Ruskin started whining and lay on his belly, one paw over an eye. Riley stopped on the path and stared at the little dog.
“It seems like he doesn’t like Fairfield,” suggested Lissie.
Alexander took a deep breath before picking up his companion, and whispered something to him. He wrapped his arm under Ruskin’s middle, and carried him like a satchel. “Fairfield is south of Midgat. We made our way through after our release.”
Cora said with excitement, “I loved going to Fairfield when I was a child. Mother and I would take our carriages up for the harvest festival. I still dream about that strudel.”
Alexander assumed the melodious tone he had for the previous story.
“Fairfield. The breadbasket of the kingdom. The land of amber waves. I nearly starved to death there.” Riley looked at him and his face told her it was not a joke.
“You see, the gaolers released me from the prison in Midgat. They had not taken any of my belongings. Not even my silver. So I set forth from the Duke’s castle well appointed. I changed all of my money for food. I made my way south through those hard, cold lands. The journey out of Midgat was as terrifying as it was uneventful. It is not a land I wish to see again without a horse beneath me.
“It is not a large duchy, but the mountains stretch into the sky and the valleys touch hell itself. Ruskin and I did our best, but by the time we reached the border, I was trapping food. There is food to be trapped in Midgat.
“In the early spring, there is no food in Fairfield. They do not grow things that raise up during the winter. They sow only wheat. The Grain Barons would have it no other way. As we fell into the fields, there was only brown corrugated earth as far as the eye could see.”
Riley looked at Cora.
She isn’t combing her hair anymore.
“The company stops in Fairfield, but not in the north. There are no cities there. There are no people. The land gets harvested and tilled every year. It is left with seed wheat over the winter. The workers travel south. When they return, they do so in moving towns. Much like the Ellium. So I walked.
“I knew if I could reach the Band, I could fish. I was still many miles away, as I came in from the foothills. The first night, I finished the last rabbit. The final morsel going to Ruskin. I walked. I walked straight through the furrows, there was no path. I weakened. I was exhausted. By the second day in the furrows, we had no water left.
“There was no shade. There was no cover. I tried to follow the sun. The wind blew freely over the flat ground, whipping up dust into our eyes. By the fourth day I was nearly crawling. Blessedly it rained, and I lay on my back with my hands cupped before me, that Ruskin could drink.”
Cora tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off and continued his story.
“It was everything I could do to stand up again when the rain stopped. I had to carry Ruskin, and his skin was thin over his ribs. It hurt me to feel him that way, more than my own hunger. I kept thinking I should have gone east, and went toward Kaldenval.
“One foot in front of the other, just like today. I stumbled my way forward. The sun went down. I curled into a ball around Ruskin and I wondered if I would wake up. I slept with his tiny shivering body against my chest.
“I am not a devout man. I have traveled too much to believe in only six gods. But I prayed. I prayed to each of them in turn, and to every other god whose name I have ever heard. I prayed to the wind, and to the sun, and to the earth.
“When I awoke the next day, I was in shade. A tiny hand was on my shoulder. And a tiny voice asked ‘Are you dead, mister?’ There was no sweeter sound I’d ever heard.
“‘No child, I live yet.’ I ventured him a skeleton’s smile. The boy was no more than four.
“‘What are you doing sleeping in a field?,’ he asked me in his piccolo voice.
“I laughed and tried to make my way to my feet. The child could not help. On hands and knees, I asked him, ‘I’m hurt. Are your parents around?’
“‘Gran says my parents are in the sky,’ the boy said it as though it brokered no argument.
“‘It must be beautiful there,’ I said, and collapsed onto my stomach. ‘Is your gran around?’
“‘Gran’s in the cabin, but she don’t wake up. I went to look for help,’ the boy said. If I had water in me for tears, I would have cried looking in his brown eyes.”
Riley thought of the water falling from her hands before the old woman by the spring.
“’How far away is the cabin,’ I asked.
“‘I been walking for two days. It’s on the river. I would have taken the boat!’ The boy’s eyes shone, then darkened. ‘But I didn’t know how.’
“I forced myself to my feet. My legs trembled and I took his tiny hand in mine. Together we made our way west.
“There was a new strength in me. Strength enough to tell stories, at least. I recited my favorite of the children’s plays, ‘The Forester’s Bunny’ and ‘Miss Bonnatella’ line for line as we walked. He enjoyed the scene with the goats. The boy and I took turns carrying Ruskin. I learned his name was Tawn.
“He told me about how good his gran was at catching fish and weaving blankets. He told me about her goats, and how sad he was to leave them behind. They wouldn’t follow him. I would be lying if I said my mind was on anything but milk when I heard those words.
“It was only another day and a half when the field fell away. I could smell and hear the wet lively water before I could see it. It smelled like salvation. I fell at the bank and drank. The boy chastised me, saying that his gran told him to only drink river water if it’s been boiled.
“We followed the bank down another half day before reaching the cabin. It was a tiny thing. A pen for goats, a small garden, a skiff for fishing. It was a palace.
“Tawn led me inside to his gran’s bed. The woman was a hundred if she was a day. It may have just been the time sitting, though. I wept with Tawn. I wept into the basin of goats’ milk. I wept over the dried fish. I told Tawn his gran was in the sky now.
“‘She’s right there, in her bed!’ Tawn’s logic was irrefutable. I thought of what I knew of children and spirituality. A night and a day I spent in that house with her. That was how long it took to gather the strength to bury her.
“I told Tawn, ‘You should say a few words. Tell her goodbye.’
“The tiny creature gathered his thoughts and said, ‘You’re a great gran. I’ll have to go, now. But I’ll come back to see you. Tell ma and da that I love them. I love you. I’ll miss you.’ He laid a crocus on the grave.
“We gathered all the food we could and loaded it into the skiff. The Bandinette would take us south.
“We saw no one on the bank until dockworkers at Terndowns Castle tossed me a rope.”
Lissie wiped a tear from her eye.
Cora sounded shocked when she said, “I thought it was going to be funny, like your other story.”
“Life doesn’t always write you a comedy,” Alexander replied.