The Jongurian Mission (2 page)

“For crying out loud
!” Bryn yelled.

For the third day in a row
now Bryn had been slaving away in this rocky, stone-infested field under a blazing sun. The field had lain unused for as long as Bryn could remember, and judging from the amount of three- and four-hand stones lying half-buried, it’d always benn that way. It therefore came as some surprise when Bryn’s uncle Trun had insisted that the field be cleared and made ready for that season’s planting, as if there wasn’t enough work to do around the farm as it was.

Deep down Bryn knew it was necessary.
Now that the country was finding its balance again following the turmoil of years past, grain prices were beginning to fall. Trun had been forced to sell-off two pigs and a prized milk cow already this spring, and unless things improved in the grain market, which seemed unlikely, more selling-off of the livestock would have to take place before winter set in. That’s why the cursing stayed in the fields and ended when supper was served each night. Bryn knew if his uncle’s leg was what it used to be he’d be out here as well, sharing in the thankless job now confronting Bryn.

“
Damn ye,” Bryn cursed at a stone twice his width as he dropped it beside the pile of smaller stones he’d already cleared over the past two days. There were still a few hours of daylight left, and by the look of the field, Bryn still had another two or three days of hard, back-breaking labor ahead of him. Then it would be on to easier jobs like mending fences or tending the crops. He surveyed the collection of piled rocks and stones as he pulled a cloth from his pocket and began wiping the sweat from his face. Two wagons full, so far, with the promise of at least one more before he was finished. Some would be used to shore up the house, which could do with some new stones to replace some of the older, peices starting to crumble. The rest would most likely be sold off to neighbors, or taken into town to be traded for goods the farm couldn’t produce. They’d not fetch much, but every little bit was a help these days.

It’s funny
, Bryn thought.
The country is getting back on an even footing after years of war; you’d think things would be getting better for the common people as well
. That just wasn’t the case, however, as things only seemed to be getting worse. Even during the years of Civil War, which Bryn was barely old enough to remember, he didn’t recall them fretting over pennies as they were now. All he heard now when the neighbors sometimes gathered or on the few times a year he went into town, was how life for the common folk had dropped to such lows over the past ten years. Things were never this bad when the previous king was in power, all agreed. Even during the war with Jonguria, prices hadn’t been so low for grain. Some even spoke fondly of how prices had gone up for a time under the rule of the Regidian usurper, Grandon Fray, but those voices were quickly silenced with deathly stares, and sometimes physical blows. All however agreed that things couldn’t get worse, and would surely get better next year. But when next year came, worse was all they got.

With a deep sigh, Bryn moved back out into the field and selected another large stone
and began half-hauling, half-pushing and dragging it toward the pile with the rest.

“
Whoa there!” came a shout from some distance down the road behind Bryn.

He dropped the stone to the ground and turned to look, shielding his eyes as he did so.
A lone rider approached, nothing more than a black silhouette in the late afternoon sun. Bryn squinted as best he could to make out more as the rider approached.

“
Ho there,” the man said to his horse, pulling on the reins. The horse came to an easy stop, flicking its tail as the man sat looking at Bryn. “My, my lad, you’ve grown since I last laid eyes on you.”

The voice was familiar, but it couldn’t be, Bryn thought to himself.
He continued to squint, raising another hand to his forehead.

“
Why, don’t you recognize me boy? Has your brain become just as thick as those stones I see you hauling there?”

“
Uncle Halam
?” Bryn asked in a low, questioning voice. “Is that
you
?”

“
Why, not unless your uncle’s somehow found himself another brother since I’ve last been here.”

“
Uncle Halam, it
is
you!” Bryn shouted as he ran toward the road. He wended his way through the wooden fence as Halam dismounted, then embraced each other on the road. Bryn looked up into his uncle’s face. Yes, it was Halam. Taller than Bryn by a hand, Halam was also a bit wider around the waist, no doubt from the amount of time he sat at his desk, papers strewn before him. His arms were still thick from years in the field with his brother growing up, but he lacked the sun-baked lines which his brother possessed from doing that work still. His short brown hair, balding on top, with the finely-trimmed beard of the same color covering his face, was just as Bryn remembered, although now going grey around the chin and sides. His lips were parted in a wide smile as he looked down on Bryn.

“
Good to see you, my boy, it’s been far too long now.”

“
Why, Uncle Halam, what are you doing in Eston?” Bryn asked. “I thought you were working for the province in Plowdon and didn’t have the time to come this far east.”

“
Why, I can always make time, which I’ve not been doing enough of lately. Truth is, I’ve got something important I want to talk my brother about. Is he about?”

“
Yes, of course, he’s over by the house, probably working in the garden.”

“
Well, why don’t you call ‘er a day with them damned stones and come with me then?” Halam said with a smile.

“
That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” Bryn happily replied.

* * * * *

The endless fields rolled around them as they made their way down the road. It was quite a surprise to see Halam, Bryn thought as the two rode on. The last time his uncle visited must have been three or four years ago by now. Halam had spent most of his life in the capital city of Plowdon, but he’d grown up just like Bryn right here on the small family farm not far from Eston. He’d undertaken the same drudgery in the fields day-in and day-out that Bryn now knew so well, and he’d risen above it all to something better, more dignified, official.

Following the
Civil War, Halam was made a provincial trade representative, and had spent years traveling around the province, stopping in all the large towns and small villages to appraise the grain output. His tabulations and figures were then be submitted to the head trading office in Tillatia’s capital city of Plowdon, where prices would be set based on the market's demand.

I
t’d been an easy job, good for a man still young in years who was not ready to settle down to a job in the capital or return to the fields from which he came and start a family, as so many had done after those turbulent years of war. Halam had done the job well and was always warmly accepted into each area of the province he traveled to. It wasn’t long before his popularity with the people caught the attention of the senior officials in the trade office, who quickly appointed Halam to the desk job he’d done so well to avoid for so long. That’s when the job became difficult, for it was the officials who set the price of grain that the people’s ire was directed toward, and their grumbling curses filled the air of many a small tavern throughout the land.

Halam’s
carefree lifestyle and journeying around the province had come to an end with his appointment to the capital, and with it also went his well-honed and muscled physique. Years at a desk late into the evening in front of stacks of grain tallies and shipping receipts and the stress that went with being a despised government official had all taken their toll on the once jovial Halam. He was more withdrawn now and not as quick to make a boast or tell a joke.

The farm where Bryn and Trun lived
was a good thirty minute walk from the field Bryn was currently working. Riding on the back of Halam’s horse, however, the time was cut down to a quarter of that. Moving up and down as the hills as the road dictated, the two rode over a final hill and before them stretched the farmstead.

There
was a one-room dwelling made of stones much like those Bryn had been hauling out of the field for the past three days. The roof was made from wood thatch and straw and did a good job of keeping both the rain and cold out.

Off to the left side and a bit behind the house was a makeshift barn for the animals, another stone edifice with just three sides and a thatch roof.
Straw covered the ground inside, where a milk cow stood chewing hay, lazily watching as the two riders approached.

Right next to the house was a large, well-tended vegetable garden.
Cabbages, carrots, beats, turnips, onions, peppers, and tomatoes were pushing their leafy stems out of the soil, welcoming the suns’ spring rays. An entire row was devoted to corn stalks, small this early in the year, but showing promise already.

Stooping down to pick weeds from between the rows of vegetables was a man resembling Halam.
Whereas Halam had a sizeable girth around his midsection, however, this man was rail-thin, and possessed none of the muscled arms or legs like those of the rider Bryn sat behind. His skin was well-tanned from countless hours under the sun, and his hands were strong and rough from working the land. He was clean-shaven, with long, grey sideburns stretching the length of his face. Large, bushy grey eyebrows jutted from under his round straw hat.

“
Uncle Trun, Uncle Trun,” Bryn called from the road as the horse neared the farm, “look, we have company!”

Trun bent up straight and turned in the direction of the approaching horse.
He held a hoe in his left hand and with his right removed his hat to wipe away the sweat on his forehead, revealing a pate nearly bald, with some grey tufts of hair on the back and sides. He squinted into the sun, holding his hand up to get a better look.

“
Who’ve you got there, boy? Trun asked. “Old Ned to come and buy those stones, is it now?”

Halam led the horse up to the edge of the garden.
“Don’t think I’ll be needing stones any time soon, brother.”

“
I’ll be, is that
you
Halam?” Trun asked, squinting up at the rider in front of Bryn.

Bryn hopped off the back of the horse and rushed over to stand next to
his other uncle. “It sure is, Uncle, come all the way from Plowdon to see us, he has, isn’t that right, Uncle Halam?”

“
That it is lad, that it is,” Halam chuckled. He’d dismounted his horse and slowly walked over to the two, stopping in front of Trun. “How are you Trun, it’s been awhile.”

“
I’d say it’s been near four years at that, Halam,” Trun replied. “What brings you all the way out to Eston? Don’t tell me I’ve missed me taxes for the past year. Or are you missing the olden days of honest work and want to get your hands dirty in the soil. We could certainly use the help.”

“
No, nothing like that,” Halam replied, “can’t a man come and see his brother and nephew from time to time?”

“
Aye, you’re always welcome to that,” said Trun. “Now what do you say to getting out of this blasted sun and inside where it’s nice and cool? Bryn, tie up your uncle’s horse then fetch us a bucket of water and a flask of milk, now.”

“
Yes, sir!” Bryn enthusiastically replied as he ran forward and took hold of the reins from Halam before leading the horse to the side of the house where he tied it up to a post near the water trough before running toward the well.

Trun began to walk toward the house, a noticeable limp in his right leg
. He leaned the hoe against the front of the house and ducked his head through the door, Halam following slowly behind.

Inside the furnishings were sparse and the space limited.
A small table with four wooden chairs stood in the center of the room, with a cook stove set into the back wall next to the fireplace. Two small straw beds sat parallel to each other on opposite sides of the house. It wasn’t much, but it was home.

Trun limped over to one of the chairs at the table and motioned for Halam to take another.
He slowly eased down into it, keeping his right leg stretched out straight as he did so, finally sitting with a loud exhalation of breath and visible relief. He put his hands upon the table and stared straight ahead of him, obviously in pain from the ordeal.

“
I see the leg’s still giving you grief,” Halam pointed out, sympathy writ clear on his face as he looked into Trun’s eyes.

“
Aye, that it is. Most days I get by well enough. She just gets stiff now and then, especially with the change in seasons upon us. But that’s how it is. Can’t do much to change it now, can I? To think, I made it all those years through the war in Jonguria without a scratch, then get the use of my leg’s taken from me fighting my own countrymen. It just ain’t right, I tell you.”

“
No, no that it ain’t,” Halam agreed.

Trun was older than Halam by more than five years.
He was the oldest of the three brothers, and had also been the first to join in the fighting against Jonguria thirty years before. Of course they’d all been young and foolish back then. Not having seen the world and then to be suddenly offered the opportunity to not only leave Eston and travel to distant parts of Adjuria, but to actually go as far away as Jonguria, well, that had been something they just couldn’t pass up.