S4 Bonus Episode

Most people will never have an adventure

At the mere sight of trouble their arms go up in surrender

Some just want to live quiet lives

And who can blame them in these troubling times

Some bite off more than they can chew

And in pursuit of a meal end up in a stew

But some know adventure like a close friend

And they’ve made up their minds, to never see them again

The wheels of the old cart rumbled and crunched their way along the dry, dirt road. It had been seven days since rain, as told by the patches of yellowing grass whispering in the wind on the roadside. Caramel, the donkey, would occasionally nibble at these clumps, swallowing one or two mouthfuls before Doran could pull her away. They were both thirsty, and Doran knew that the dry grass would only upset her stomach in the long run. It had been a foolish decision to travel during the heat of the day, but these were dangerous roads and Doran would always choose thirst over thieves. Besides, he had a little water left in his skin and if he was not mistaken, this particular road led down to a lake. There was a town there. More of a hamlet really. He’d been once before, what was it? Eight? No. Eleven years ago now. Doran shook his head and chuckled to himself. She was a cheeky thief; the road. Stealing time out from under him in the most pleasant and charming of ways.

He looked over his shoulder quickly out of habit to check on his belongings. The dust sheet covered most of them and he worried that his bread might spoil in the heat. Caramel brayed suddenly as the hill began to incline.

“Come now stop with your complaining. This one’s no bigger than the last. Just a few more and you’ll have a nice drink and some oats, I promise. There might even be an apple waiting for you if you’re good.” His words seemed to work and Caramel kept on, trotting calmly forwards up and over this newest peak.

Thankfully, once they reached the crest, the lake came into view. Doran thanked his memory and smiled at the scene. The sun sparkled on the surface of the lake in a million dancing lights. A breeze blew through the grass and Doran’s eyes were drawn up, across the lake to the mountains beyond. Their peaks still capped with defiant snow, they stood taller than any building, loftier than any dream. Even Caramel seemed to pause in awe at their beauty, although Doran suspected it was more likely due to wanting a rest after climbing the little hill. He’d seen these mountains before of course, but each time he came back to this part of the world, they astonished him all over again, like a work of fine art hanging in a room that one just can’t seem to get tired of staring at. The hamlet was there too, down at the base of the hill. Doran spied the little wooden rooftops and the gleaming white dome of the church. Although his memory had led him here sure enough, it couldn’t quite bring itself to recall the name of this place. Fanning? Fontly? He couldn’t be sure. He took the reins up and with a flick of his wrists Caramel complained and started walking again, clip clopping her way down the winding road. It was days like this that reminded Doran of all the sweetness that travelling life could bring. The road, a lake, the mountains and the sun, the sun, the sun.

You can never be sure how a town will greet a stranger. Some are told to believe that strangers are enemies, coming to steal your livelihoods and cart them off back to where they came from. Their citizens look at strangers with fear and mistrust in their eyes, seeing every bit of difference as evidence of some invented crime. Other towns, the nicer ones, see strangers and new friends. They welcome them into their homes and around their hearths, pressing them for stories in exchange for cakes and local delicacies. Doran seemed to recall that this place fell into the latter category and so he was sure to wear his broadest smile as Caramel trundled in the main thoroughfare. It was not a big place, although it had had a few more buildings added to the edges since the last time he was here. As the cart wheels hit the paving stones and their chorus changed from crunching stones to creaking wood Doran looked up and around expectantly. The buildings here were little more than shacks, although most were painted quite beautifully in pastel colours of lilac and light blues. Each had a little porch to raise it off the ground for when Autumnal floods filled the streets and folk would go about on little boats. It smelled of fish. Predictable for a fishing village, but thankfully it was not that kind of rotting fish you smelled in big city markets. This fish was fresh and alive and wriggling only recently. Doran glanced into windows and down little alleyways. He had expected to see a few people at least but right now there didn’t seem to be anyone about.

Odd, he thought. Perhaps they were all at Church or out on the lake.

He guided the cart down ever narrowing streets until he found the inn that he remembered. It was the Hamlet’s only boarding house and it also doubled as the legal offices, the meeting house and the guard station. If anyone was going to be anywhere it would be here, at the Golden Cat. Doran tied up Caramel, brushed, fed and watered her and then, after still not seeing any signs of activity, entered the inn.

It was dim inside, a single streak of sunlight illuminating the flecks of dust in the air. There were chairs tucked neatly into tables, cups cleaned and put away on shelves. Doran’s footsteps thudded on the floorboards, they sounded rude, like they were disturbing some meditative silence. He walked slowly around the room, more confused than ever. There were no signs of a struggle, no smashed glasses or broken tables. It looked as though everything had just been cleaned and readied for the next day of business, but that day had never come. He approached the small stage at the back of the room. A lute was propped up against the wall there, ready and waiting to be played. Doran scratched his head. Surely someone will be back any minute? The door was not locked after all and judging by the lack of dust on the surfaces the place had not been left empty long. After a quick tour of the upstairs where he saw perfectly made beds, a clean washroom and several tidy closets he went back outside.

As he stepped back into the sun he was considering checking the food stores in the kitchen, but thought he’d better wait just a while longer, in case everyone got back within the hour. He glanced down the road towards the church and was about to go and look inside when, for the first time since arriving, he saw movement. His breath caught in his throat. Had he imagined it? No, something had been over by that yellow house, it had seen him and then ducked away quickly. Doran took a tentative step down onto street level.

“Hello there?” he called out. Fear caused his voice to crack a little. This whole situation was too strange. Surely there was some kind of logical explanation. Perhaps whoever, or whatever, had moved just now was the key to unlocking this local mystery. Doran took a few steps forward and considered calling out again. Caramel suddenly sneezed, causing Doran to nearly jump out of his skin. He chuckled at his own fright. “Come now Mikhail, jumping at sneezes. You old fool. Be sure it's nothing. ‘Lo there? I saw you just now. Could ye come out? I swear I mean no harm. Just an old traveller looking for a day or two’s rest.” He took another few steps towards the yellow house, more confident now than before.

As he peered into the gloom of the alley, although alley was a generous term for what was just a gap between two houses, he saw movement again. There was something small there, shuffling around in the gloom. At first Doran thought it might be a cat and was about to turn and walk away when he saw its dirt stained face and tousled hair.

“Ooh, good morning child. Ye can come out from there, I promise I wish ye no hurt.” The urchin’s face did not move, it just stared at him with wide, fear-filled eyes. Suddenly, Doran had a flash of inspiration. He walked back to his cart and rummaged around under the dust sheet. “I swear it was here the other… ah! Here we go.” He turned back to the alley and held up the toy he’d gone to fetch. It was a doll, made from bits of cloth. Its round, button-eyed face smiled brightly in the light. Doran shook it a little, making its hair and arms dance gleefully. The child’s expression barely changed but upon seeing the doll it took a few steps forward. As it stepped into the street, Doran had trouble telling if it was a girl or a boy. Its hair was matted and dirty, it wore a little red shirt and grey trousers, done up with a button. It wore no shoes or socks but seemed confident in its ability to walk. Doran guessed it was about six years old.

“Here, little one. Take it. I’ve no need for him.” The child stepped tentatively forward and held out its arms to take the doll. It smiled up at Doran and his heart melted just a little.

“It’s not a him,” the child spoke quickly as it examined the intricate pattern of leaves and flowers on the doll’s body, “it’s a little girl.”

“Why, so it is,” replied Doran, “Silly me. A little girl. Just like you eh?” The child smiled and nodded. “And tell me, what are these little girl’s names?”

“My name is Elski, I don’t know her name though.” The girl held up the doll. Doran had many questions but he knew that he would need to gain this little one’s trust before bombarding her with all of them. He crouched down beside her and smiled.

“Well you know, I’m very good at coming up with names, perhaps we can come up with one together, hm?” the girl nodded. “My name is Mikhail Doran, everyone just calls me Doran and over there is Caramel.” The girl’s head whipped round on a swivel.

“A donkey!” Doran laughed.

“Yes! And as stubborn as they come. Would you like to meet her?” They went over to where Caramel was tied up and the little girl giggled as she held her hand out for the old donkey to sniff.

“Here!” said Doran, “I might have something you can give her.” He reached into a small sack in the cart and found a bit of old carrot. “There you go,” he said, handing it to Elski, “give her that and she’ll love you forever.” The girl clutched the doll tightly to her chest and took the lump of carrot. She turned slowly to the donkey and paused, staring at the vegetable in her hand. “Go on,” Doran urged her, seeing that she was nervous, “She doesn’t bite.” Elski stepped forward but still didn’t hold out her hand. Instead, she waited, and then turned back to Doran.

“Can I have some?” The question hit Doran like a pack of wild horses. Of course she was starving. How had he not even considered it? He berated himself and then responded.

“Ooh, you don’t want that. I’ve got something much nicer in here for you. Give that to Caramel and you can have some lunch with me alright?” Elski’s face lit up and she practically ran up to Caramel, who, had it not been for the carrot, might have startled at her pace.

Half an hour later, with some bread, cheese, dried spiced meats and an apple in their bellies, the two unlikely friends were sitting in silence on the front step of The Golden Cat. Elski’s eyes were beginning to dip, tired from the day’s heat and a full stomach. Doran only had a few minutes before she would be fast asleep.

“Elski?” he ventured. The little girl looked up at him, bringing her hand up to shade her eyes from the sun behind Doran’s head. “Might you be able to tell me where everybody has gone?” Elski looked back down at the ground. Doran had feared this reaction, clearly some tragedy had happened and she was getting upset at the memory. Doran readied his most comforting words when she replied.

“They’re trying to go to The Garden.” Doran faltered.

“The Garden?” He repeated, unsure of what she meant. After Elski didn’t elaborate, he followed up with, “and how are they doing that?”

“They’re praying.”

“Ah!” Doran sighed in understanding. He glanced back down the road at the church. A wave of relief washed over him. Thank the stories he thought to himself. They’re all at church service. Admittedly, it was a rather long service, he’d been in town for the better part of an hour, but at least they were alive. “That’s good. And everyone is there eh? What time do you think they’ll be finished?” Elski waited a moment before replying.

“It’s not good. I hate praying.” Doran smiled. He was remembering his own childhood church visits, he would get bored as well and often got into trouble after playing pew games with the other children.

“Ooh it’s not so bad. Sometimes it's nice to ask for things, or wish a friend well. You’re saying you have nothing that you would pray for?” Elski scrunched up her face in thought.

“I would pray for everyone to stop praying.” Doran chuckled, then he slapped his knees and stood up. He groaned as he pushed himself up and off the step. His back dealt badly with long cart rides these days.

“Well I shall see if I cannot be the one to answer your prayers Elski. Hold here and look after Caramel won’t ye?” He smiled at the child and set off towards the church.

As he walked along the dry stones he began to have doubts about interrupting a religious service. Each community handled religious practices in their own particular interpretation. Perhaps this town valued silence and meditation and having a stranger interrupt that time would grant him no friends. Doran shook these doubts out of his head. He’d given the community plenty of time, any more and he would have to sign papers to become Elski’s legal guardian. Besides, Caramel needed a stable and he needed a rest and some clean water.

Doran walked up to the church double doors, old sturdy structures made from local pine, and listened out for signs of activity. He was hoping to interrupt during a natural break in the service but could hear nothing from inside. Shrugging, he placed both dust stained hands on the doors and pushed.

A large hall opened up in front of him. Its domed ceiling stretched two houses high. The architecture told him this was an imperial church, possibly one of the first to be built during the reformation considering its age and proximity to the capitol. Stone cut vines guided the eye down to cleverly crafted parapets made from wood but built in seamlessly to the stonework. The pews were made from the same wood and were laid out in neat rows. Doran thought there must be at least a hundred, maybe more considering the distance to the altar.

As he had suspected, every seat was occupied. Elski might have fit in somewhere, but it would have been a tight squeeze. Despite the sound of the door opening, which reverberated off the stone walls, no one looked round to greet him. Doran put on his most charming smile and was ready to excuse himself and bow and beg forgiveness for the interruption, but no one even glanced in his direction. They all had their heads down, their eyes closed and their hands clasped together in prayer. Everyone’s fingers were interlocked to make one tight fist. Doran saw a few people gripping their hands so hard that their knuckles were white from the strain. There was a low whisper humming throughout the hall. Everyone was muttering some phrase or personal prayer. Doran couldn’t catch any specific words.

The strangest thing was, that there didn’t seem to be anyone leading the service. The altar had the traditional branch and veil but no one stood in front of it as was usual in imperial church services. Perhaps this was one of the idiosyncrasies of this particular town. Self governed and self guided, Doran had heard of something similar years ago.

He decided to approach a young woman who was seated to his left. Tiptoeing carefully so as to not disturb the rest of the congregation, Doran approached her and put his hand on her shoulder. She wore a blue dress, the hem of which was stained brown with dust. Her shawl looked old and was peppered with grey green blotches. Her hair was tied up in a bun but several strands had broken free as if trying to escape the heat of the mass. When Doran touched her she jerked with shock as if awakening from a deep sleep.

“So sorry Madam, I didn’t mean to scare or disturb you,” Doran whispered. When she turned her face to look up at him, Doran had to suppress his reaction. Her eyes were lined with dark circles and looked as though they were sinking into her head. Her lips were pale and when she spoke, Doran caught sight of yellowing teeth and bright red gums. Her hands shook and when she spoke her voice came out as a thin rasp.

“What? Who are you? Where is…?” She seemed visibly confused to Doran and so he tried to comfort her.

“I’m a traveller mam, a friend to your town. I don’t mean to interrupt but I would like to enquire about fresh water or a bed for the night? Who might I speak to?” As he waited for an answer the woman seemed to notice her hands for the first time.

“Curses…”

“Excuse me, mam?” Doran was confused.

“My prayers, I must… I must go back to my prayers. I…” Doran felt a pang of guilt as he watched tears well up in the corner of her eyes. “If I stop then I might not be considered. I swear I didn’t mean to, I was interrupted. Please, hear me, hear my devotion, I swear I did not mean to falter in my faith.” By now she had gone back to clasping her hands tightly and closing her eyes, forcing the tears gathered there to fall onto her whitening knuckles. Doran stepped back in confusion.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I swear I did not mean to falter, I swear…” her voice was becoming more and more panicked. Doran considered touching her shoulder again to try and console her, surely no deity would condemn a follower for helping a man in need? He wanted to explain this to her but his attention was drawn to the front of the room. A man was standing up there and pointing at him.

“You there!” he exclaimed, “what is your business?” Several of the other worshippers looked up at the interruption, but most kept their heads bowed and their mouths unceasing. Doran raised his hands in front of him in what he hoped to be a calming gesture.

“My apologies, sir. I mean no disrespect. I’ve come from away, a traveller. I seek fresh water and a place to stay and then I’ll be on my way. I’d gladly work or pay for the kindness.” Doran held his breath, hoping his words might assuage the man’s obvious irritation, but they did no good. The man, who was similarly dressed in worn looking clothes and had that same sallow look about him as the woman he’d just spoken to, continued to glower at him with real hatred in his eyes.

“An outsider,” he said.

“Aye sir,” Doran confirmed, “but a kind one, if perhaps a little dirty...” Before he could finish the full thought, the man interrupted him.

“We heed no apostates here. You are among the pious, sir.” Doran was thrown further into confusion.

“Apos… I’m sorry sir, I don’t know the word. But I assure you that I practise my own faith and have the fullest respect for all others, lest they wish me harm.” He had intended this last phrase to be a joke, an off-the-cuff quip meant to lighten the mood. But the man’s face became even more intense, Doran had not thought that possible.

“Apostate, sir. A non-believer.”

“A heretic,” another woman, a few feet away from him, stood up and pointed at Doran. Suddenly, more people began to stand and shout.

“A stranger!”

“Recusant!”

“Dissenter!”

“Recreant!” Doran started to back away. The anger on their expressions he could understand, but some of them had a strange and gleeful look on their thin and wasted faces. It scared him. It was the look of hungry dogs when they finally found food. They smiled with hatred and Doran knew then that nothing he could say would sway them. It was time to leave.

He turned and made for the door. Behind him he heard the scraping of wood on stone and knew that folk were standing up. Doran tumbled out of the church and into the daylight. Not quite sprinting, but certainly not walking he made his way to his cart and Caramel.

With shaking hands he tied the tired donkey back to the cart, occasionally glancing back towards the church as he worked. A few people had stepped out and were glancing up and down the street. From this distance the wear on their clothes was even more pronounced. It looked as though they had not left the church in quite some time, some were even having trouble holding their own weight as they stumbled on cramped up legs.

The cart was tacked and ready to go in record time. Doran didn’t know if the townsfolk meant him any physical harm, but he’d decided back in the church not to hang around and find out. He’d travelled enough in his day to know when he was not wanted and he’d left towns before for less than this.

His joints cried out for rest as he clambered back onto the seat. Whipping the reins he ignored Caramel’s protests and guided the donkey down the road towards the other end of town, directly opposite the way he had entered. He was sure the people would not pursue him once he reached the main highway, now it was just a question of outrunning them.

The cart wheels creaked and groaned as if they were also objecting to the sudden departure, but Doran ignored them too, his mind was made up. He risked a glance back over his shoulder as he navigated his way round the houses. A few people were walking sternly towards him, shouting things that he could not quite make out. Thankfully the houses began to thin before they got too close. Doran thanked his star at the sight of the wider road and whipped the reins again to make sure Caramel was going as fast as she could. He felt bad for the poor beast, and made a mental note to treat her to a bushel of apples during their next stop.

Looking back on the situation later, Doran would wonder how it was that not one of the villagers had caught up to him. Caramel wasn’t exactly the world’s fastest steed. It would be with a twinge of sadness that he would realise that the people of the small fishing hamlet had been too exhausted, too hungry or too scared of leaving the comfort of their treasured church to catch him.

As his cart rejoined the dusty road he turned back once more to check that he was safe. He saw no angry mob, and for that he was thankful, but what he did see was something that would stay with him for the rest of his days. A lone child, clutching a doll made from scraps of material tightly to her chest. Her eyes filled at first with pleading, then sadness and finally hatred.