The end of the watery trail through the trees squelched with mud. Alexander sat in the boat, pushing against the shallow bottom with the oar. The silt and reeds were not firm, so he swept them down with the face of the oar to create a surface.
Riley tugged on the bow. She was up to her knees in the sucking quagmire. The sunlight blinded him. Her shirt clung to her, though they ran out of water yesterday. The air rang with cicadas and frogs. Not the polite, tweeting frogs of Ariland, or the low rumbling ones of Switforst. These frogs chirped, harmonized into a cacophony.
Alexander pushed, twisting his body against the oar. He turned, and saw Riley stumble. He laughed but there was no sound. He wondered how the contortion of his face would look without the comfort of a chuckle. He shut his mouth and pushed harder.
His breath came warm and humid. Ruskin stood on the shore, tail wagging. His black and white fur stood in brown spikes down his body, stiff with mud. Alexander moved his hand and Ruskin barked.
At least the dog can talk.
Riley said, “Turn it right.”
Alexander moved.
“No, my right.”
He moved the other way.
She heaved again and Alexander stepped up to his hips in tepid water with a heavy sigh. The weeds tickled his ankles.
The boat lifted over her shoulder and she launched it onto the grass. “Are we in Gallia or Ariland?”
Alexander looked around. The edge of the Broken Swamp meandered through both lands. He shrugged.
We will find out soon enough.
She started walking east.
Alexander rushed to keep up.
Ruskin weaved between their legs. The ground made loud squelching sounds under their feet in time with the jingling of Alexander’s pack. The little dog bounded through the tall grass.
“I always wondered why you cared to follow us to hell and back. It was time one of us found out the truth.” Riley did not turn her head to look at him as she spoke.
I wanted to fix it.
She turned and asked, “Nothing to say, bard?”
He opened his mouth and tried to speak. Nothing. His jaw and lips worked, his lungs worked, but the words vanished in his throat.
“Say nothing you would not sell your life for. You have wagered your life on that truth before. Maybe it’s for the best you can’t talk.” Riley seemed to be speaking to herself now.
They walked east into the rising sun. The swamp gave way to fields. This could have been Ariland or Gallia. Alexander scanned the horizon for signs of habitation.
Winter doesn’t matter to a swamp. We just need to go farther and we will know where we are.
The silence was deafening. Grasshoppers, dragonflies buzzing. He wanted Riley to speak, better, to sing. Anything but this incriminating silence.
She did not break the tension. He couldn’t. He tried whistling. The notes died in his mouth.
That’s not fair! I wonder if I can play an instrument.
He started searching his packs for a hand pipe. She didn’t stop with him. She just kept walking. He found a small pan flute and threw his pack back on. Alexander ran to catch up with her.
How dreary to be unheard for my first test of this enchantment.
He grabbed her shoulder and pointed at the pipes.
He put his lips to the pipe and blew. Nothing. He handed them to her.
She scowled and wiped them off on her muddy shirt.
Alexander rolled his eyes and ushered her to try.
Riley blew three harsh notes.
He snatched them back and blew. He put his heart and desperation into the performance.
Nothing.
I wonder if it would hold true for drums. Or a gong.
Riley gave him a look that might have been pity. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? We could have told Maribelle. She may have been able to…” Riley trailed off and waved her hands. “I don’t know. Something.”
Hearing Lady Maribelle’s name made his ears hot.
“Yes, your shame. Your embarrassment. Perfectly valid reason for covering up a war crime.” She turned and put her hand on the hilt of her sword. “I should probably kill you.” Riley turned and swept her off hand at Ruskin. “But then, who would take care of your dog?”
Two more hours of walking and they saw people. They attacked the soil with hoes, digging up a stump. They did not look like Arilanders. Their house was made of wood, for one.
We are further south than I thought we were.
The strangers waved. Alexander waved back and smiled.
They approached and Riley greeted them in Kaldenian. The old man leaned on his hoe. He replied in Gallian.
“I remember some.” Riley whispered to Alexander. “I really wish you weren’t mute.”
She tried to ask directions to the Commerce Road. She did not remember the word for ‘Commerce’ apparently, because she asked where the Road of the Gossiping Woman was. Alexander also wanted to know where that road was. He’d had good luck with gossiping women in the past.
The old man gave her a long look. He turned and went into his house. When he came back, his wife was on his arm. He pointed at her and laughed.
Riley looked at Alexander.
There is no way to explain to you how funny this is. Wait!
He started digging in his packs. They stole his voice, but what would a banshee want with writing?
You can’t perform writing, you can’t listen to writing.
His fingers shot through balls of twine and spools of wire before they landed on a pencil.
Paper paper paper…
He found a single piece. It was crumpled. He smoothed it on his muddy thigh.
He wrote in Gallian, ‘Where is the Commerce Road?’ Alexander handed it to the old woman.
She slapped her husband’s shoulder.
She must have figured out the pun.