hadn’t thought that there would be a working farm here. The capital stretched out its arms, but those outside its reach were prey to whoever came along. There were enough bandits and thieves in the world that a place like this shouldn’t have lasted long alone, even though it technically sat within the boundaries of the kingdom. Yet here it was. The smell of smoked meat came to him on the breeze and Jack felt his mouth watering.
Was this an oasis, or simply the next part of what he had to do? He’d been running automatically, without a plan or even real thought, but perhaps this was about more than that. At the very least, it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Jack started to make his way towards the farm.
“Hello there!” he called out as he came closer. “Is there anybody home?”
The fire said that there was, but it was better to call out. Better to approach openly, rather than risk looking like he was trying to sneak in to steal from the place. If it had survived out here with nothing around it, presumably those within were capable of protecting themselves. Either that, or they’d been lucky in a way that people didn’t have a right to be.
“Says the man who crawled out of a cave full of the dead,” Jack muttered to himself as he got closer. He held the sword by the scabbard in his left hand, well away from his body. It was better to let anyone within see that he had it. Let them see that he could protect himself, but that he wasn’t trying to hide anything.
When the door swung open, he wasn’t expecting the combination of people who stood there. In a place like this, he’d been expecting strong young men, used to the backbreaking work of the farm, certainly coming out first when there was a man like him approaching. Instead, an old man and a younger woman came out onto the porch of the house.
The man had probably been strong once. In his youth, he might even have been in the royal army, judging by the way he held himself. But age had chipped away at him, shrinking his skin around his muscles while adding folds and lines around his face. His beard was broad enough that it was hard to get much of a sense of the man beneath, but the eyes there were intelligent, darting this way and that as they took everything in, obviously checking for an ambush.
Although how Jack knew what that looked like was anyone’s guess.
The woman’s eyes were hostile, which was a problem given that she was holding a loaded crossbow, the bolt unwavering as she pointed it straight at Jack. She looked like she was only looking for an excuse to pull the trigger, and worse, she looked nervous. An angry person might have shot Jack eventually. A nervous person might do it by accident.
Jack knew that his best option was to talk, and talk quickly. “I’m not here for trouble.”
“Then maybe you should move on,” the woman said. Her voice would have sounded pretty, but for the hard edge to it as she continued to keep the crossbow trained on Jack.
“Dahlia,” the old man said, “that’s no way to talk to someone.”
“I’m just here looking for food and shelter,” Jack said. “I don’t know what you’re doing out here, but I’d be a fool to think I could try anything stupid.”
“Yes,” the woman, Dahlia, agreed. “You would.”
“Dahlia,” the old man repeated with a warning note in his voice. He turned to Jack, stepping between him and the crossbow. “You look like you’ve come a long way. I’m Henry, and this is my daughter, Dahlia.”
“Jack,” Jack said, because he didn’t have any more than that to give them.
“Just Jack?” Dahlia asked. She’d moved around her father now. The crossbow wasn’t pointing at Jack anymore, but it was obvious that she could bring it right back up again if she needed to.
Jack shrugged. “That’s all I remember.”
“And your sword?” Henry asked.
All Jack could do was shrug again. “It’s just a sword. I’m really just here for food and shelter. And a horse, if you have one to spare. I need to get to the border as quickly as possible.”
“Oh, is that all you-” Dahlia began, but Henry raised a hand to stop her.
“You’d best come inside then, Jack, and have something to eat,” Henry said. He walked back inside as though there was nothing further to say on the matter. Dahlia watched him go in with obvious incredulity, but she followed a second later.
The door sat open in front of Jack, the invitation clear. He made his way towards it, and as he did so he found himself wondering what kind of man he was. There were men in this world, he knew, who would take advantage of an offer like this. Who, once they were close enough to knock the crossbow from the woman’s hands, would take what they wanted, from her and the farm. Who would probably kill both her and her father, leaving nothing in their wake but blood, emptiness, and one more burnt out farm.
Even thinking that disgusted Jack. What kind of man was he that he could think about something like that as if it were obvious? But then, it was obvious, because that was the world they occupied. Just as it was obvious that he was disgusted by it, and he wasn’t going to do anything there but eat.
“At least I know that much about myself,” Jack said. It wasn’t much of a start, but it was something.
He stepped into the house. It wasn’t in much better repair on the inside than the outside. It had the look of a place that had once been loved and well cared for, but now had seen a few too many seasons with no repairs. It seemed obvious that the old man and his daughter had done their best, but that there was only so much they could do as the years closed in on Henry.
Even so, it was comfortable in there. The wooden walls were hung with pictures sketched in charcoal, while there were rugs on the floor in bright colors. All of the furniture looked like it had been made by hand, probably a long time ago. A large table dominated the room, sitting in front of a fire on which a pot sat bubbling. Dahlia put a bowl of thick brown stew down on the table with bad grace. Her father sat at the table, opposite that spot, while Dahlia moved away a little. Still close enough to listen in though, Jack noted.
“Sit,” Henry said. “Eat.”
Jack didn’t need a second invitation, sitting and picking up the wooden spoon that went with the stew. A vague memory flickered inside him, a flash of silver. No, holding something silver. He’d been sitting somewhere, a silver spoon in his hand, eating… no, it was gone again as quickly as it had come.
“I’ve seen that look in the mirror,” Henry said. “Usually around the time I’ve walked into a room and can’t remember why. You were serious before? About not remembering more than your name?”
Jack nodded, but by then he was too busy eating to say anything. Another man would have been warier. Would have demanded a different bowl taken from the pot while he watched, but the truth was that he was too hungry to care. And anyway, there was a part of him that wanted to trust these two. He ate… well, like a man who hadn’t eaten properly since starting his flight from the capital, what seemed like an eternity ago.
“He’s lying,” Dahlia said from the other side of the room. “Look at him. Look at that sword. It’s obvious that he’s a deserter.”
“About as obvious as your lack of manners today, Dahlia,” Henry said.
She fell silent.
“You might be right,” Jack said between mouthfuls. “I might be a deserter. I think…” it was hard to grasp at the memories.
“Don’t think too hard,” Henry advised. “With something like this, trying to force things won’t help. It might even make things worse. Sometimes, all you can do is be patient.”
“And sometimes it’s better not to be,” his daughter insisted. “Not if you want things to change.”
That had the feel of an old, well-worn argument to Jack. At least, neither of them kept going with it, as though they knew that doing so would only make things worse