Those Who Walk the Flame Road
Balsa came in the back door and heard several people talking to one another in the tavern's kitchen. She noticed a girl in the hallway peeling potatoes in a basket. "Excuse me," she said. "I'm looking for a bodyguard named Jiguro. Is he staying here?"
"Yes," the girl said, "though he's not usually back here in the kitchen with us. I think he's guarding the door. You might look for him there."
Balsa bowed, thanked the girl, and left the tavern through the back door. It had been almost two weeks since they were attacked by bandits, and Balsa's arrow wound had healed well enough that she could walk without too much pain. They'd traveled north from Rota's capital along the Houra River, very slowly at first, until they'd reached this small settlement. It wasn't anything like Toluan or Jitan, Rota's largest cities for trade, but many shippers and fishermen passed this way en route to those places. Balsa noticed several boats moored along the riverbank as she came outside. This was a good place to buy supplies or rest during a longer journey.
The settlement was not large, but people were constantly coming and going, and the streets were crowded. Consequently, there were also a lot of bodyguards and caravan guards here, looking for work. Balsa and Jiguro had spent a lot of time here before, between jobs, though they'd rarely taken on work here.
Jiguro was probably concerned about Balsa's injury. That was why he'd decided to stay here instead of taking a caravan job. For her part, Balsa didn't want to stay here for too long. She felt like they'd been forced into this position because of her, and it was always safer from their pursuers when they were on the move than when they stayed in one place.
The late afternoon sunlight was warm and springlike, but the breeze blowing off the river was cold enough to raise goosebumps on her skin. Balsa pulled up her collar to keep her neck and chest warm as she walked along the riverside to the front of the tavern. As expected, Jiguro was there, sitting near the door at a table. The floor, long tables and chairs were lined up in neat rows and had a bright wood sheen from fresh polishing. The smell of the polish hung in the air, sharp like vinegar.
There was an open scroll on the table in front of Jiguro, and a cup of steaming tea set a little to the side of it. He was taking a break before the night shift. Red-gold sunlight shone through the windows, illuminating the scroll.
Balsa remained still and silent, unwilling to interrupt Jiguro while he was reading. The sight of him sitting peacefully at a table was incongruous to her. She knew Jiguro liked reading, but this was a place where he worked--was it really okay for him to read instead of guarding the place?
Jiguro had been a King's Spear. Balsa still thought of him as one. They'd left Kanbal when she was six years old. Jiguro had lost his social status and reputation, but he'd maintained his training and discipline as a King's Spear for all this time. Balsa knew that King's Spears did receive an education in art, history and poetry as well as fighting, so perhaps the sight of Jiguro reading shouldn't be so strange to her. She realized that it bothered her because Jiguro should be reading and fighting in Kanbal, not here. He should still be the nation's most venerated warrior, and he wasn't--because he'd honored his friend's request and saved her life.
Suddenly, Jiguro looked up from his scroll and noticed her standing in the doorway of the tavern. Balsa set aside her memories and guilt and approached him with a slight smile on her face. "What are you reading?" she asked.
Jiguro angled the scroll toward her. The parchment it was written on was yellowed with age, but in good condition otherwise. The lettering was crisp, clear, and artfully arranged across the scroll. Simply looking at it was soothing.
"Rolua's poetry," he said. "I've always liked it. He has a different perspective on life. Would you like to read some?"
"Me, read poetry?" Balsa shook her head and smiled self-deprecatingly. "It'd put me to sleep."
Jiguro snorted. "You have no taste for the finer things." He set the scroll aside. "Have you found a place to work?"
"Yeah, Furahan's Restaurant on Yakura Street is hiring a live-in guard. They said they'd take me on for a few days, at least."
Jiguro looked at her with suspicion in his eyes. Most stores wouldn't hire a fifteen-year-old female guard even on a temporary basis--and guard contracts were broad, in terms of job requirements. Aside from protecting the place--the most critical requirement--Balsa would have to do as the store owner said. He wasn't wrong to be concerned about what a store owner might require from a fifteen-year-old girl he'd hired.
Balsa understood those concerns, but she didn't share them. As caravan guards, she could pretend to be Jiguro's apprentice and make half his wage, but the stores in town were looking more for workers than for guards. She suspected she'd been hired on as a waitress and cook who would also have some bodyguarding duties because it was cheaper than hiring another worker and a guard. She wouldn't make much--not nearly as much as she could working with Jiguro in a caravan--but at least she'd make something. It was a lot harder to find employment for two people at the same place than it was for Jiguro to work alone.
Up until the last year or so, Balsa had usually washed dishes for little or no pay at the restaurants and taverns Jiguro worked at. But she'd gotten sick of that, and asked Jiguro if he would let her look for more interesting work. He'd praised her initiative and allowed it, and she was grateful.
"Furahan's is a big place," Balsa said. "D'you know it?"
"Yeah," he said. "They're known for their chicken and imported liquor. Gamblers and brigands are frequent customers, so watch your step. I know where it is; it's close to the river."
"Do you think I shouldn't work there?" If most of the customers were bandits or criminals, it might be dangerous.
"Nah, it's fine. Like I said, watch your step and keep your head down. They'll pay you if you work; their reputation as employers is fine. Just come see me every couple of days so I know nothing's happened."
"I will," Balsa said with a firm nod.
***
"Wow, you're a natural!" the head cook said when Balsa passed her a basket of freshly peeled vegetables. "I thought you were an oddball at first--carrying that heavy spear everywhere--but it seems like I can make use of you after all."
Balsa bowed her head and got to work on the next basket. It felt like she'd been peeling for hours. When she finished one basket, there were two more for her to do next. She peeled without even looking at the vegetables, letting her hands do the work while her mind wandered elsewhere. She focused her eyes on a particular spot on the floor and didn't shift her gaze even once until she'd finished peeling everything given to her.
After peeling came chopping of grains and sprouts in preparation of them being pounded into a finer powder. She discarded the unusable grains in a pot and went outside to dispose of them in the compost pile to the side of the well. While she was there, she decided to draw water up in a bucket and use it to wash the vegetables she'd peeled. Many vegetables had a sour taste unless they were washed thoroughly before cooking.
Other cooks and waitresses were milling around the well, either working like she was or taking a break to talk with their friends. They all had their sleeves rolled up neatly. Balsa heard a few of them whispering about something--was that a name?--but she couldn't quite make out what they were saying.
The group of young women burst out into raucous laughter. They were teasing one of the women; apparently she had a crush on a customer or something.
"Hey, you!" one of the women called out to Balsa. "What do you think of Mr. Sahku? Do you know him?"
"I'm new," Balsa mumbled, returning to her work. She rubbed at her ear. "Sorry. I've never met him."
The other women continued speaking to each other, but their voices were very quiet. Balsa felt eyes on her and squirmed. They'd been joking and lighthearted before, but the situation had become serious all of a sudden. Balsa didn't know why. They were looking at her as if she'd done something to attract their attention, which made her hackles go up.
The woman who'd called out to Balsa before addressed her again. "Sorry to bother you! Don't mind us. We don't mean to be weird, honest."
"It's fine," Balsa called back. "I don't know too many people here yet."
The woman bowed to her politely, wiped her wet hands on her apron, and went back to work. The other women followed her back inside shortly after. Balsa was left alone near the well, working as the evening shadows lengthened and smoke belched out the kitchen chimney's into the darkening sky.
***
"Are you all right?" a girl sleeping next to Balsa whispered, bringing her to full wakefulness.
Balsa opened her eyes, feeling a little dizzy. She was sweating--was she feverish? But, no. It was just another nightmare.
"You cried out," the girl said.
"Ah," Balsa said, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She pushed her damp hair back from her face and said, "Sorry I woke you. I get bad dreams sometimes."
The workers in this restaurant all slept communally in an attic room with a low ceiling. Their bedrolls were so close together that the heat was cloying; Balsa had some trouble getting to sleep. Only her exhaustion after the hard day's work made sleeping possible.
The girl who'd wakened her closed her eyes again and turned away from Balsa. Balsa stayed awake for a while, listening to the soft snores and heavy breathing of the women around her.
There was a small window with a frame made of iron near the point where the roof tapered on the ceiling. Balsa shifted to look out the window and watched the quality of the light change as the sun started rising.
Another nightmare. Balsa held herself still and quiet, but internally, she was terrified.
"Oh, a Kanbalese child! Whose clan do you belong to, girl?" The man who spoke had a kind voice and large, warm hands. Those hands stopped her still, though they didn't hurt. "I have a daughter about your age."
The man had a spear, though he wasn't carrying it: it was near the door of the tavern, gleaming dully in the light of a low fire. The spear had intricate carvings and metal decorations all along the shaft. No one but a highly decorated warrior would carry a spear like that.
He doesn't know who I am, Balsa thought to steady herself. But the man reminded her of Jiguro. He was definitely a Kanbalese warrior, and probably one of the King's Spears. Jiguro would come back to the tavern soon, and then he and the man would fight. The man would die, and Jiguro might be injured. He might be killed.
If the man was telling the truth about having a daughter, he might never see her again.
The man patted her gently on the head. She didn't want Jiguro to fight him. She ducked, then ran out of the tavern.
The sight that greeted her outside was the reason for her nightmare. The yard was crowded with warriors--and bodies. Jiguro stood in the thick of it, fighting. Balsa froze, but there was nowhere for her to run. All of these men were here to kill her.
There was a sharp sudden pain in Balsa's right leg, and she was back on the battlefield, surrounded by bandits with an arrow in her thigh. She couldn't move. She saw the bandits moving in with their swords drawn and knew that she had to run, but her legs wouldn't obey her.
That was when she'd finally woken up back in the attic room. She frowned. There was still some time before dawn, but she was certain that she wasn't going to get any more sleep tonight, so she got up, gathered her clothes and her spear, and left the room.
Balsa went downstairs. No one else was up yet, so she decided to go to the well outside for some water. The dew on her feet was icy cold. There were still stars visible in the sky above her head. She sat down near the well and focused on relaxing her limbs and taking deep, calming breaths. She clasped her spear above her in a protective pose and waited for the fear she felt to subside.
When her hands were steady, Balsa stood up and practiced with her spear with strong strikes, letting her emotions eke out of her as she moved. She kept practicing long after going through all the forms she knew, simply moving, remembering the enemies in her dreams and striking them down as if they were in front of her.
At dawn, Balsa leaned her spear against the side of the well and paused to take a drink. Then she loosened her collar, pushed her top down and dunked her entire head in a full bucket of water. The shock of the cold water focused her thoughts, making her feel much better. She re-dressed herself without worrying that her clothing would get wet.
A flock of birds passed over the restaurant, chirping sleepily. Balsa looked up at them and was briefly overcome with the desire to fly away, anywhere but here. If she couldn't fly, she could walk, at least, with the wind at her back. That sounded good, too. She wanted to walk all the way to the border of her homeland, where the mountain passes were... and maybe beyond.
Balsa felt this way after nightmares, sometimes, when she and Jiguro were staying put for a while. She wondered if she should go see him now. She wanted to be on the move. They could quit their jobs here, join up with another caravan and head for Kanbal. Why not?
One of Jiguro's favorite bookstores was in town. He might not want to leave yet. And he was working Toi's Tavern, which was a well-paying job for a respectable establishment. It was autumn, and they wouldn't be able to find a place as good as this one to stay over winter even if they left immediately.
Balsa knew that Jiguro hadn't chosen this place for her recovery out of necessity; there were other places along the river where they could have stopped. He'd chosen this place because it would be safe and comfortable for them for a while, and she couldn't ask him to leave at the end of the season for purely selfish reasons. She gripped her spear in both hands and went back inside the restaurant.
***
Two weeks later, Balsa was more or less acclimated to her new job. She understood the ins and outs of things and started recognizing regular customers, so it was surprising to her when she started seeing a lot of new faces in the restaurant. They were mostly merchants there to sell or purchase taika flowers.
Taika flowers grew in the forested region of northern Rota at the end of summer and early autumn, and were prized for their high nutritional value and ability to be stored for long periods of time. All the new merchants Balsa met were from southern Rota. They didn't know the methods for harvesting the flowers, which usually grew deep in the woods, so they traveled to places like this where they could buy taika flowers and ship them to the south. Herbalists that knew how to harvest taika flowers also passed through town to resupply and rest.
The influx of people made all the taverns, restaurants and inns unusually busy, and Balsa's was no exception. Sometimes fistfights broke out in the evenings, but the owner of the restaurant never asked Balsa to intervene or act as a guard. She was disappointed, but she had to follow the owner's commands, even if those commands made no sense.
Overall, Balsa didn't mind the man who ran the restaurant. He seemed decent, especially considering his steady clientele of gamblers and bandits. He was well-respected, too; whenever anyone caused a scene or broke something, that person would pay him to cover the damages and apologize for the trouble. He distributed all the extra money to the workers. Balsa saw many waitresses with new jewelry or hairpins bought with that money, but she squirreled all of her pay into her money pouch and kept it there.
Balsa was different from the other women who worked in the restaurant in both life experience and qualifications. They'd never had to lift anything heavy or deep-clean anything in their lives, so Balsa wound up with the dirtiest jobs simply because she knew how to do them. She didn't really like that, but she didn't complain, either. The work had to be done, and she was getting paid.
One night, it was crowded like usual, and the waitresses waiting to pick up orders in the back of the restaurant started chatting about the likelihood of receiving extra pay from the restaurant owner again. When the place was this packed, it was more common for someone to break something than not, so they liked their odds.
"How many people d'you think are out there? I've lost count," one woman said.
Another woman slid around her, carrying freshly washed and dried dishes. "No idea, but it's definitely more than last night!" she said with a little laugh.
The other dishwashers tittered behind Balsa, whispering and giggling. Their good mood was infectious; Balsa left the kitchen and went out to start taking orders with a spring in her step. She wove through the crowd, carrying trays of fried chicken and rice to many tables.
A gambling competition caught Balsa's eye. She surveyed the gambling table with interest. Her heart skipped a beat when she recognized one of the gamblers. He was a caravan guard--like her and Jiguro--and he'd turned tail and run at the start of the bandit attack that had left her wounded. He was a traitor and a coward, and he was looking at her wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
He hadn't been expecting her and Jiguro to survive.
Balsa's rage flashed on before she had time to get a handle on it. All the blood went to her head. She wanted to strike him down, right here, right now, but this was her place of employment and she couldn't make a scene. If she did, she'd never be able to work in this town again. She willed herself still, tamping down her anger as her pulse pounded in her ears.
Lurching into motion, Balsa glided around customers and tables until she was standing right next to the caravan guard. He stood up and tried to leave, but his friends at the gambling table said something teasing and he sat back down. He offered Balsa his most winning smile.
The other gamblers noticed Balsa standing there and staring and asked her who she was. She remained silent, staring at the caravan guard with contempt in her eyes.
"Is she a friend of yours?" a gambler asked. "D'you owe her money or somethin'?"
"Don't tell me you're in trouble again, Noran."
Noran waved away his companions' cajoling questions. "I didn't do nothin'. She's some kid who traveled in a caravan with me and other guards once, that's all." He looked up at her. Her expression didn't shift. "Give us a minute."
Noran stood up and walked to a corner of the restaurant where there were fewer people. Balsa followed him with measured steps. There was an empty table nearby with three chairs. Noran gestured for Balsa to sit; he pulled up another chair and sat across from her.
But Balsa didn't sit down. She remained standing on one side of the table.
"I'm surprised you survived," Noran said. "That was a terrible battle."
"You're only surprised because you're the one who lured us into that trap," Balsa spat. "Then you turned tail and fled like a fucking coward."
Noran blinked in surprise. "You shouldn't believe the worst of people, girl. I had nothing to do with bringing the bandits down on us. There were two groups of bandits, so me and another guard went to attack that group from the rear. That's why I ran."
"Liar," Balsa said. "You were in front of me in the caravan line, and you ran ahead, not behind. There weren't two groups of bandits. I know that because we fought them to a man, without your help. Don't take me for some idiot child."
Noran gaped at her fishmouthed, at a loss for words.
"I remember you," Balsa said. "You were acting strangely for a few days before the attack. At the time, I didn't think much of it, but I've had time to think about it since then. I saw you move behind us when we were passing by some rocky cliffs--good cover for bandits. You were signaling them there, weren't you?"
A hard light glinted in Noran's eyes. "That's enough, girl. I think we understand each other. But if we settle this here, we'll trash the place."
Balsa freed her peeling knife from her belt and and put it to Noran's ear before he could blink. "We're leaving," she said. "Get up. I don't want to cause this place any trouble, but I'm not letting you out of my sight until our business is done."
Noran laughed. He didn't seem to be afraid of the knife at all. "Are you sure we can't just talk this out?" He stood up, nonchalant, and called out to his gambling friends: "Hey! Sorry to keep y'all waiting. Let's play another game."
His friends called back an acknowledgement. They were so involved in their competition that they hadn't noticed Balsa threaten Noran. The guards in the restaurant hadn't noticed, either, because it was so crowded... but they would notice if it turned into a fight.
Balsa set her knife down on an empty plate in her hand, disgusted. "Watch your back when you leave," she muttered. Then she spun on her heel and returned to the kitchen.
***
At the end of her shift, Balsa was climbing the stairs to the attic room where the waitresses slept when one of the restaurant's guards, Yan, called out to her.
"What is it?" Balsa asked.
"This came for you," he said, passing Balsa a message. The seal on the message was broken already, meaning that someone else had already read it. There was alcohol on Yan's breath and he was slurring his words slightly. It must be the end of his shift. A lot of guards drank after hours, though Jiguro never did.
"Who's it from?"
"No idea. A messenger from Toi's Tavern delivered it a while ago."
Balsa took the letter upstairs and read it in the light of a candle. The letters were legible, but they were written in haste.
Something terrible has happened. Come to Tarasu's mooring at the harbor the instant you read this.
Jiguro
Balsa snorted laughter. This was obviously a trap. The handwriting wasn't like Jiguro's at all. If this was the best Noran could come up with, she was disappointed. The diction was all wrong, too. Jiguro was an educated man, and when he wrote, his writing reflected his education. Not even haste and terror would distort his letters so much.
Her anger at Noran still burned high, and now she was even madder because he was underestimating her so much. He thought she was some helpless little girl who couldn't hurt him in any way, and he was dead wrong. She crumpled the message in her fist, then went into the room where the other girls were getting their pajamas on. She grabbed her spear and left without so much as a second glance. She barely heard their idle gossip as she raced down the stairs.
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