Those Who Walk the Flame Road
Hugo returned to Tomuran’s restaurant
and his living quarters with his head down, lost in thought. There was a
drowsing waiter near the door that Hugo recognized as one of the young
men who’d helped him sneak Oru Zan from the restaurant.
The waiter noticed Hugo’s troubled
expression and sat up. He, too, was frowning.
“What’s wrong?” Hugo asked. “Did
something happen?”
The waiter put a finger to his lips,
encouraging Hugo to speak quietly or not at all. “A… government
official… came to the restaurant.”
“Government official? Why?”
“To ask about what happened yesterday,”
the waiter said.
“Are you sure it was a government
official? Were they Yogoese or Talsh? Were they a guard or a
soldier?”
“I’m sure. The official was Yogoese, and
not a soldier.”
“Did he question you?”
“No; he’s still here. He only got here a
little while ago. I heard he was looking for you and Toran.”
Toran was the restaurant’s youngest
waiter: the one Hugo had traded duties with. “Where is Toran?” he
asked.
The waiter didn’t answer, so Hugo turned
around and headed toward the restaurant proper. He moved swiftly
through the restaurant’s hallways and saw several men standing in the
Uma Room where Oru Zan had eaten the night before. The owner of the
restaurant was there, along with two men who looked very much like
members of the Yogoese government. Hugo recognized their uniforms; they
were peacekeeping officials. They worked closely with the Talsh guards
now, but their primary job role was what it had always been: to keep the
lower city safe from crime and violence.
Hugo had seen some of these
officials walking the streets before, but this would be his first time
meeting them in person. The group of men noticed Hugo approaching and
faced him.
“Ah, Hugo! Good, good. We’ve been
looking for you.” The owner of the restaurant beckoned Hugo
forward. He smiled kindly. There didn’t appear to be anything
amiss. “These fine gentlemen heard about the little disturbance here
last night. They were hoping to ask you a few questions.”
Hugo looked at the peacekeeping
officials. One was an older man, but the other didn’t look to be much
older than Hugo was himself. The older man was around forty or so; he
had a sharp stare. Hugo felt like the man was looking right through
him.
“This is not the only waiter who was
present during the incident,” the older peacekeeper said imperiously.
“Find the other waiter and bring him to us as well.”
Hugo decided that he didn’t like the
older peacekeeping official, even if he was Yogoese. Anyone who spoke
with such disrespect for others wasn’t worthy of respect himself.
“There is no need to call the other
waiter,” Hugo said.
The older peacekeeper looked Hugo up and
down. “What do you mean by that, young man?”
“The other waiter was following my
instructions. You won’t learn anything from him that I can’t tell you.
Ask your questions, and I’ll tell you everything you wish to know.”
The peacekeeper’s eyes narrowed. “What I
see is that you refuse to cooperate with our investigation. You and the
other waiter will be brought to our office for questioning.” He turned
to the owner of the restaurant. “Along with anyone else involved in the
incident. I take it that won’t be an issue, sir?”
The restaurant owner nodded. The younger
peacekeeping official pulled a length of rope that he carried in pouch
on his back and made to tie Hugo’s hands behind his back.
“Sirs, is that really necessary?” the
owner of the restaurant said in a tone of alarm. “No one was harmed last
night, after all. My waiters aren’t dangerous people.”
The older peacekeeper shoved his finger
into the restaurant owner’s shoulder, making him wince. “Know your
place. I am the one who decides whether bonds are necessary, not
you.”
Hugo already didn’t like the
peacekeeping official, but now his generalized dislike kindled into
anger.
The restaurant owner also appeared
angry. “Any disrespect you show to my employees shows disrespect to me
as well,” he said. “I am the one who bears the responsibility for what
happened here yesterday, not my waiters.”
“No, sir,” Hugo said quietly. “This is
my fault. I’ll go with them.”
The expression on the restaurant owner’s
face was pained, but he nodded. He was an intelligent man who had used
the Talsh presence in the city to his advantage; he knew that it was
unwise to oppose the officials. It was galling to be talked down to, but
Hugo and the restaurant owner both knew that it would be better for a
single person to take the fall for what had happened rather than having
the entire restaurant fold under government scrutiny.
Hugo was brought to the peacekeeping
officials’ main office and kept in custody for more than a day. They
started by questioning him, but he got the sense he wasn’t saying what
they wanted him to say; after a while, he was beaten, whipped and
deprived of water. He could put the blame on Karl, since he’d seen the
cook put some kind of strange substance in Oru Zan’s food, but then the
restaurant would be in trouble. He could tell the officials what he knew
of Oru Zan—the torture would probably stop if he did—but then he would
have to reveal more about himself, too. Hugo didn’t see any easy way out
of this situation.
He decided to tell a little bit of a
lie, but most of the truth. He said that he’d seen the customer in the
restaurant being tracked by Talsh soldiers, and that he felt obligated
to the customer for saving him and a friend from some dangerous
criminals in the street a few weeks before. He’d decided to help the
customer get outside without being seen, just in case his suspicions
about the Talsh soldiers were right. He now considered his debt to the
customer repaid, and he had no idea who he was. That was Hugo’s
story.
The peacekeeping officials started
asking more detailed questions. From them, Hugo guessed that more of the
waiters and the restaurant owner had also been questioned about the
incident. Since the waiters knew nothing about the man, either, what
they said corroborated Hugo's version of events.
Hugo was left alone for a day or so
after the officials hit another dead end. The next morning, Talsh
soldiers arrived at the government office to interrogate Hugo further.
Hugo recognized one of them as the soldier who had given Karl the packet
of spices—or poison—that Karl had mixed into Oru Zan’s soup.
The Talsh soldier asked no questions. He
received an abbreviated report from the Yogoese peacekeeping officials
with an expression of disinterest, then gave orders to have Hugo
released into his custody and transferred to a Talsh prison. Then the
soldier punched Hugo in the gut with all the force of his frustration
behind it.
Hugo’s bonds were loosed. He collapsed
to the floor, catching his head on his arms. The last thing he saw
before he lost consciousness were the faces of the imperious Yogoese
peacekeeper and the enraged Talsh soldier.
Hugo drifted back to consciousness
slowly. There was blood on his face from the torture and he was filthy,
but his hands were free, and he was outside. It seemed like someone had
dumped him unceremoniously in the lower city, expecting him to die.
Some of the passersby noticed Hugo
moving and stopped. Some asked if they could help him, but Hugo refused
help. He stumbled to his feet and started walking. He wasn’t sure where
he was going, but if he kept walking, he was sure to end up
somewhere.
It was a warm day, but not hot: it felt
like a day at the very start of summer. The sunlight was intensely
bright; Hugo watched his black shadow move with him as he walked and
tried not to think of it as a moving bruise. The only think keeping Hugo
on his feet was rage: rage at what had been done to him, and maybe his
friends as well.
The Talsh ordered this. That’s
why…
Hugo had limited experience with the
Yogoese government before Talsh rule, but he knew that torture wasn’t
common. The Yogoese officials who had caused him to be tortured were
just as bad as Talsh, but to Hugo, it was like Talsh had corrupted his
homeland in yet another way. The Yogoese peacekeeping officials were
meant to protect the Yogoese people, but they were only interested in
what the Talsh wanted now.
The Talsh could capture anyone and
torture them without even having good reason. That seemed wrong to Hugo
on a fundamental level, but he also understood that the Yogoese
officials weren’t necessarily safe from Talsh torture, either. They
cooperated so that they wouldn’t be harmed in turn.
When did the Yogoese people become
such cowards?
Hugo fumed. His vision swam with tears. He wiped his eyes and gritted
his teeth so that he would stop crying. He put one foot in front of the
other, still not sure of where he was going. People passed him by,
speaking lightly to one another. Many Yogoese people were sitting
outside on tables eating lunch, enjoying the bright, sunny day.
Hugo hated them all. He wished that the
city had been completely destroyed, along with them—along with
him. They deserved to die in agony for their spinelessness.
Wasn’t that what destruction was? Utter annihilation, leaving nothing
left?
But no. Hugo’s homeland was alien to him
now, but everyone else lived their lives like nothing had happened. Some
cosmetic changes were evident in clothing, food, and currency, but for
the most part everything looked the same as it used to. Didn’t people
remember the battle? Didn’t they care?
His head ached like the bones of his
skull were pressing together. He groaned in pain and forced himself to
keep walking. Hugo had no desire to return to Tomuran’s restaurant; it
might be dangerous to the restaurant owner and other waiters if he did.
He couldn’t stay with Ryuan and Yoar either; he didn’t want them or
anyone else to see him this way.
It’s not real, Hugo thought.
This city… it’s not real anymore. It’s just a mirage. A shimmering
image in the summer heat.
The only thing that felt real to Hugo
was his bruise-dark shadow. He extended his hands into his shadow, and
it felt cool and soothing.
Hugo couldn’t keep walking for much
longer. His stomach was empty, but he still felt nauseous. He crouched
down in the shadow of a wall, hugging his gut. He was grateful for the
shade. A few people looked at him strangely, but no one called out to
him. Maybe they assumed he’d gotten into a fight, because of his
injuries. No one wanted trouble.
Sitting was a great relief. Hugo closed his eyes and waited for his nausea and dizziness to pass, then looked around.
Where am I?
There was a wooden fence across the
street; it surrounded a candy store that was close to Mar’s tavern. He
saw a stone well through a gap in the fence. There was an old woman
washing root vegetables next to the well. She looked vaguely familiar,
but Hugo couldn’t remember where he’d seen her before…
No: he did remember. The old
woman was Shigan’s wife—Shigan, the chef at Mar’s tavern who had praised
Hugo for the way he washed potatoes. Hugo had heard that he’d stopped
working the previous autumn because of his worsening health.
Shigan’s wife gathered up her washed
vegetables in a basket, stood up and disappeared behind the wooden
fence.
Hugo tottered to his feet and crossed
the street. He peered in at the candy store through the gap in the
fence. This was the lower city, so buildings were all kind of squeezed
together; housing for the poor was built on multiple levels. He was
looking into the store’s rear garden: the well was there, of course, and
there were barrels of supplies lined up along the back of the building.
Now that Shigan’s wife had gone inside, there was no one else out here.
The sun was going down. Hugo guessed that she’d been sent out to finish
washing the vegetables and bring in water for the evening.
Hugo pushed through the gap in the fence
and collapsed in front of the well. He pulled up the bucket hanging
there and cupped water in both hands, gulping it down. After he’d drunk
his fill, he washed his face and hands thoroughly. His head felt
remarkably clear.
A man called out to Hugo. Hugo turned
and saw him standing on a raised porch on the first floor of a building
that probably housed three or four families. It was Shigan, the old,
red-cheeked chef. He was much thinner than Hugo remembered.
“Mr. Shigan.” Hugo moved away from the
well. Shigan gestured for him to come closer.
As Hugo approached, Shigan’s expression
changed from one of surprise to one of concern. “Were you in a fight?”
he asked.
Hugo’s lips trembled. He tried to smile
to reassure Shigan, but he didn’t have that in him. Shigan’s complexion
was sallow and his skin was hanging off him, making him look even
thinner than he was. He sat down on the edge of the porch and asked Hugo
to sit as well.
Hugo sat. They were near the window of
the house. Hugo smelled something cooking inside and heard the rolling
boil of water. “What is that?” Hugo asked. “There’s a spice I don’t
know.”
“I’m sorry I can’t give you any.” Shigan
smiled faintly. “It’s medicine for my sickness. It’ll help my liver. I
used to drink too much—far too much.”
Shigan didn’t say anything else. He and
Hugo sat on the porch in companionable silence. Hugo was briefly
overwhelmed by physical exhaustion and nearly pitched forward. He looked
to Shigan and said, “Um, I’m sorry, but could I lie down here for a
little while? I promise I’ll be gone in the morning.”
Shigan nodded. “Sleep there as long as
you want. I’m not about to kick you out, kid.”
Hugo blinked, surprised. He wanted to
thank Shigan, but the words wouldn't come out. He stretched out on the
wooden porch and was instantly asleep.
Hugo awoke the next morning with a
start. He didn’t remember where he was. He sprang to his feet and felt
his injured body protest at the sudden movement. A blanket fell from his
chest as he stood up. It was light outside, but he couldn’t see the sun;
it could be early morning or close to noon for all he knew.
Because it was light out, Hugo was able
to orient himself after a few moments. This was Shigan’s porch. Shigan
had allowed him to sleep here.
Suddenly, Hugo heard a woman’s voice
coming from the building behind him. “You said fourteen lunch boxes, to
be delivered the day after tomorrow? All right; please write your
address down here, sir.”
It seemed that this place didn’t just
sell candy anymore. Hugo didn’t remember this place selling meals, but
maybe that had changed with Shigan’s semi-retirement.
A man said something in response, but
his words were muffled through the wall.
“Ah, the Kamuran estate! I know it
well.” For whatever reason, the voice of Shigan’s wife was perfectly
clear. “We appreciate your business.”
Hugo frowned. The name Kamuran was
familiar to him. They were another warrior family, though they were only
middle-ranked nobility and therefore not selected to be the Mikado’s
Shields. His heart beat faster.
She said they had an estate… the Kamurans are still alive?!
Had all the middle-ranking nobles been
spared during the Talsh attack on the city? Hugo wasn’t sure. He didn’t
know many of those families by name or by reputation, but he supposed
that it was possible. He knew that most of the nobles who weren’t from
military families hadn’t been killed, but he hadn’t heard much of
anything about other military families of lesser rank than his own. Had
the Kamurans all been conscripted into the Talsh army, like the other
survivors he’d heard about?
Maybe. Hugo thought that he knew
everything about the lower city, but perhaps he was mistaken. He hadn’t
dug too deeply into the fates of other warrior families because doing so
made him think of his own losses. He knew now that the Kamurans still
had their estate, and it was possible that a few of them were still
living freely, as they had before. He wouldn’t know anything else for
sure unless he investigated.
Did he want to know? Hugo looked down at
the sunlight shining on Shigan’s wooden porch and thought for a while.
He was too hurt and exhausted to consider investigating anything right
now. He stretched out again and went to sleep.
Shigan and his wife didn’t disturb
Hugo’s sleep. They also fed him when he woke up, food as well as
medicine. After eating, he found that he could think clearly again.
Movement was becoming easier. There was no more blood in his waste.
During his brief convalescence, Hugo had
the opportunity to observe Shigan and his wife working together. They
helped feed the neighborhood as well as people who came into the store
to make orders. A young woman who lived nearby sometimes came over to
help them with difficult physical work that Shigan and his wife couldn’t
do easily themselves.
“I can’t do much anymore,” Shigan told
Hugo with a disappointed sigh. “I observe the cooking and taste-test,
but that’s about it. My wife handles the orders and the running of the
store. I’m glad to have her; I wish I could match her.” He chuckled.
Shigan drank a medicinal tea a few times
a day. Hugo always heard water boiling inside the store around lunchtime
in preparation for Shigan’s tea. He and Hugo would sit out on the porch
in the afternoon and talk.
“I’m old and have no son to inherit; I’m
far too old to get one now. I can’t open my own restaurant, either; the
Talsh taxes would crush me instantly.”
The young woman who assisted Shigan and
his wife was sweeping the interior rooms. Hugo heard her broom swishing
across the wooden floors.
“I’m nothing but a burden now,” Shigan
said.
Hugo bowed his head, then squeezed
Shigan’s shoulder.
The day was cool and partly cloudy.
Sometimes the sun cut through the cloud cover. The wind was strong
enough to push Hugo’s hair over his shoulders.
“I wasted my life.” Shigan closed his
eyes, then opened them. He took a sip of his medicinal tea. “But it’s
not too late for you.”
Hugo tensed.
Shigan set his teacup down on the porch.
“From what I’ve seen of you, you’re not limited at all in your
capabilities. You could do anything you wanted. Ever thought about
opening a shop of your own?”
Hugo remained silent. He’d never
considered owning or operating any kind of business. He had no
experience with something like that. His life in the lower city hadn’t
been easy; he’d essentially jumped from job to job and place to place
based on necessity and safety. Owning a store or a restaurant meant that
he’d be conspicuous and would have to stay in one place for a long time.
Neither of those qualities appealed to Hugo.
Hugo got up. The blanket that Shigan had
loaned him was in his lap. Hugo folded it neatly and left the porch. He
turned to face Shigan and said, “Thanks for your help. I’ll do my best
to repay you someday, if I can.”
Hugo spun on his heel and walked away
from Shigan’s store without looking back.
There were seven or eight kids in the
street, talking and kicking stones to ease their boredom. Hugo passed by
them like a wraith, barely seeing them and not paying attention to them
at all. He understood very well why he’d never considered putting down
roots in the lower city: he still had the sense that it wasn’t real. It
was just a mirage seen through the summer heat. The real city—the one he
knew from his childhood—had melted into that mirage. It was gone
forever. Hugo couldn’t stay in a place that wasn’t real to him.
Strangely, Hugo was able to recognize
that this place was real to other people. The youngest children he’d
just passed by probably didn’t even know that the world used to be
different. He couldn’t blame them for choosing to live their lives here,
but Hugo had long since lost the place where he belonged.
The night of the battle was all death
and fire, the but city had recovered from that. Hugo couldn’t
recover—his family and friends were all dead. At first, he’d thought
that everyone was the same as him and that the city would never rebuild,
but he’d been wrong. After a brief period of transition, life in the
lower city went on as it always had.
Why? Hugo asked himself.
Isn’t that wrong? Shouldn’t people remember what happened?
Even if the danger of battle was past,
many people had lost family members and friends just like him. There
should be some kind of permanent, obvious change, but there was none
that Hugo could see. That was why he couldn’t shake the idea of this
place as a mirage. The flames of war destroyed the city he knew, leaving
an echo or a reflection behind that was almost indistinguishable from
the real thing.
Kamuran estate still existed.
Hugo stopped walking. He remembered
Shigan’s wife taking an order for Kamuran estate. He clung to that
detail because he had thought that all the Yogoese warrior families were
gone… but it was possible that the Kamurans were still alive. Still
real.
Hugo was walking along a main
thoroughfare that led to the Imperial Palace. He didn’t know exactly
where the Kamuran estate was, but all of the middle nobility lived on
the same street—and all noble residences were close to the palace,
anyway. If he wanted to look for the estate, this wasn’t a bad place to
start.
Should I look for them? The mere
thought sent a shiver of fear up Hugo’s spine. To find the Kamuran
estate, he would have to pass the burned-out estates of the high
nobility that the Talsh had destroyed. He might have to pass his own
ruined house. He took a deep, steadying breath, then made his
decision.
Hugo turned off the main street toward
the nobles’ quarter, walking swiftly.
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