Chương 14: The Backroads

The journey began much in the way it'd been promised by various stakeholders. That was to say, with silence and boredom. The carriage rolled through more grassy plains and more rolling hills. Soon, the scenery changed again to incorporate the vaunted salt flats. Vast expanses of ancient lakes, now dried up and packed with mineral crystals, so pristine as to look like white sand. Here, the carriage slowed considerably, as its experienced driver read and mapped the safest routes across the brittle surface.

Not that Jordan could see much of what was going on. The door on his side was a solid sheet of wood; Foxhill had expressly forbidden him from opening it while the carriage was in motion. As for Canyon on the other side, her door had a built-in sliding panel, acting as a window for her to do some sightseeing. And boy did she take advantage of it, head permanently turned away from Jordan and onto the outside world. Jordan had no right to complain, of course.

After all, he'd been the one to suggest that his companion pretend he wasn't even here. He had to content himself with whatever glimpse of the scenery filtered past the outline of Canyon's headwrap, scarf, and cloak. It was in the midst of this communal yet lopsided sightseeing that their eyes once more met. Canyon had straightened in her seat to retrieve something from her possessions, then noticed Jordan's half-lidded gaze.

She flashed him the briefest of an indignant glare, then went back to rummaging in her luggage. Jordan turned away, though not without his own prick of indignation. Why should I feel bad for trying to enjoy the view? Like, come on, I'm the foreigner here. He then continued to watch from the corner of his eye as Canyon pulled out what could only be described as a portable calligraphy set. The setup wasn't dissimilar to Sickle's sketch pad.

A board, sheets of paper, plus a brush pre-dipped in ink and capped by a bamboo sleeve. Jordan was fascinated by the contrivance, even as his heart went out to Stormvasters and their lack of a smartphone or even a physical notebook. As Jordan surreptitiously watched, Canyon's hand flowed smoothly over the paper. The task required that she expose her hand and wrist, revealing pale, almost translucent skin obviously untouched by the sun.

Yet another point for the theory that this grasslander wasn't exactly who she claimed to be. A curiosity to be sure, but Jordan chose not to dwell on it. He'd promised he wouldn't pry, and he liked to think he was a man of his word. He did continue to watch, however, drawn as he was to the woman's expert movements. Mom had tried to teach him calligraphy when he was little, only to give up after a handful of fruitless sessions.

What he wouldn't give to travel back in time and knock some sense into that restless brat! Tell him to cherish every moment he had with his loved ones; appreciate and grow from every learning opportunity. Oh, get off your high horse, he groused at himself. Given the way his life had turned out, it wasn't like he had a leg to stand on. Be that as it might, maybe this whole Vesselia business was his chance to make some amends. Be the person he'd once imagined himself to be…

before the illusion had shattered, along with his will to empty a cup faster than he could fill it. As Jordan lost himself in self-reflection, Canyon finished her work. She flapped the sheet of paper next to the window a few times, no doubt to air-dry it. She then folded it neatly and tucked it back into her luggage. Jordan very nearly opened his mouth then. He wanted to know what a Lv.

8 Chronicler would write about in the back of a horse-drawn carriage, as Featherift's salt flats rolled past a small wooden window. That opportunity too passed him by, as the two travelers settled back into their mutually agreed-upon silence. Despite Heron Catchgrain's ominous warnings, the first day of the journey passed without incident. As the sun began to set, Pathfinder Foxhill slowed the carriage along the shoreline of a salt flat. He then chose a patch of hard-packed dirt on which to set up camp.

This 'camp' too was a contrivance of sorts. A collapsible wall of wooden slats, which Foxhill [Manipulated] into a rigid semi-circle. This he covered over with more tarp for protection from the elements. The Pathfinder then had the decency to set out three hollowed-out tree stumps, to serve as chairs for himself and his two guests. The sun sank rapidly. It was time for sustenance. Drinking water came from a nearby brook, just slightly murky enough to challenge Jordan's modern sensibilities.

He was pleasantly surprised by the inoffensive taste, though he prayed that his Earthling gut biome would stand the test of alien germs. Food, of course, was Sarina's bread and yak cheese. Still plenty tasty after a whole day rolling around inside a bindle. Despite his hunger, Jordan took the time to ration his portions. No sense pigging out on Day 1, only to starve for the rest of the week. As he ate, he stole a glance at Canyon, genuinely curious what the pale-skinned 'grasslander' had brought to eat.

Mystifyingly enough, the answer appeared to be nothing. The woman merely sat brooding on her tree stump, seemingly lost to the world. Does she not need to eat or drink? Could it be that she's not human? Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Intelligence DC 6: success Fuxi:"Preposterous. A mortal may change her name or even her appearance, but she could never disguise her core nature. The evidence is right before your eyes, whether you choose to believe it or not."

Good old Fuxi. The quickest way to 'summon' them was to think up some fake news for them to dunk on. Jordan shook his head to dispel the thought, then concentrated on his humble bread. That was when Foxhill suddenly shot to his feet. The man stuck his face out of the tent, appearing to sniff the air. Then the gourd at his waist gave off a tell-tale rosy glow as he cast [Detect Life]. Without so much as a word of explanation, Foxhill picked up his longbow (still no arrows!) and stalked off into the night.

Jordan and Canyon exchanged a look, stopping short of exchanging words. The mystery didn't last long. Foxhill returned but a few minutes later, dragging a dead gazelle by its hind legs! The man took to humming a tune (an admittedly catchy one at that) as he field-dressed the gazelle and threw chunks of its meat into a boiling pot. Jordan watched every deft and practiced movement, glued again to a display of confident expertise. Soon, the air filled with a gamey yet savory aroma.

Foxhill allowed the meat to simmer for upwards of an hour. In the meantime, he went through a whole album worth of humming, stopping only to take a few swigs from a second gourd —filled with liquor rather than mana, judging by the smell. In all honesty, Jordan quite enjoyed the show. Especially the humming. The man possessed obvious musical talent, rattling off track after track of soulful tunes, at once hauntingly alien yet achingly familiar to Jordan's Earthling ears.

He wanted to hear more, which was why he was genuinely disappointed to see Foxhill stop his humming and start in on his meal. The disappointment soon turned to a kind of pitiful yearning as Jordan realized…

"You… you're not sharing?"

"Eh?" Foxhill looked up from his bowl of gazelle soup. He seemed genuinely surprised by the question.

"Well, no, I didn't plan on it, Mister. Seeing as how I did… well, literally all the work."

"Well, I'm sure we would've helped if you'd only… no, never mind. You're right. Go ahead and enjoy your meal." Jordan sank into his tree stump, feeling more dejected than he had any right to. Foxhill resumed his chewing and slurping, but he had to stop again in short order… as someone else's stomach chose this moment to rumble, long and loud. Both men turned to Canyon in unison. The woman blushed furiously through her rectangle, looking 'sunburnt' for the first time now that night had fallen.

She too sank into her tree stump, perhaps in an effort to make herself disappear. Jordan resisted his urge to laugh. Across the simmering pot, Foxhill let out a loud tsk.

"Oh, go on then, Miss and Mister. Have yourselves a bowl each, but no more than that, y'hear? I've been driving our party all day, and I need all the fuel I can get." No argument there. Jordan happily accepted a bowl from a grumbling Foxhill. He was rewarded for his temerity with the most delicious meal this side of Old Sar's mutton broth. As for Canyon, she did make a show of hesitating, but not with any real conviction.

She lowered her scarf for the first time, revealing a porcelain face (an admittedly pretty one at that) still tinged with the pink of embarrassment. Then that same pink warmed into a flush of well-nourished heat as she dug into her bowl. The trio sat in contented silence after their shared meal. Foxhill picked at his teeth with a piece of splintered wood. Canyon had covered her face again and closed her eyes, looking like she might doze off at any moment.

As for Jordan, he merely soaked in the moment, basking in a now familiar glow. Foxhill was the first to jump back into action; the man seemed incapable of staying still. He went to a compartment in the back of the cabin, from which he pulled out a stringed instrument of some description. The thing featured two strings, a trapezoid sound box, and an elegant scroll carved into the shape of a horse's head.

"It's a horsehead fiddle," Foxhill explained to a gawking Jordan.

"Named exactly what it looks like, eh? Bet you don't have these where you come from." Jordan shook his head, sufficiently enthralled. Foxhill then produced a bow of a different kind, lightly caressing the fiddle while tuning its strings. This went on for a while, until he began to hum again.

"Aren't you going to play something?" Jordan asked with genuine anticipation.

"Out here? What, you want me to make enough noise to draw out the critters? Nah. I just like fondling my sweetheart before going to bed is all. Bahahah!" Despite his (needlessly suggestive) words, Foxhill continued to gaze at the fiddle wistfully. You can't fool me, Jordan thought, you're badly itching to play that thing. And I just happen to be hankering for some good music. Foxhill has pulled out a horsehead fiddle but refuses to play it, citing safety concerns. Will you … 1) Listen to the expert.

After all, what are you paying him for if not to get you to the city in one piece? 2) [Strength DC 5 (Very Easy)] Nonsense! What's an adventure without some risk and reward? Besides, when else will you get to experience something like this? [Favorable: STR modifier (+2). Dude clearly wants to play (+2). The vibes right now are, like, really chill (+2).] [Adverse: [Doom Spiral (Lv. 1)] (-1).] DC of 5, with a combined +5 in bonuses? That's a guaranteed success unless I up and roll a nat 1!

Another easy check to put me one success away from getting rid of [Doom Spiral]. Hmm… Was it even a real choice? Out in the wilderness of a foreign land, full on gazelle soup, sitting in a cozy triangle with a rugged Pathfinder and a pretty Chronicler… If not now, then when? Jordan decided to roll the dice.