Chapter 13: Fisherman

STEVEN ROSE EARLY and was out of the home of the weaver and the spinner, striding away on the road toward Rich Reach, before the cock crowed. He wanted no more of the dour Weaver, and was completely exhausted by the jovial spinner. He tried to mimic Sergeant’s marching rhythm, tapping out the pace on his hip with his hand while he marched away down the road.

Since he was now more than fifty thousand steps from the city, the distances between towns and villages grew longer. Steven saw fewer people on the road. Those he saw were going as quickly as they could from one village to another, or to the castle. Occasionally, Steven glanced over his shoulder and imagined that he could still see the flag at the top of the King’s castle.

Soon, Steven settled into a smooth and even one hundred ten steps per minute pace, and since the road was well-maintained and level, he covered ground at an amazing pace. By the end of the day, he had covered another forty thousand steps and was tired. But there was no village here to rest in. He set up a small camp for the night and continued in the morning.

The land began to rise and Steven realized he would be going into the mountains soon. He kept walking all day, lunching on the sandwich the King’s cook had given him. At last Steven came to a small town and found the Old Rooster Inn. The town was quiet and at sundown, the streets were empty. When Steven walked into the Inn, the tiny common room—where a dozen people sat drinking—fell deathly silent. Steven cheerfully hailed the innkeeper and asked for a room for the night.

“And who would be asking for a room?” growled the innkeeper. Steven was surprised. All the hostellers he had ever met had been friendly and happy to have guests.

“I’m Steven George the Dragonslayer, on a quest from King Montague Magnus to the Principality of Rich Reach,” Steven said brightly.

“You’re going to Rich Reach, eh?” said the innkeeper. He turned to the other patrons in the Inn. “He’s going to Rich Reach,” the innkeeper announced. There was a moment’s stunned silence followed by a sudden outburst of laughter. “All these folks are going to Rich Reach,” the innkeeper said. “When it’s safe.”

“Oh,” said Steven, looking at the travelers. “I’m going tomorrow.”

The laughter fell silent again. The people in the common room glanced at each other, then rose and slipped off to their rooms. In a moment, Steven was alone with the innkeeper.

“You can throw your bedroll over near the fire. I have no other rooms since those who are here keep staying. They are afraid that I’ll give another guest their room, so they all hurried off to guard it,” the innkeeper said. “You have coins for dinner?”

Steven reached in his pocket and pulled out a gold coin. He looked at it a little surprised, but handed it to the innkeeper. The innkeeper went to get Steven some food and drink while Steven spread out his bedroll by the fire.

When the Innkeeper returned with food and ale, Steven asked why none of the people were continuing on to Rich Reach.

“Well,” said the Innkeeper, “there’s a darkness on that road. Some time ago people stopped coming from Rich Reach. No one that went from here to there ever returned. So, people stopped going. Then there’s the bridge.”

Steven had learned a great deal while traveling the road with Selah for seven years and was not the same naïve fellow who started his first quest. He had seen bridges—well one, at least—that spanned a river. No matter what a certain melon farmer had to say, Steven saw no threats in bridges.

“But what is the problem with the bridge?” Steven asked.

“Burned,” answered the Innkeeper. “You see, when people saw that no one was coming over the bridge, they began to fear what might come over it. Eventually, the fear of what might come overwhelmed the prospect of actually crossing themselves, so they burned the bridge.”

Steven had begun to sense a growing atmosphere of fear along the road, but had met so few people that he had not been able to examine it. Those he met were all headed toward the King’s castle, and were in a great hurry and unwilling to talk. But thinking that he might have to wade or swim across a river was truly discouraging news.

“Is there no other way across?” asked Steven

The Innkeeper glanced around to be sure they were still alone.

“Are you really from the King?” asked the Innkeeper.

Steven reached in his pocket and pulled out the tiny flag the King had given him.

“All right,” said the Innkeeper. “Now, not many people know this. They have willingly forgotten. But downstream there is a strange old fisherman named Tavis. I’m told he could get you across the river if you really need to get across the river.”

“Where do I find this Tavis?” Steven asked.

“Tomorrow morning, you leave here early so none of the other guests see you go. They’d try to stop you. Keep walking on the main road until you get to the river. You will know you are there when you see the burned-out bridge. Head downstream along the river for a good two-days’ walk, maybe more, and you will reach the sea. There, where the river meets the sea, Tavis plies his craft. He has a boat and if it pleases him, he might take you across the river.”

“All the way south to the sea?” Steven asked, amazed.

“It’s not so far from here as it is from the Castle,” the Innkeeper said. “Now you could go upstream and try to cross where it is shallower, but there’s a waterfall a day’s walk upstream that is an awful hard thing to get around. You’d best go south.”

Steven thanked the Innkeeper for his advice and directions, finished his dinner, and then crawled into his bedroll. It seemed so strange to be in an inn with no rooms and no people in the common room. He had a fitful sleep, rose early in the morning, and slipped out of the inn.