Mark felt great. Physically and mentally.
Objectively speaking, this shouldn’t surprise him. He had had a good night’s sleep and started the day with an intense workout. And he had consumed only non-processed food. Something he could not always stick to when traveling.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a deep breath. The air was invigorating.
Since his forced stint in the boy scouts one summer, he had avoided the outdoors as much as possible. Visiting a construction project in the middle of nowhere was not the same as hiking through the woods for hours. But I do not hate everything about it, he thought.
“Is everything alright?”
Mark opened his eyes. Atissa, who was walking a little ahead of him, turned back to look at him over her shoulder.
“Everything’s fine,” he said. “I was just enjoying the air.”
Atissa frowned at him, sniffling. He had confused her again - he seemed to do that a lot. Depending on how long it would take to get out of here – wherever here was – he should take better care about what he said around the locals.
“Please, continue,” he said, adding a smile.
Atissa replied with a genuine smile of her own and continued to lead them through the underbrush.
“We should get there by midday,” Atissa piped up, explaining how long it would take to reach their acquaintances. “We can eat there before turning back. Uncle Tatros said there will be time to visit the village and we must do so.”
According to Tatros, the only way out of the valley was via the river or hiking over the mountains.
Although they had only spent a short time together, Mark had no reason to mistrust his hosts. If anything, both Atissa and her uncle were some of the most genuine people he had ever spent time around. I need to get out of here. Fast, he thought.
The trees opened up in front of them as the forest gave way to one of the many smaller streams that crisscrossed the valley. They all eventually converged into rivers and lakes like the one the village was built next to.
This one had not completely dried out over the summer. Wading through the freezing knee-deep mountain water, Mark was grateful not to be wearing his suit anymore. Silver linings.
Seemingly unconcerned about her wet feet, Atissa waited for him on the other side.
Mark decided that some small talk was appropriate. “It’s quite cold.”
“The water?” Atissa asked. “It comes directly from the mountains. It‘s melted snow and ice, you see.”
You don’t say, Mark thought, carefully maintaining his smile.
Stepping out of the water he took a moment to enjoy the view, scratching his chest.
The rough fabric was irritating his skin a bit and he did not have a razer to shave like he usually did. He was in the same situation with his face, but that bothered him less. Looking back, he wished he had taken his suitcase out of the car before climbing the riverbank. In the thick mist, he had not been able to find his way back to the site of the accident once he had given up on reaching the street.
“Is it uncomfortable?” Atissa asked, glancing at him.
Mark could make out the concern in her voice. “No, I’m very grateful for the clothing. The tunic and the sandals are much more convenient for walking through the woods than my own clothing.”
Atissa and her uncle had been very kind to him. At home, the very idea of picking up a stranger and taking him home with you was preposterous. It bothered him a little bit that he could not think of a way to repay them. When I ever make it home, I could send them some stuff from a hardware store, he thought.
“That’s good,” Atissa said, reassured. “It is uncle’s best tunic.”
You are kidding, Mark thought.
“I didn’t know,” he said out loud instead. “I will thank him again when we're back. And for food and shelter. That was very generous of you guys.”
“It’s fine,” she said, quickly turning away.
The trail was a bit wider on this side of the stream and they could walk next to each other.
Mark noticed that Atissa was glancing up at him from time to time. After a while, he took pity on her.
“Your uncle is a great wrestler. Where did he learn it?”
“I think he’s always loved it,” Atissa said. “But he says he really learned it in the army.”
“He was a soldier?”
“He fought for his home city in Helcenaea and then for the Crimson Cities. He even fought for Saggab for two seasons. But he says the Crimson Cities paid best.”
Mark listened intently. None of those names meant anything to him. Watching Atissa, it was clear that she was not just making up names. Where the hell am I, he thought? Unless uncle Tatros had lied to her, Mark was in a completely different world. Or a different time? He didn’t recognize the names, but then again, he had never paid much attention to history. It didn’t pay.
“Where… how did you do that? Beating uncle, I mean.” There was earnest curiosity in her question.
“You have to weigh up your opponent and make a plan. You did see him throw me around like… a wet piece of cloth before?”
Atissa seemed to consider his words for a moment. “Yes, but that was a trick, right?”
Mark was impressed. Even with a hangover the girl had picked up on the details of their match.
“Why would you think that?”
“I think you wanted uncle Tatros to lower his guard,” Atissa said. “Whenever he threw you, you were back on your feet right away. He could never pin you to the ground. And when you tried to shoot for his legs, you made it very obvious.” As she talked, she sounded more and more sure of herself.
A bitter smile formed on Mark’s lips. He had not meant it to be that obvious.
“My style of grappling is focused on the ground,” he said. “Your uncle is a wrestler. He specializes in throwing others while staying on his feed himself.”
Atissa frowned. “Did you not learn how to fight on your feet?”
“I did. But it is not where I’m strongest. And it’s a bad idea to fight somebody where you are weak, and he is strong. Additionally, Tatros is physically stronger than I am.” It had not just been his large muscles. Mark still remembered the effort it had taken him to break the older man’s grips. His hands possessed the farmer’s strength of somebody who had done manual labor his whole life.
“So, you had to trick him?”
“Yes. You want to get yourself in a position where your opponent’s strengths are taken out of the equation as much as possible. Where you are strong and he is weak, essentially.” He pointed at the ground. “For that matter, if your uncle were as good on the ground as he’s on his feet, I would still want to get him down. There I have a chance, on our feet, he is too superior.”
Atissa considered his words. He had only explained a basic concept of grappling, but the girl seemed to be impressed with the underlying ideas.
Then her head snapped up. Before he could react, she grabbed his arm and pulled him off the trail.
Before he could ask what was going on, her hand covered his mouth, looking intently into his eyes. He immediately fell silent and gave her a small nod. Be quiet. I understand, he thought.
She nodded, taking the hand slowly away. Turning, she made a sign to follow her.
For the next couple of minutes, they slowly crept forward. Mark fought the urge to whisper a question. Maybe Atissa was hunting. Or there might be a danger, he couldn’t perceive. He was completely dependent on the underaged girl moving in front of him.
After, what felt like at least ten minutes of moving through undergrowth, Atissa stopped. She unslung her bag and lay flat, slowly crawling forwards on her forearms.
After a moment of hesitation, Mark imitated her, careful not to make any noises with his stick. Why didn’t I just throw the thing away, he thought.
Atissa had selected a spot with particularly thick underbrush. With his grown man’s body, Mark had a hard time following the girl. The uneasiness he felt robbing through the dirt almost exceeded his nervousness.
Finally, the girl stopped.
Without looking back, she signaled him to come up on her right.
When Mark caught up, Atissa put her finger on her lips before carefully parting the leaves in front of them enough to see.
Mark needed a moment to take in the scene in front of them.
Atissa had led them to a hill from which they could look out over a riverbank. He was not sure if it was the same one, they had recently passed, but it seemed broader here.
And there were people. Quite a lot of them. They were moving downstream, marching in a ragged line, two or three abreast.
As he observed them closely, Mark understood why Atissa was so careful. They were armed.
Not used to seeing such things outside of movies, it had taken him a moment to notice all the details. What he had taken for walking sticks at first glance, were spears. Each of them slightly longer than its carrier and with a yellowish tip. Bronze, Mark thought, confused.
Some of the spearmen carried shields, others had slung them on their backs. Interspersed with them were bowmen, carrying quivers on their hips or backs.
There were also a few short horses being used as pack animals.
Mark noticed Atissa’s hands moving. She appeared to be counting the men with the fingers of her left hand. Every time she reached five, she moved her right thump from one fingerbone to the next.
The method looked strange, and the girl seemed to struggle with it. Her eyes moved back and force between her fingers and the marching men below.
Mark turned his gaze back to the line of men, quickly counting them in his head.
When they had reached their current vantage point, the tip of the column had already turned around the next bend in the river. Mark touched Atissa’s shoulder, as the end came in sight.
“Eighty-two,” he whispered. “Plus however many passed before we came here.”
She looked at him surprised, before nodding.
Careful not to make any sound they crawled backward.
“Who was that?” Mark asked after they had put some distance between themselves and the river.
Atissa shook her head. “I don’t know. They are not from the valley.”
She seemed to be anxious, her eyes sweeping back and forth between the direction the column had marched and the ground in front of her feet.
It was unlike her.
These men clearly posed a danger, that was clear. But why was Atissa looking so distraught?
“The direction in which they are moving…where does the stream lead?” Mark asked carefully.
“It flows into the lake at Logger’s Home.”
Let’s not go there then, Mark thought.
“There was blood on them.”
“Hm?” Mark had not noticed that at the distance.
“If we hurry, we can overtake them,” Atissa said, sounding unsure. “We have to take a longer route to avoid them, but if we run we can make it.”
Now Mark felt anxious, too.
He had no idea where he was. He had lost all connection to the world he understood. And now he was asked to run into a dangerous situation. Forget dangerous. Life-threatening, he thought. These people are carrying God damn spears through the woods!
He had to stay calm. Assess the situation.
“What else?” he asked, watching the girl.
Atissa was clearly trying to control her fear. He just met her yesterday, but she struck him as a decisive, instinct-driven person. Let’s not get yourself hacked into pieces, rushing after a teenager, he thought.
Atissa shook her head. “The stream next to our house flows into this river. There is a path next to it.”
There it is, he thought, feeling an onset of relief.
“The one we walked on yesterday?” They would not miss that one. Even he would not.
“Yes.”
“Then we have to get back to your uncle and warn him,” he said.
Atissa looked up at him. What did her expression mean?
“Can’t you…stop them?” she asked, her eyes wandering to his right hand for some reason.
Mark looked down at the walking stick in his hand. The wood lay so smooth in his hand that he often forgot he was carrying the thing around.
“How would I do that?” he asked.
Atissa was clearly torn between warning the village, the troop's likely target, or making sure her uncle was safe.
She was a good person. And she needed a push.
But how do you best talk to a teenage hillbilly? Mark’s thoughts raced, assessing, and dismissing half a dozen approaches. He had never been good with teenagers. Anne was the best example of that.
“Chose your fights based on where you can succeed. If you try to help everybody and fail, you helped no one.” He spoke in a calm voice, trying to sound empathetic and genuine. “If we warn, the village, will they have time to organize a defense? I did not see any walls around the village. Will they be able to run away in time?”
He put his hand on Atissa’s shoulder, hoping it was a fitting gesture. She did not flinch. Was that a good sign?
Now let’s have some hope, he thought.
“Let us go back and warn Tatros,” he said, putting confidence in his voice. “He was a soldier, right? If anybody knows what to do in this situation, it should be him!”
As Atissa looked up, Mark watched determination return to her eyes. The girl clearly had great trust in her uncle.
“Ok,” she said.
Looks like I won’t get stabbed today, he thought. Hopefully.
“Lead the way!” he said, stepping aside.
And they ran. Mark had to work hard to keep up with Atissa. He wanted to curse his motivational speech. But he didn’t have the breath.
Mark felt great. Physically and mentally.
Objectively speaking, this shouldn’t surprise him. He had had a good night’s sleep and started the day with an intense workout. And he had consumed only non-processed food. Something he could not always stick to when traveling.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a deep breath. The air was invigorating.
Since his forced stint in the boy scouts one summer, he had avoided the outdoors as much as possible. Visiting a construction project in the middle of nowhere was not the same as hiking through the woods for hours. But I do not hate everything about it, he thought.
“Is everything alright?”
Mark opened his eyes. Atissa, who was walking a little ahead of him, turned back to look at him over her shoulder.
“Everything’s fine,” he said. “I was just enjoying the air.”
Atissa frowned at him, sniffling. He had confused her again - he seemed to do that a lot. Depending on how long it would take to get out of here – wherever here was – he should take better care about what he said around the locals.
“Please, continue,” he said, adding a smile.
Atissa replied with a genuine smile of her own and continued to lead them through the underbrush.
“We should get there by midday,” Atissa piped up, explaining how long it would take to reach their acquaintances. “We can eat there before turning back. Uncle Tatros said there will be time to visit the village and we must do so.”
According to Tatros, the only way out of the valley was via the river or hiking over the mountains.
Although they had only spent a short time together, Mark had no reason to mistrust his hosts. If anything, both Atissa and her uncle were some of the most genuine people he had ever spent time around. I need to get out of here. Fast, he thought.
The trees opened up in front of them as the forest gave way to one of the many smaller streams that crisscrossed the valley. They all eventually converged into rivers and lakes like the one the village was built next to.
This one had not completely dried out over the summer. Wading through the freezing knee-deep mountain water, Mark was grateful not to be wearing his suit anymore. Silver linings.
Seemingly unconcerned about her wet feet, Atissa waited for him on the other side.
Mark decided that some small talk was appropriate. “It’s quite cold.”
“The water?” Atissa asked. “It comes directly from the mountains. It‘s melted snow and ice, you see.”
You don’t say, Mark thought, carefully maintaining his smile.
Stepping out of the water he took a moment to enjoy the view, scratching his chest.
The rough fabric was irritating his skin a bit and he did not have a razer to shave like he usually did. He was in the same situation with his face, but that bothered him less. Looking back, he wished he had taken his suitcase out of the car before climbing the riverbank. In the thick mist, he had not been able to find his way back to the site of the accident once he had given up on reaching the street.
“Is it uncomfortable?” Atissa asked, glancing at him.
Mark could make out the concern in her voice. “No, I’m very grateful for the clothing. The tunic and the sandals are much more convenient for walking through the woods than my own clothing.”
Atissa and her uncle had been very kind to him. At home, the very idea of picking up a stranger and taking him home with you was preposterous. It bothered him a little bit that he could not think of a way to repay them. When I ever make it home, I could send them some stuff from a hardware store, he thought.
“That’s good,” Atissa said, reassured. “It is uncle’s best tunic.”
You are kidding, Mark thought.
“I didn’t know,” he said out loud instead. “I will thank him again when we're back. And for food and shelter. That was very generous of you guys.”
“It’s fine,” she said, quickly turning away.
The trail was a bit wider on this side of the stream and they could walk next to each other.
Mark noticed that Atissa was glancing up at him from time to time. After a while, he took pity on her.
“Your uncle is a great wrestler. Where did he learn it?”
“I think he’s always loved it,” Atissa said. “But he says he really learned it in the army.”
“He was a soldier?”
“He fought for his home city in Helcenaea and then for the Crimson Cities. He even fought for Saggab for two seasons. But he says the Crimson Cities paid best.”
Mark listened intently. None of those names meant anything to him. Watching Atissa, it was clear that she was not just making up names. Where the hell am I, he thought? Unless uncle Tatros had lied to her, Mark was in a completely different world. Or a different time? He didn’t recognize the names, but then again, he had never paid much attention to history. It didn’t pay.
“Where… how did you do that? Beating uncle, I mean.” There was earnest curiosity in her question.
“You have to weigh up your opponent and make a plan. You did see him throw me around like… a wet piece of cloth before?”
Atissa seemed to consider his words for a moment. “Yes, but that was a trick, right?”
Mark was impressed. Even with a hangover the girl had picked up on the details of their match.
“Why would you think that?”
“I think you wanted uncle Tatros to lower his guard,” Atissa said. “Whenever he threw you, you were back on your feet right away. He could never pin you to the ground. And when you tried to shoot for his legs, you made it very obvious.” As she talked, she sounded more and more sure of herself.
A bitter smile formed on Mark’s lips. He had not meant it to be that obvious.
“My style of grappling is focused on the ground,” he said. “Your uncle is a wrestler. He specializes in throwing others while staying on his feed himself.”
Atissa frowned. “Did you not learn how to fight on your feet?”
“I did. But it is not where I’m strongest. And it’s a bad idea to fight somebody where you are weak, and he is strong. Additionally, Tatros is physically stronger than I am.” It had not just been his large muscles. Mark still remembered the effort it had taken him to break the older man’s grips. His hands possessed the farmer’s strength of somebody who had done manual labor his whole life.
“So, you had to trick him?”
“Yes. You want to get yourself in a position where your opponent’s strengths are taken out of the equation as much as possible. Where you are strong and he is weak, essentially.” He pointed at the ground. “For that matter, if your uncle were as good on the ground as he’s on his feet, I would still want to get him down. There I have a chance, on our feet, he is too superior.”
Atissa considered his words. He had only explained a basic concept of grappling, but the girl seemed to be impressed with the underlying ideas.
Then her head snapped up. Before he could react, she grabbed his arm and pulled him off the trail.
Before he could ask what was going on, her hand covered his mouth, looking intently into his eyes. He immediately fell silent and gave her a small nod. Be quiet. I understand, he thought.
She nodded, taking the hand slowly away. Turning, she made a sign to follow her.
For the next couple of minutes, they slowly crept forward. Mark fought the urge to whisper a question. Maybe Atissa was hunting. Or there might be a danger, he couldn’t perceive. He was completely dependent on the underaged girl moving in front of him.
After, what felt like at least ten minutes of moving through undergrowth, Atissa stopped. She unslung her bag and lay flat, slowly crawling forwards on her forearms.
After a moment of hesitation, Mark imitated her, careful not to make any noises with his stick. Why didn’t I just throw the thing away, he thought.
Atissa had selected a spot with particularly thick underbrush. With his grown man’s body, Mark had a hard time following the girl. The uneasiness he felt robbing through the dirt almost exceeded his nervousness.
Finally, the girl stopped.
Without looking back, she signaled him to come up on her right.
When Mark caught up, Atissa put her finger on her lips before carefully parting the leaves in front of them enough to see.
Mark needed a moment to take in the scene in front of them.
Atissa had led them to a hill from which they could look out over a riverbank. He was not sure if it was the same one, they had recently passed, but it seemed broader here.
And there were people. Quite a lot of them. They were moving downstream, marching in a ragged line, two or three abreast.
As he observed them closely, Mark understood why Atissa was so careful. They were armed.
Not used to seeing such things outside of movies, it had taken him a moment to notice all the details. What he had taken for walking sticks at first glance, were spears. Each of them slightly longer than its carrier and with a yellowish tip. Bronze, Mark thought, confused.
Some of the spearmen carried shields, others had slung them on their backs. Interspersed with them were bowmen, carrying quivers on their hips or backs.
There were also a few short horses being used as pack animals.
Mark noticed Atissa’s hands moving. She appeared to be counting the men with the fingers of her left hand. Every time she reached five, she moved her right thump from one fingerbone to the next.
The method looked strange, and the girl seemed to struggle with it. Her eyes moved back and force between her fingers and the marching men below.
Mark turned his gaze back to the line of men, quickly counting them in his head.
When they had reached their current vantage point, the tip of the column had already turned around the next bend in the river. Mark touched Atissa’s shoulder, as the end came in sight.
“Eighty-two,” he whispered. “Plus however many passed before we came here.”
She looked at him surprised, before nodding.
Careful not to make any sound they crawled backward.
“Who was that?” Mark asked after they had put some distance between themselves and the river.
Atissa shook her head. “I don’t know. They are not from the valley.”
She seemed to be anxious, her eyes sweeping back and forth between the direction the column had marched and the ground in front of her feet.
It was unlike her.
These men clearly posed a danger, that was clear. But why was Atissa looking so distraught?
“The direction in which they are moving…where does the stream lead?” Mark asked carefully.
“It flows into the lake at Logger’s Home.”
Let’s not go there then, Mark thought.
“There was blood on them.”
“Hm?” Mark had not noticed that at the distance.
“If we hurry, we can overtake them,” Atissa said, sounding unsure. “We have to take a longer route to avoid them, but if we run we can make it.”
Now Mark felt anxious, too.
He had no idea where he was. He had lost all connection to the world he understood. And now he was asked to run into a dangerous situation. Forget dangerous. Life-threatening, he thought. These people are carrying God damn spears through the woods!
He had to stay calm. Assess the situation.
“What else?” he asked, watching the girl.
Atissa was clearly trying to control her fear. He just met her yesterday, but she struck him as a decisive, instinct-driven person. Let’s not get yourself hacked into pieces, rushing after a teenager, he thought.
Atissa shook her head. “The stream next to our house flows into this river. There is a path next to it.”
There it is, he thought, feeling an onset of relief.
“The one we walked on yesterday?” They would not miss that one. Even he would not.
“Yes.”
“Then we have to get back to your uncle and warn him,” he said.
Atissa looked up at him. What did her expression mean?
“Can’t you…stop them?” she asked, her eyes wandering to his right hand for some reason.
Mark looked down at the walking stick in his hand. The wood lay so smooth in his hand that he often forgot he was carrying the thing around.
“How would I do that?” he asked.
Atissa was clearly torn between warning the village, the troop's likely target, or making sure her uncle was safe.
She was a good person. And she needed a push.
But how do you best talk to a teenage hillbilly? Mark’s thoughts raced, assessing, and dismissing half a dozen approaches. He had never been good with teenagers. Anne was the best example of that.
“Chose your fights based on where you can succeed. If you try to help everybody and fail, you helped no one.” He spoke in a calm voice, trying to sound empathetic and genuine. “If we warn, the village, will they have time to organize a defense? I did not see any walls around the village. Will they be able to run away in time?”
He put his hand on Atissa’s shoulder, hoping it was a fitting gesture. She did not flinch. Was that a good sign?
Now let’s have some hope, he thought.
“Let us go back and warn Tatros,” he said, putting confidence in his voice. “He was a soldier, right? If anybody knows what to do in this situation, it should be him!”
As Atissa looked up, Mark watched determination return to her eyes. The girl clearly had great trust in her uncle.
“Ok,” she said.
Looks like I won’t get stabbed today, he thought. Hopefully.
“Lead the way!” he said, stepping aside.
And they ran. Mark had to work hard to keep up with Atissa. He wanted to curse his motivational speech. But he didn’t have the breath.
