“Ned, I—” Fisher started, but Ned held up his hand.
“We knew, Fisher,” he said. “We’ve always known what our choices would be, if we had them. And now we do.”
“Goodbye, Ned,” Pendt said. “Come back to us.”
“I’ll bring fancy cheese,” Ned said. “Maybe even an actual cow so you can make your own.”
“I’m not cleaning up after a cow,” Pendt said. “Not even for cheese.”
“So ungrateful,” Ned said. “I have no idea why I married you.”
He pulled them both in tight for another hug, and then took his pack from Fisher. He carried two bags and a small weapons chest into the Cleland’s airlock, and waited while it cycled him in. Just before the door sealed, he turned around and waved.
Fisher and Pendt went up to the control room to wait for the Cleland’s departure. It took Choria about an hour to get everything settled once Ned was on board, and then the request to leave came through.
“It’s all yours,” Fisher said, gesturing to Pendt.
She stepped up to the controls and reached for the Well. It was almost second nature to her now, flipping the switch that would send the Cleland on its way. The Well flared to life, and the countdown started. Choria manoeuvred into position, and in a flash of rainbow, the Cleland was gone.
“We did it,” Fisher said, slumping back in his chair. “We all got what we wanted. By some miracle we found one another, and we all got what we wanted.”
He pulled her into a hug, squeezing her even more tightly than Ned had, and she could feel him smile against her hair. She looked up at him, answering him with her own grin.
“Let’s go home,” he said.
Pendt’s smile grew even wider. Fisher had the station, Ned was free, and she was always going to be full.
“SHAKE LIKE THE BOUGH OF A WILLOW TREE”
Some stories are so old that they take place on the ground, and this is one of them. Old stories are like oglasa, slippery and elusive, but there are plenty of them and plenty more, if you tend them properly. Stories keep forever, and they bring you life of a different sort.
Anyway.
There was a king. His kingdom wasn’t very large, and there were other kings close by who were more powerful than he was, but generally speaking, he was doing okay. This was the time when kings were also farmers, expected to lead by example and tend their own lands. This king’s lands were fertile, and he and his people tilled the soil and grew crops enough to see them through the winter.* It wasn’t a particularly glorious experience, but it was a good one.
Tragedy came to the king’s household. His family were taken from him—battle and sickness and old age—and then he was alone. He was stricken with an injury that made it very difficult for him to leave his tower. No longer could he follow the plough or thresh the grain. He couldn’t bind the sheaves or carry the bales. He couldn’t fix a fence or pick up a new lamb or drive the cattle into the barn.
All he could do was fish.
Fishing, as you know, is an industry to build an empire on, but that is the fishing of huge vessels and vast nets. Fishing can fail, of which you are also aware, when the shoals are scraped too thin. That is the collapse of empires, and a kingdom, especially a small one, is even more vulnerable to change. It is the work of hundreds of people, not one king on the bank of a quiet river.
At first, healers were brought in to make the king well again. They looked at his wound and applied their poultices and herbs, but none of them were successful. The wound did not worsen, but neither did it improve. The king struggled up and down the stairs, but still went every day to the river: It was the only way he knew of that he could help keep his people fed.
Then surgeons were brought in to make the king feel well again. They took his blood* and cleaned the edges of the wound with sharp blades or with hot metal. They bathed the wound with alcohol. The king bit into a leather belt to keep from screaming, but his wound did not improve. The castle grew dusty and damp since he couldn’t fix the windows, but still every day he went to the river: There were hungry mouths in his kitchens and in his stables, and he had no way to give them grain.
At last, a priest was brought in to make the king feel well again.
“I don’t know why I’m here,” the priest said. “Unless you have particular feelings about your soul?”
“I think I’m good,” said the king, “though if you have any other suggestions, I would appreciate them.”
The priest thought about it for a few minutes.
“My lord,” he said. “I will put out a holy writ, calling all the knights in the neighbouring lands to ride out in search of something that will help you. At least that will keep everyone busy.”
“What will I offer as a reward?” the king asked. “My coffers are emptying quickly, and I have no family left to marry off.”
“We will cross that bridge,” said the priest, “when we get to it.”
The years rolled on. The knights came and went, eyes shining with bright ideas and new hopes. Nothing worked, but several valuable trade agreements were agreed to and a new way of smelting iron was discovered in the process, so it wasn’t entirely without result. Still the king lumbered from his bed to his spot on the riverbank, even when the fish stopped coming. His castle fell into disrepair and his people began to leave. He didn’t stop them.
A young knight came one day with nothing. He hadn’t been on a quest at all yet. He’d only heard that this was a good place to get inspiration. He sat by the king’s side on the riverbank and listened to the stories of the days before, when the king had been able to plough and plant, and the lands had flourished.
“What if,” said the young knight one afternoon, “I drove the plough?”
No one had ever offered that before. It had been years, but the king still remembered how to hitch up the oxen. He told the young knight how, leaning on a crutch the knight had made for him. It took forever, but they both enjoyed the work. The field wasn’t large, but it would grow enough grain for the people who were left.
“What if,” said the young knight a few days later, “your room was at the bottom of the tower, not the top?”
It had never occurred to the king that moving his room downstairs would help, but of course it did. Now that he no longer had to go up and down several times a day, he had more energy. His leg hurt less in the evenings and he slept better. He could walk far enough to reach the fishing hole, and not wait for smaller fish in the shallows.
“What if,” said the young knight after a month had passed, “I stay, and you teach me everything you know?”