Massimo looked around for some kind of weapon.
“That’s my cart, and that’s my drudge,” the burly man said again, as he drew puffing up to Massimo. He spoke some words and Massimo’s newest drudge stopped in its tracks. Massimo was forced to halt his own drudge.
“What do you mean?” Massimo asked. “I just bought it.”
“Bought it? From who?”
“A woman…”
“What was her name? Did she run a shop? You’ve been taken, friend. My cart was stolen from me just this morning.”
“That’s not possible…” Massimo said.
“It certainly is. Now give it back.”
“I can’t!”
“Oh, yes you can.”
In the end, the burly man took both Massimo’s cart and his own. He also left Massimo with just two of his six silver deens, and a lump on his head the size of a boy’s fist.
Massimo decided it was time to return to Ralanast.
~
At least he still had his map. Walking on the road, back the way he had come, Massimo at least knew how to get home.
He needed food but he decided to save the two silver deens. He had enough copper cendeens that he would be able to eat, provided he was frugal, and provided he slept in forests and hedges. Suddenly the two silver coins were as precious to him as the waxed map he carried under his arm.
He was still in Louan lands when clouds gathered overhead and the weather turned cold. It began to rain, a freezing drizzle that grew heavier as Massimo pushed against it. Some of the raindrops fell more slowly than others, and Massimo soon saw flakes of snow, first in a sparse flutter, then in a whirling flurry. A chill wind blew down from the icy north.
Massimo pulled the thick cloak around his body, glad for its warmth. His brother had given it to him as a gift, and Massimo suddenly longed to see him again, to feel Alonzo ruffling the hair on his head, telling him that life was full of surprises, yet a generous heart could achieve anything.
Massimo wondered if Alonzo was wrong. Perhaps Massimo was too generous, and rather than listening to the tavern keeper’s advice he shouldn’t have bought all that liquor. Perhaps rather than assuming the two men on the road were lost, he should have assumed they were up to no good. Perhaps rather than trusting the woman who had sold him the cart he should have been more suspicious.
The weather turned colder still and Massimo's breath steamed in the frigid air as he shivered. The snow began to obscure his vision and he decided it was time to look for shelter. There weren't many trees around, but scanning, he saw a small copse of evergreens up ahead where he could wait out the storm.
“Who goes there?” a voice called as Massimo reached the spiky barrier of the largest of the trees’ hanging branches.
“A traveler, looking for shelter,” Massimo called out.
He pushed through the branches to the small protected space underneath. It was still freezing in here, but at least it was out of the wind.
Massimo’s eyes widened in surprise. An old man – at least ten years older than his father – sat with a small boy in his arms, the child clutched to his chest. Both were shivering uncontrollably, lips blue and faces pale. Massimo realized with a start that they were both drenched to the skin.
“Please, help us,” the old man said. “Our carriage fell into the river, not far from here, and we almost drowned.”
Massimo quickly took stock of the situation. “Do you have an igniter?” he asked.
The old man nodded, producing a long-stemmed igniter of Louan manufacture. “It works,” he said, “but the wood is too wet.” He weakly gestured to the pile of twigs at his feet.
Massimo took off his cloak, passing it to the old man. “Take off your clothes,” he said. “You’ll die if you keep your wet clothes on. Then wrap this around the both of you.”
Massimo crouched down next to the stack of wood and took out his waxed map. He began to tear it into thin strips.
“Is that important?” the old man asked.
“I’m not going to let a boy freeze to death,” Massimo said.
He built a triangular stack, with smaller twigs clustered around scrunched up pieces of the waxed paper. The old man handed out the igniter, his hand shaking as he did.
Massimo activated the device, and as heat immediately radiated from its tip, he touched it to each piece of paper in turn. Massimo watched the fire travel over the map, forever destroying the mountains, borders and rivers that had been painstakingly drawn on the paper. The flame curled and caught onto the smallest sticks, and then the larger ones.
As Massimo fed the fire, color gradually returned to the old man’s cheeks, and the boy in his arms started to stir.
“My grandson,” the old man said. He looked up at Massimo. “Thank you.”
~