Chapter 11

Three days later, they struggled to the top of a rise they had been trying to climb for half a day. The height from the bottom had been deceptive. As they lay on the rocky top panting and puffing, they slowly explored the land that fanned out in front of them.

“Is that a homestead?” Zuri asked pointing slightly north.

“Poorly maintained but definitely a homestead,” Leniz said. “I see a trail further north of us heading to it. If I were a gambler, I would say the road we left at the tree grove is the likely culprit.”

“This trail continues due west once you get to the bottom, completely missing those people,” Zuri said. “Curious.”

“I think I see a second trail at the bottom heading northward, peeking out between the trees and scrub,” Leniz said. “Even if my eyes are deceiving me, we can follow this line of hills until we hit that other trail.”

“Did you encounter a second homestead when you came here last time?”

Leniz shook his head. “No. I think I would have remembered that item. A lot of memories have faded with age, but I would have remembered another homestead because I would have aimed for there.”

“A new settlement then,” Zuri said. “Even if it looks a bit ramshackle.”

“If it looks ramshackle from up here, it must be a disaster up close. This aging thing sucks, Gura. I can’t see as far as I used to, and I can’t remember for shit these days.”

“We will rest a while longer before we try to tackle the downhill,” Zuri said. “My water skin is still three-quarters full. We aren’t in a rush.”

“We haven’t seen any wolves since we left the temple,” Leniz said. “I don’t feel like prey on this leg of the journey.” He stretched out his legs before him, giving him room to rub the muscles. “My calves are complaining.”

“The wolves and I had a talking-to the night before we left the temple,” Zuri said. “We concluded we were friends and companions. They liked that sentiment. I would not be surprised they are lagging somewhere on our backtrail, but they don’t sound close at night.”

“I’m sure that was a mighty nice conversation. I wonder if you got a touch too much sun these past few days.”

“They understand the old language,” Zuri insisted. “They understand some words at least. I paid attention in class and I’m struggling to remember. I didn’t think I was the smartest of the bunch, but now I wonder if certain classmates were given targeted help.”

“Like what?”

“Like access to previous years’ tests,” Zuri said. “I studied hard, Leniz. I put in the hours that I thought the best students were dedicating to the material. If shortcuts existed, they were not going to share them with me.”

“Sounds like the Nobles’ way of doing things,” Leniz said. “Then they take up their post with the expectation that they know what they’re doing, and they don’t know shit. The toddlers are in charge. Why should your holier-than-thou college be any different?”

“Ah, knowledge matters?”

Leniz laughed long and hard. “How long have you been sipping that happy juice? Money and position matter; everything else is commentary.” Leniz pulled in a long, deep breath of air. “Gura, you were doomed to fail from the start, and no one bothered to inform you.”

“I’m not stupid,” Zuri said.

“The Old Folk teach that there are eight different kinds of knowledge in the world,” Leniz said. “Being adept in one kind does not mean that you are competent in any of the other seven. If you had enough work experience, enough practice wisdom, while you were in your classes, you would have realized that certain students leaping ahead without context are a clue to a corrupt system. It is no different from a minister’s son gaining a post high up in government without going through the ranks.”

“Oh,” Zuri said.

“You said at one point that many of your classmates were second or third generation at the Seminary,” Leniz said. “They came to your college with the practice wisdom of their fathers. Their fathers told them what to study and what to let slide. They directed them to resources and connected them with former classmates or Masters who were still at the college. Family supports family, which is how it should be.”

“I had no idea of what the priorities were,” Zuri said. “I studied everything as equally important.”

“Which is a good strategy for the ignorant, but it has consequences,” Leniz said. “If you can’t prioritize, you waste many hours of your time. Second and to the point of your anguish, once your classmates who do know the priorities see what you’re doing, they confirm you are ignorant. If they are willing to share, they will teach you the priorities. If they are competitive or uncaring, they will capitalize on your ignorance to raise themselves.”

“We Gura are supposed to be godly in our doings,” Zuri said. “We are supposed to rise above the material goals and conventional ways to do God’s work.”

“You moan like Gura Olabe in Premia,” Leniz said. “You confuse God with religion. They are not the same thing. God is a given and religion is a human construction.”

“Makes sense,” Zuri said. “Years too late, mind you, but your argument makes sense.”

“However,” Leniz said as he struggled to his feet, “because you put great effort into the study of the ancient languages of the first Guras, you can speak to the wolves.”

“You do believe me,” Zuri said. “You’ve been jerking my chain.”

“You still have much to learn, young Gura,” Leniz said with a big smile. “You may even have enough time to learn the real lessons you need to succeed like me.”

“Now I know you’re farting all night and telling me it’s the flowers,” Zuri said. Leniz laughed louder, even slapping his knee once or twice.

They reshouldered their packs and carefully picked their way down the hill, following the path. Even before they reached the bottom, they had decided to camp instead of continuing. Zuri was thankful when they found the trailhead for the path leading northward, which confirmed their plans to aim towards the next human habitation.

They made good time over the next two days. When they reached the next road, they were pleased to see human tracks in the dirt. They were not fresh, but they were a sure sign that humans were somewhere out here in Fundazioa. The find put a spring in their step. As they walked, Leniz pointed out the trees and bushes that must have sprung from travelers from years past. “The pattern repeats itself,” he said.

The sun was still high in the sky when they first sighted the fence surrounding the homestead. As they drew closer, the fence was rickety and full of holes. The homestead was in a similar sort of disrepair with a couple of haphazard repairs on the roof.

“This does not look promising,” Zuri said.

“The disrepair reminds me of homesteads where the children have long departed and the parents have aged,” Leniz said. “Age slows men and women down, can’t stand on a ladder with confidence any more or work for hours at a time. Every task becomes tiring.”

“You said only the young chance Fundazioa,” Zuri said, scratching the fuzz on his face. “We will learn the facts soon enough.”

“Hello, the homestead,” Leniz called out as they walked through the gate, which was bound to a standing post with rope and pitch. No one answered. Zuri knocked on the door, which swung open from his push.

“Shall we?” Zuri asked, as he probed the interior with his staff. They entered, letting their eyes adjust to the gloom.

“This place is a garbage dump,” Zuri said.

“I resent that remark,” a voice called out from a back corner of the room, followed by a yawn.

Zuri kept his staff at the ready, and he noticed that Leniz had his machete in his hand. They waited in silence for the body to stir from underneath the ratty pile where it lay. Slowly, the human sat up, leaning against the back wall.

“You got a smoke on you,” the woman said. “I’ve been dying to taste one for a long time. When did you get here?”

“Where is here?” Leniz asked.

“We call it ‘Base,’” the woman said. “As in, are we going to make it back to base?”

“We just arrived,” Leniz said. “We were taken aback by the lack of upkeep of this base. Surely, it is not a homestead.”

“We tried to build it as a homestead,” she said. “The wolves came and tore it down every time we secured the fence. They don’t want us to stay here on a permanent sort of basis. If we come and go, they let us be, usually.”