1. THE HARVEST (part 1.)

ENTERING the small piece of land that bore the closest resemblance

to the outside forest, Isaiah saw the sun rising behind the taller pine

trees, surrounding both the insides and outsides of the rusty-colored,

northwest wall. He stared at the ground where he had planted his

seed a year earlier. Certain it had been exactly a year, for it was day

three, which happened to be his eighteenth birthday. With no major

seasonal changes in central Araktéa, these were things you had to

keep close track of, if of any interest to you. He’d personally done so by

carving the wall underneath his bed every morning since coming to

the Huxley fortress. Not because he thought the third to be any more

special than the other days making up a year. It seemed every day

was somebody’s birthday after all, and seen away from the lords, the

sirs, patrons, and other great men – celebrating theirs as if they’d been

miraculous godly events – Isaiah thought all of them quite similar. It

was rather due to his seeding he bothered keeping track. This, as well

as his wall carvings, he’d kept to himself of course, for although it was

nothing like the pagan rituals that’d been banned from the fortress,

the line between what was permi'ed and not, seemed to be in an

ever-changing flux.

The ritual itself was a simple one. Last year’s seed had been given to

him by Lady Huxley’s gardener, and whether he’d been kind enough

to spare or smuggle it out for him, Isaiah was not certain of. In normal circumstances,

his grandfather would have gifted him one on the

morning of his birthday. They would go to their garden and he would

ask a question as he planted it. It was a good training of his patience,

as he’d then need to wait a whole year before observing its response.

He’d always considered it an intelligent way of celebrating, having

been taught there were few things more precious than having your

questions answered. It was for this reason that the art of asking the

right ones was something every person should strive for – a skill that

saddened him to see, most people did not acquire in the slightest.

In his life, he’d never had any doubt about the accuracy of a plants’

answer. He was of course well aware a plant could not talk – such

nonsense was a thing of village lore. Instead, there were ways to

interpret them, ways they could tell you things that only nature itself

could know with certainty. Leaving behind his expectations while

going through the process was perhaps the most challenging part.

Because of his grandfather’s botany book he normally knew what

kind of plant the seed would grow up to be – sometimes making him

overly hopeful. The Lady’s gardener had no books of the sort and had

only given him a strange, foreign name he’d never heard of and had

forgo'en soon after. And so, he had not imagined anything during last

year’s seeding or expected it to blossom into some lush, colorful

flower. It wasn’t about a plant’s beauty after all, but how it grew

according to its own nature. Just as his grandfather always said, “A

rose is no more precious than a corpse flower. Both have their place, and both have

theirsays.” Thus far their ‘says’, or perhaps his interpretations of them,

had never turned out to be untrue. No seed had ever failed to respond,

and yet, there he was, now a grown man, standing on the very same

ground he had a year before and it was no less flat.

The climate was different and more unpredictable in the Nahbí

region, and so he’d suspected that quite possibly, whatever it was,

wouldn’t fully blossom within a year like seeds did at home. He’d

thought he'd need to give it a few more weeks for a clear answer, but

the fact that the seed had not left as much as the tiniest of sprouts for

him, was something he had not prepared for. For a moment he

considered if he’d gone to the wrong place, or that someone had

perhaps seen it from afar and foolishly gifted it to some woman they

fancied. After digging his fingers into the cold dirt, both hopes were fancied.

After digging his fingers into the cold dirt, both hopes were

soon disconfirmed. The seed was exactly where he’d left it – two

inches underground, three steps away from the surrounding oaks

that’d been shedding orange and yellow leaves around themselves,

making the area almost look pre'y for once.

“There will be no answers this year.” Isaiah thought, observing it

as it laid heavy in his palm. On any other birthday, this would have

been a disappointment. An annoyance that might have left him

mu'ering in the garden for half a day, before finally coming to terms

with reality, and choosing a new and more relevant question to ask

for their next seeding. But last year’s question had been the most

important one he’d ever asked and not one he’d made out of curiosity

(a luxurious and juvenile emotion he could no longer afford). “I need to

know!” He moaned. Giving the ground a childlike kick. Crisp leaves

lazily lifted, then fell back down whilst some crow mocked him from

afar. Slightly embarrassed by his tantrum, he looked around to

reassure himself nobody was watching.

Studying the seed more closely, he wondered if it was dead but

found no signs of damage to it. It was bigger than any other seed he’d

planted, and so he’d had a hope it would perhaps grow up to be

something he’d never seen before. For a moment he considered

planting it elsewhere that might be slightly sunnier, but quickly

concluded it pointless. The earth was perhaps not fertile enough to

nurture it, and besides, he had not taken the time to think of a new

question for this year’s seeding. His plan had been to be gone long

before. By then he would want to be home - home in Delta, where

everything grew effortlessly and where you didn’t need to worry

about anyone stealing your plants, or for the soil not to do what soil

was meant to do. And so, still hassled, he threw the seed away and

marched over to the fields, where more reliable things grew.

It was as silent as ever and slightly chiller than it’d been for the past

weeks. Still, he pulled off his woolen sweater, as its itch seemed

particularly eager to torment him. The only wind meeting his arms

was the one made by his own movement, and he noticed his

temperature rising strangely. Finally, he stopped somewhere right in

the middle of the fields for no particular reason. Squa'ing down, the

smell of smoke from the clay oven placed on the courtyard right next to

the main building, and the steep ladder that led to its bell tower

reached his nostrils. Some two hundred yards east he could see there

was still an hour left before it would ring, signaling the time for

breakfast. For now, it was only him out there, and seven gray-clothed

women flocking around the oven, with huge pots to serve the late

risers. As usual, he’d been the first to have his breakfast. It’d been the

same porridge they’d been serving for the past moon span or so. A

li'le too sweet for his taste, but edible still, and enough to keep him

fueled for a few hours of labor.

For his daily chore, he’d brought his smallest spade with him, as

well as three, Hessian sacks that were to be filled within the day. More

than usual, he wanted it done quickly, but before even having pulled

the first potato out of its obscure misery, he heard panting. Looking

up, he noticed two, large dogs standing a couple of feet away and

lurched backwards. One light and one dark, both gray and fiercely

yellow eyed. He’d seen them many times – walking around unbound –

and he’d been very relieved that they’d never paid him much

a'ention. Now, they were glaring straight at him, and he was about

to panic, although their gazes flickered with something more

resembling expectation than blood thirst.

“Good morning.” A man’s voice said, and once again he was

startled, until he noticed Archilai’s slender figure approaching. His

shadow laid long behind his impressive height, making him easier

than most to recognize from afar. Isaiah had previously estimated

that he had to be sixty or older, though his large, silver beard and

bushy eyebrows did well in concealing what might either be signs of

age or youth.

“Hello.” He responded, his voice thin and revealing. The two of

them usually didn’t converse, and so, even if they were the only ones

in the fields just then, it seemed strange he would greet him. Had it not

been for the dogs he needed rescue from, interacting with anyone

would have seemed especially troublesome just then.

“Hope these fine beasts didn’t startle you, boy. Violet, Dusk, come

on here!” His panic dissolving, Isaiah realized he shouldn’t be

surprised as the dogs often seem to be following Archilai around. He’d

warned the children about them numerous times and on many

occasions had to stop them from pulling their tails, ears, and whatever

limbs they could grab a hold of. The children in the fortress,

he’d decided, were often very foolish and their parents seemingly

incompetent in changing this fact.

“They weren’t.” He assured him, relieved as Violet and Dusk obeyed

and turned their vicious eyes towards a stick that Archilai waved

around. He threw it across the field with an impressive range for

someone so scrawny looking. Grinned as they ran, before looking

down at him under the wide, stray hat (covering an otherwise bald

head).

“I guess it’s me then. You’d prefer to be alone, lad?” He was quick to

say, grinning even wider as he noticed the boy’s rosy cheeks flaring

red. A tendency he’d observed on more than one occasion already.

“No... that’s alright. There is more than enough space here.” Isaiah

tried, surprised by his bluntness.

“Worry not, I won’t bother you for long. Tomorrow you’ll have all

these roots for yourself – well, at least for the early hours.” Isaiah

glimpsed at him, wondering if he’d sincerely come with the intention

of bothering him, or if he’d a'empted to make a joke.

“I am not bothered.” He said and started digging again as Archilai

took a step closer.

“No? Well, don’t you wish to break free, lad?” He asked, glaring

straight at the sun that had started rising higher behind the boy’s

back. Where the dogs chased each other in giant, joyous circles. There

was still some beauty left in this place.

“Don’t we all...” Isaiah responded absentmindedly as he placed the

first potatoes in his sack.

“Oh, I doubt that. But I’m asking you.” The young boy sighed and

Archilai noticed the tension in his arms and shoulders that seemed to

have grown much wider and harder this past year.

“Of course I do.” He said. Escaping, he’d noticed, was a topic spoken

of quite consistently and a'empted quite rarely. Yet, there was a

certain edge in Archilai’s tone, almost suggesting he was being

serious.

“It appears to me, you’re a clever and strong young man. Why don’t

you?”

“For all you know, I might be planning to.”

“Oh. So, you do have a plan? That’s terrific!” he said, with an

enthusiasm that made his accent more evident than usual.

“Quite possibly.” Isaiah answered as plainly as he could, pulling

another potato from the ground. Placing it in the sack. “Leave me

alone.” He thought, suddenly grossly aware of how his undershirt had

already started clinging to his back.

“Well lad, won’t you tell me about it, then?”

“For obvious reasons, I cannot, but I assume you will know soon

enough – once I’m gone.” It was the first time he’d even indicated that

he had an escape plan, and he instantly felt himself regre'ing it. Not

knowing Archilai very well, and still preoccupied with the

unsuccessful seeding, he was in no mood to contemplate on his

crumbling agenda.

“If I was the one assuming here...” the bearded man began,

cleansing his throat and leaning towards a tall spade that looked like

it would be of no good use out there, “I’d say you’re waiting for the

event that is to happen in ten days’ time. If this were the case, I’d tell

you ge'ing through the northern gates won’t be a good option unless

you’ve come up with a very clever scheme, as they’ve planned on

having more guards this year.” Isaiah paused for a moment, his

stomach twisting even tighter than it had whilst facing the dogs. He

then resumed, trying his best to keep up the same, casual

disengagement, as he asked, “Has anyone a'empted this before?”

“Of course. Quite a few actually, which I guess is why they’re being

more cautious this time.” Had he made a greater effort to look for a

bright side that day, it would’ve been the fact that he’d just received

the answer to his question – a loud, and terribly clear, no. It was after

overhearing how drunk and sloppy the guards tended to be during

this particular event, he’d decided to ask the seed if he’d be able to

escape that night - without ge'ing caught. Asking this, he’d almost

sensed his grandfather sighing and shaking his head at him. “Limiting

questions will bring you nothing but limiting answers.” He knew it

was true, but with the limitations of his particular circumstances it

had seemed inevitable. Simply asking if it was possible for him to

escape wouldn’t tell him when, and he already knew some captives

succeeded on occasion, just to be taken by the Kadoshi and brought

back shortly after. He guessed he should feel happy for the ones who’d

go'en out before him, but he wasn’t. Not even in the slightest, and

even less so for the ones who’d been sluggish.

* * *