Chapter Two: The Broken Moon

 

Chapter Two: Broken Moon

“There is no way to fix the moon,” Rowen dismissively replied. “Do you take me for a fool, Marshal? That I would take this hogwash as anything other than a trick to get me back in chains? No Marshal, I’ll not spend what little time we have rotting away in some rank prison or swinging from a noose.”

    The Marshal trembled as he stepped backed against the rail. “President Sebastian—”

    “—Is a fiend, and if he were here, I’d throw his body over the cliff, too. The only difference is, I’d climb down there afterwards to piss on it.”

    “He signed a treaty with the separatists.”

    Rowen stopped and gave Timar an intrigued grin. “As in, a peace treaty?”

    “He did,” the Marshal nodded.

    “Why?”  Rowen asked, taking a step closer.

    Mindful his next words might well determine his fate, Marshal Jericus Verdinar chose them carefully. “I didn’t hear the full terms, but rumors say he offered them full autonomy over the Westerlies and representation at the High Council.” The Marshal took a second to let the information sink in.

    “They’ve been fighting for decades,” Timar remarked.

    “It’s all lies,” Rowen rebuked, though a hint of self-doubt crept into his tone.

    The Marshal gripped the rails tight. “If the separatists and President Sebastian were able to come to an agreement, it doesn’t seem so farfetched that we can as well.”

    “What do they want me for, again?” Rowen asked, taking a small movement away from the Marshal as he breathed a sigh of relief.

    “You were there. Weren’t you? When it all happened,” replied the Marshal. “At least they say you were.”

    “That was a very, very, long time ago,” Rowen replied.

    The door opened and Lilara stuck her head out, breaking the tension. “Dinner’s ready. There’s enough for everyone if you’re all hungry.”

    “Thank you, dear. We’ll be up in a minute,” Timar replied as Lilara disappeared.

    Rowen stared silently at the Marshal, deliberating whether or not to throw him off the cliff. With a subtle grin, he removed the Marshal’s hat from his head, handing it back. “When do we leave?”

    The three men, Lilara and little Jijanne huddled around the table, taking sips of stew from the wooden bowls as Timar explained things to his wife and granddaughter.

    “Oh my,” Lilara gasped upon hearing the news. “Oh Timar, if it’s true—”

    “—I know… I know…” Timar replied, patting Jijanne on the head.

    “I still have my doubts,” said Rowen, “but for Jijanne’s sake…”

    “Is the sheriff gonna fix the moon?” Jijanne asked. “How did it get broke?”

    The adults all looked to Timar as he softly smiled. “Well, dear. A long time ago…” He paused, turning to Rowen.

    “It was knocked out of the sky, little one,” Rowen answered.

    “But how?” the little girl persisted.

    Rowen gave a frown that melted into a subtle smile. “Well…

    “I’m going with them,” Timar blurted out to Lilara.

    “What?” his wife replied, aghast.

    “—At least to Thressia. At least that far.”

    The Marshal balked. “It’s quite a journey to Thressia, sir. I assure you, it’s not necessary.”

    “Timar Nelson Randalas!” Lilara stammered. “I forbid you to go.”

    “I have to know,” he answered. “I’m sorry. I cannot sit here, waiting. Wondering if this was real or not.”

    Rowen reached over, placing his hand over Timar’s and gave his friend a shake of the head. “You’re seventy years old.”

    “I’m old, Rowen,” Timar nodded. “I’m not crippled.”

    “No, no, no,” Lilara protested. “You can’t. You can’t leave us here. If something were to happen—”

    “—Nothing would happen to him,” Rowen sighed with assurance. “I’ll keep him safe, Lily.”

    Rather than thanking him, Lilara seethed. “We let you in our home…”

    “And if this is indeed a ploy to entrap me, Timar will find out. And upon his safe return, you will learn of it. And the two of you can plan the remainder of your days rather than be upended by false hopes when the end truly comes.

    “I assure you, this is no ploy,” the Marshal replied, slurping the last of his stew.

    “That remains to be seen,” Rowen replied skeptically. “Rest assured, Marshal, if you are indeed lying to me, I’ll…” He stopped realizing he had Jijanne’s full attention. “…I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”

    A short time after the meal, Timar packed a small bag of belongings for the journey. Rowen brought nothing more than the clothes on his back and a peculiar glass dagger with an ornate hilt forged from braided strands of steel, demonstrating its sharpness to the Marshal against a strand of burlap, as a warning.

    “Would that not break against armor?” asked the Marshal.

    “Hmm,” Rowen grinned. “Would you like to find out? Are you wearing any?”

    The Marshal bristled as Timar and Lilara said their goodbyes.

    “It’s about five days to get there,” said Timar. “I’ll hitch a ride with a trader on the way back.”

    “Promise me you'll be careful,” she pleaded. “Promise…”

    Timar brought her hands together and kissed them softly. “I promise…”

    “Is Pipaw going to help them fix the moon?” Jijanne asked with wide eyes.

    “No… He’s absolutely not…” Lilara answered the girl, making no effort to hide her displeasure.

    As Timar slung his pack over his shoulders, Rowen jerked it away from him, fastening it to the saddle on the Marshal’s horse.

    “You can ride the horse if you like.” the Marshal offered.

    “No thank you,” Timar politely declined. “I’ll walk for now. It’s good for the legs.”

    “We’ll pick up two horses at Senshire,” said Rowen. “I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you walk the entire way to Thressia.”

    The three men waved goodbye, setting off northward along the weed-riddled path. Timar turned around to get one last look at the house, turning back no less than ten times before it vanished behind a ridge.

    “Quite a long journey we have on our hands,” Rowen remarked. “Are you sure you want to come?”

    Timar ignored the question, pushing up his glasses and giving Rowen a shudder.

    “We’ll go as far as you two want before we make camp,” the Marshal declared. “There are  some farms a league up the way. Most of the barns are empty, so we could stay the night in one. Beats sleeping outside.”

    “So tell me, Marshal,” said Rowen. “Let’s say I believe you and all this business. How can you believe them?”

    “Who?”

    “The ones who sent you to find me?”

    The Marshal mulled an answer around in his head. “I… I guess I…”

    “You really have no clue, do you?”

    “Hope… It’s more than I had before they sent me.” The Marshal reached into his coat and pulled out the half-empty bottle of rum taken from Timar’s shelf. Removing the cork, he took a long drink accompanied with a sour face, as it slightly burned his throat.    

    Rowen reached up, snatching the bottle away. “It’s in poor taste to steal from your host,” he upended the bottle, taking a long swig, “without offering it to them first.” He handed the bottle to Timar, who took it with a look of surprise upon realizing it was from his mantle.

    “Oh well,” he took a small drink, handing it back to Rowen, who in turn handed it back to the Marshal.

    “So let’s pretend you’re telling me the truth, and the people who sent you to find me are telling the truth. We sail the Mirasill Straight and just march all the way to Galadripol, magically keeping the Dreth at bay?”

    “No,” the Marshall shook his head. “There’s a ship that’ll take you far south to Fort Hathaway.”

    “Fort Hathaway?” replied a surprised Rowen. “Now there’s a name I’ve not heard in years. I’m not familiar with a Fort Hathaway.”

    “It’s located in the ruins of New Astermark,” answered the Marshal. “It’s the only mainland outpost.”

    “I wasn’t aware there were any mainland outposts. How do they keep the Dreth out?” Timar asked, his curiosity piqued.

    “I don’t know. But like I said, someone figured out a way.”

    “A wall, maybe?” Rowen asked in Timar’s direction.

    Timar winced. “They’re adept climbers. I can’t imagine a wall would keep them out. “I’m thinking fire, maybe?”

    “But fire needs to be fed,” Rowen mused. “The bigger the fort, the bigger the fire.”

    “I have a question,” the Marshal announced.

    “Do you, now?” Rowen replied with a tone of intrigue. “For me or Timar?”

    “For you. When the governor handed the order to bring you in, they said you knew things. Important things. Rumor has it you were there.” The Marshall turned his gaze to the moon.

    “Well… I certainly wasn’t on the moon,” Rowen laughed.

    “You know what I mean.”

    “Marshal, do you even know how we got here?” Rowen asked. “How this all came to be? The moon? The Dreth? Everyone being driven from mainland Terra?”

    The Marshal said nothing for a second, merely shaking his head. “Everyone has their own take on it.”

    “And what’s your take on it?”

    “I guess I don’t really have a take. All my life the world’s been coming to an end.” He took another drink from the bottle as he bounced in the saddle. “I’ve never known any better, really.”

    “You know, it’s a funny thing. Back then we thought we were saving the world. We thought we were heroes in some near-sighted kind of way. The Dreth? They were the,” Rowen coughed, “unintended consequences.” He pulled an unlit cigarette from his pocket, and with a gloved hand pointed it right at the Marshal. “You have no idea how we even got here. I can’t imagine how you or your masters ever hope to save us.”

    “So you were there.”

    “I might have been,” Rowen coyly replied. “Timar knows. Isn’t that right, Timar?”

    Timar said nothing, staring downward as he trudged along the road.

    “Timar knows a great many things. Things even I do not,” Rowen grinned as Timar relinquished a frown.

    “I don’t know how they could hope to stitch the moon back together,” Timar remarked.

    “A  damned big needle and a whole lotta gut,” Rowen jested. “Or maybe a few boatloads of molasses might do the trick?”

    The last remark made Timar smirk a bit. “Maybe…”

    “So what’s the truth of it?” the Marshal asked. “How did it happen?”

    “Well now…” Rowen took a deep breath. “That’s not a simple answer.” He looked at Timar as the old man adjusted his glasses, giving Rowen a look of hesitation. “It’s a long way to Thressia. I think we’ve got the time.”