Those Who Walk the Flame Road
It was unbearably hot that summer. The people who lived in the lower city had no relief from it. Large trees lined the main road through the city. Many people sat in the shade during breaks from work. The summer heat didn't let up until the leaves of those trees turned red and gold with fall colors. The cold winter passed quickly, and then it was spring again.
For Hugo, the whole year had passed in the blink of an eye. He blended into the lower city perfectly now, and was indistinguishable from someone who was born there in terms of his mannerisms, speech, and general knowledge of how to get around. He was so good at his work, and so quick at it, that it bored him. Everything bored him. He felt like he'd learned everything there was to know about Mar's tavern and the lower city.
Hugo felt that there was something lacking in his current life, aside from the obvious. He passed his days in a familiar routine. He didn't suffer, but he wasn't happy. He kept hoping for something to change.
Since he had time, Hugo took up sword training again—with inferior practice weapons, of course—and tried to recall his previous lessons and education. He wrote down what he could remember, daydreaming about the life he could have had as one of the Mikado's Shields. He knew that it was an impossible daydream, but he was so bored that he didn't have much else to think about.
Things continued that way for a few weeks before Hugo recognized the essential problem: there was no future here. He could stay in the lower city and be safe, but nothing about his circumstances or his life would change, and he couldn't wait for it to change by itself. If he wanted a future for himself, he would have to make one.
All I do is work, eat, and sleep. There has to be something else I can do...
He was so stifled that he wanted to scream... and yet, it felt wrong to complain. He got along well with the other tavern boys now: he talked and joked with them every day. None of them had any dreams of the future, though. They seemed content to stay where they were. Most of them didn't even seem to care that Talsh had taken over Yogo. Yogo didn't exist as its own independent nation anymore: it was just one more conquered province in the vast Talsh Empire.
Hugo did possess a sense of national pride, so the blasé attitude of the other boys confused him. Weren't their families dead, too? Hadn't they suffered? And didn't they remember that? If they did, they never said anything about it. Maybe those experiences were too painful for them to talk about—or maybe they hadn't suffered the same losses Hugo had.
Hugo couldn't serve Talsh soldiers that came to Mar's tavern. Whenever he caught sight of one, he started shaking all over and dashed off to the kitchens so that he could compose himself. Goosebumps rose on his skin. There was so much rage and hatred in him that he couldn't look a Talsh soldier in the eyes. Their close-cropped hair and bronze-colored skin unnerved him. They seemed less like invaders than people from a different world entirely.
If Hugo could master his revulsion, he might be able to serve the Talsh soldiers like the other waiters, keeping his head down so that they wouldn't see his face. He could poison them so easily that way... but then he would be caught. Besides, killing with poison wasn't the way a warrior fought. And killing a few soldiers wouldn't be sufficient to bring down the Talsh Emperor.
Could Hugo even do that? Kill the Talsh Emperor, or at least remove him from power? It seemed possible; history was full of revolts and political uprisings. Hugo wouldn't be able to start a revolution on his own, however. If he truly wanted to bring down the Talsh Emperor, he would need a very good plan and a lot more help.
It was obvious to Hugo that he would need a lot of warriors, for one: he couldn't kill all of his nation's enemies on his own. He could only hope that the prisoners of war that the Talsh had taken were still alive. They were all that was left of Yogo's warriors.
That being the case... Hugo also couldn't help those warriors on his own. Assuming they were alive, the guards around them would be vigilant and numerous. There would be no hope for them to be released at all until Yogo was completely subjugated, and by then, it would be too late to stage a revolt. Those warriors would be much older men by the time they were free, if they even survived captivity.
Hugo was his father's heir, and the last of his line, so far as he knew. If his life had gone the way he'd thought it would when he was a child, he would have lived, worked, and trained with many other Yogoese warriors, but for now, he had to assume that he was the only free warrior that remained in Yogo.
Only... he didn't have to assume that, did he?
Yoar had told him that only ruffians wore leather boots—and that they did so to conceal weapons like knives. There was no law that said properly trained warriors from noble houses were the only people qualified to lead a revolt.
Hugo sighed inwardly. It was a dream, overthrowing the Talsh Empire. It would never happen. If he tried leading a revolt with common soldiers and warriors, they would all be killed, including himself. He saw no way out of his situation except for a swift and merciless death.
Hugo no longer grieved openly for his family, but the loss of them had worn a hole right through him. He felt empty inside: utterly devoid of emotion. His circumstances were too reduced for him to hire an army, and even if he had money, resources, and soldiers, whatever he had wouldn’t be enough. Talsh was too big to stop on his own. Accepting that fact broke something in Hugo’s soul.
Hugo’s clothes were dirty and torn, no matter how much he and Ryuan washed and mended them: his work soiled them quickly. He was always hungry, except after his more satiating dinners shared with Ryuan and Yoar. He saved as much of his money as he could for a future that might never come to pass.
Money would be useful in any case. No matter what happened, Hugo felt sure he would be able to use it. But he couldn’t imagine what he would use it for. In capitulating to Talsh internally, he’d lost his ability to envision goals for his own life.
Hugo also knew that the money he put away wouldn’t amount to much. Being a common person meant living hand to mouth, never having enough to stop working or to advance on the social scale. Even if Hugo had concrete goals, he wouldn’t be able to achieve them with his meager earnings. He was starting to understand why the tavern boys hadn’t felt much of a change when the Talsh took over. Their job and daily life remained more or less the same, and because they were used to it, they didn’t feel trapped in this place like Hugo did.
Old Yogo’s capital had been destroyed, and the country itself was broken. Hugo felt that keenly, but the rest of the world barely seemed to notice.
Bit by bit, the way of life of the Yogoese people started to change.
Talsh stationed soldiers to keep the peace on the streets, catch thieves, and prevent crime. Women could walk the streets at night alone and not fear any danger. Aru Ma Talsh, “the silence caused by Talsh,” became a city neologism.
The Talsh currency, danga, was valued higher than the lugal and gradually replaced it as the most popular currency in use. One silver lugal was worth one copper danga. The disparity between what could be bought with each currency was vast.
The children of the city started calling Talsh money pouches danga doudo. Children who received an allowance often gathered near the patrolling Talsh soldiers to count their money and figure out what it was worth.
The Talsh soldiers that came to Mar’s tavern paid and left tips only in danga, of course. The tavern boys and waiters fought over who would serve Yogoese customers and who would serve Talsh ones, since the Talsh tips were always better thanks to the exchange rate. Hugo didn’t bother fighting to get Talsh business. Seeing the Talsh soldiers sitting and drinking in the tavern made his skin crawl.
I won’t throw my soul away for money. Hugo had lost his warrior’s status, but not his pride.
Hugo couldn’t stand the idea that his friends didn’t share that same pride. It felt like they were missing something vital. Either that, or he was clinging to something that had no meaning. He didn’t know what was worse.
Hugo and the other tavern boys usually got off work late at night. Some of the boys rolled a dried, sweet herb named choru into thin tubes with paper. They smoked the rolled herb before they went to sleep.
Hugo watched one of the tavern boys, Tam, holding a choru cigarette between two fingers with his eyes half-closed. He appeared entirely relaxed. Hugo was curious enough about choru to want to try a cigarette, but both the herb and the paper to wrap it in cost money, so he didn’t ask Tam for one.
“How much do you think I made today?” Tam asked languidly.
Rai, the youngest of the tavern boys, leaned forward with his hand in the air. Tam’s gaze fell on him. “You served that Talsh soldier today, right?” he asked. “How much did he give you?”
Tam smiled, then brought a fistful of copper danga coins out of his breast pocket to show everyone. Even one copper danga was a fortune for a tavern boy; it was worth almost three months’ worth of normal wages.
The tavern boys whistled in appreciation. Some were openly sullen and jealous.
A smile played about Tam’s lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He let the coins drop from his fingers. “Every time I get paid by one of them, I think about my older brother. He didn’t live to collect the last wages he was owed.”
The tavern boys who were whistling their appreciation fell silent. The ones that were jealous before looked sadder now. Romui, the oldest tavern boy, reached out and clasped Tam on the shoulder. “It’s not the worst thing, is it?” he asked softly. “At least you’re getting paid back somehow, for his sake and yours.”
“The Talsh spread money around like a plague spreads germs,” Tam said. “It doesn’t mean much to me, really.”
The tavern boys slept tightly packed together in a shared room. There were only two oil censers in the room for heat, even in the middle of winter, so the boys were always competing for a warm spot. Hugo sat in a dark corner alone, looking at Tam. He wasn’t going to sleep yet, either. Hugo took in Tam’s bitter smile, and he thought that he knew what it meant.
Hugo got to sleep late and woke up just before dawn, exhausted to his bones. His heart was pounding with dread, but he couldn’t remember the nightmare that had shocked him out of sleep. Tam was right next to him, still asleep. Hugo listened to the other boys breathing and snoring. Someone was sleep-talking.
If he got up now, he’d wake the other boys. It was still dark outside, so Hugo decided to stay still and wait for a while. He looked up at the ceiling.
Tam’s brother was probably recruited to fight in the war. Certainly, Tam wasn’t from any sort of military or warrior-class family. Hugo had been living and working with him for almost a year, but he’d never mentioned his brother before today. All of Hugo’s conversations with his co-workers were shallow. They joked a lot and poked fun at one another, but they rarely discussed anything serious. Whenever Hugo tried to bring up a more serious topic, he was rebuffed.
Would Tam have talked about his brother yesterday if I wasn’t there?
Or maybe the others already knew Tam’s history, and Hugo was the outsider. It was a lonely existence, holding his true self out of reach of other people. Hugo was always on high alert, and it seemed like the others sensed that and kept their distance. He missed the friends he’d had as a child. There were so many sword training partners and social equals that he’d never see again.
Hugo closed his eyes. Are any of my old friends still alive? Hugo knew that his family was dead, but what about his friends? Had any of them lived through the Talsh attack on the capital? He remembered the voices of his instructors as they put Hugo and his friends through sword drills and physical training. Those instructors had taught Hugo that Yogo was an ancient nation with a proud military tradition… but that tradition was gone, now, as effectively as if it had been erased.
Hugo had received history lessons and learned about Ten no Kami from white-robed Star Readers from the Imperial Palace, too. It was difficult for Hugo to believe that all of them were dead--gone like they’d never existed at all. Why had Talsh felt the need to eradicate so much of Yogo’s history and culture when they took over? Why did Hugo have to be spared? And why was he still here, if there was nothing left for him? How far could Hugo fall from his previous state? Could he keep living this way indefinitely?
Hugo didn’t want to think about it all. He had no answers, only questions.
Even though he didn’t want to think about what his life had become, there were too many things that he’d failed to think about after his family’s death in that terrible fire. The more he tried not to think about them, the more they pushed themselves to the front of his mind. If he kept living this way…it was very likely that he would die as a commoner. He blinked back tears.
If that was the price for living a long life, his mother would want him to pay it…but what about his father? And himself? That wasn’t what he wanted.
The faint call of a bird restored Hugo’s sense of time and place. The sun was rising; it was time to get up. It was his turn to draw water from the well today, so he should probably start his work earlier than the others. By the time he was done, breakfast would be over; the others wouldn’t leave him much to eat, but at least there would be something. Then he would have to clean up to prepare for the tavern opening, and peel vegetables all afternoon.
It was just another day in Hugo’s life as a commoner.
But it definitely wasn’t what he wanted.
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