, modern weapons, if you get my drift. They don’t mind that part at all, never did. Anyway, I didn’t give up and finally caught up with this Eithan fella. He wasn’t very cooperative at first, downright hostile, to be honest, but”—her eyes glinted mischievously—“I have ways of endearing myself to young men, with or without augs.”
“You broke his ribs, didn’t ya?” said Galinak, smacking his fist to his palm for effect.
Vincha shrugged, but her smile broadened. “I made him talk, shall we say, in various pitches of voice, and in the end he told me what I wanted to know. Even with the boy gone, the gossip was too much. Fahid’s wedding was called off a half a year after Rafik left, the village spat the Banishras out.” She spat on the floor to emphasise the point. “Bunch of backwater rust arses.”
“Did Eithan ask about his friend’s fate?” I asked.
“Not in the beginning, but before I left he asked me if I knew how Rafik was faring. I told him the truth. Eithan just shook his head and said, ‘No, he is alive, I would know if he was dead.’ I thought it was an odd statement, but I couldn’t stay long enough to talk to him further since there was already a manhunt after me. I thought if I lingered any longer I might overstay my welcome.”
“I would have stayed.” Galinak’s smile was full of eel and bad intentions.
“And that’s why your skull is fractured in so many places. Half of your brain leaks away in those rare moments when you shower, dear.”
They began exchanging insults again, like bored children in the back of a cart.
“Vincha. The story!” I snapped. “Tell it your way, but tell it, rust.”
That, for some reason, stopped their bickering. They glared at me for a moment, then burst out laughing.
“You know, you’re cute when you’re angry, Twinkle Eyes.” Vincha reached over and ran her fingers softly down my cheek. “Don’t worry, little cub,” she purred, seeing me blush. “I don’t think you have the strength or the stamina, to be honest.” Galinak chortled in amusement.
They went back to their bickering and I watched the two lethal warriors trade insults like misbehaved children until I could bear it no more. My palm hit the wooden table and got their attention. I felt like an admonishing parent when I bellowed “Can you please tell me what happened to Rafik?”
I guess I said the magic word, because finally she did.
It took ten days to reach Newport, nicknamed Trucker’s Heaven, a city Rafik had heard of but never truly believed he would ever visit. Under any other circumstances Rafik would have been ecstatic at the prospect of travelling so far, but when they caught their first glimpse of Newport he felt only anxiety. They were tired, dirty, and aching from the tough ride, and the rationing of supplies meant Rafik always felt either hungry or thirsty or both. With each passing mile the prospect of ever making it back home seemed more and more like wishful thinking.
On the second and third nights of their journey they stopped and bartered for supplies in two small hamlets. Rafik was ushered into a barn and was not allowed to go outside or speak to anyone, and as soon as the sun was up they moved on. The rest of the nights, they roughed it in the wilderness, pitching a makeshift tent off the road. To save time, they did not try to catch game or even cook on an open fire for fear of bandits. For obvious reasons, they did not purchase supplies in the village for a long journey; they had only taken whatever they could from Rafik’s home. As a result, for several days their rations consisted of stale bread, smoked sausages, and hard cheese, which stank so badly Rafik gagged with each bite he took.
He suffered from hundreds of itching ant bites, and he spent the travel time wishing for a long hot bath and a soft cushion to rest his aching backside on. Worst of all was the terrible itch he felt in his bandaged hand, but his brother strictly forbade him from unwrapping the linen and even cuffed him over the head when he caught Rafik trying.
When they were younger, the two brothers used to play pretend games where they travelled together, defeated enemies, and discovered new lands. But it was obvious that Fahid was not enjoying the reality of this particular adventure. He never let go of his gun, obsessively cleaning it or counting and recounting his bullets. Worse, he did not join Simon and Rafik in prayer, excusing himself with the need to take care of the pony when it was obvious he easily could have tied it to a tree and joined them.
Simon and Fahid took turns guarding their little camp at night. The lack of proper sleep made them tired and irritable during the day, yet they flatly refused to share their burden with Rafik. Every time they exchanged words or even glances, Rafik could feel the resentment in his brother’s eyes. It was not the trip Rafik had imagined when he’d daydreamed about exploring beyond the village’s fields.
On the seventh day they met two woodcutters who traded a crude but sharp hand ax for a leather pouch and a cloth tunic, and agreed to share food around a tiny bonfire. They were a father and son, both unbelievably strong and incredibly drunk but otherwise friendly and knowledgeable about the way of the land. The son had a wooden flute and knew a few tunes, many of which Rafik had never heard before, but mainly the pair chose to entertain them with stories of the skirmishes and close calls they’d had with a savage local gang of bandits who robbed and murdered their victims, then made clothes from their skin and goblets from their hollowed skulls. That night, Rafik had trouble falling asleep.
On the eighth day they reached what the woodcutters called the Smooth Road, which used to connect Newport with another city that was now gone and forgotten. The Smooth Road was wider than anything Rafik had ever seen but nothing like its name implied. Its hard surface was so full of potholes that Rafik could not fathom why it was called smooth at all. From there on traffic became more frequent, even though they were approaching Newport from the forest side, which was supposed to be relatively untravelled. Every so often, four- and six-wheeled trucks passed them noisily, throwing dirt and raising dust and scaring their tired, old pony. A few truckers honked their horns or waved from their high seats, but most ignored them completely, leaving them wheezing amid black exhaust fumes and dust. None of the truckers stopped to trade, rightly assuming that so close to Newport, the three had nothing left to barter with.
The dust and pollution that lay over the valley were so thick it took Rafik a while to notice Newport sprawled in the valley below them. It was the biggest thing he had ever seen in his entire life. It seemed as if the thousands of buildings were part of a single mythical creature, a hundred times larger