Elias read the letter near the flickering firelight. The road just on the other side of the hill continued west, curving along the lakeshore. Outer Kingston, one of the furthest reaches of the March, lay at the far west end of that road.
... the Postal Inspector was just recently mentioning how they missed you as a mailboy. I know you had your trials, working with my art and the Lord-Regents before you settled in, as a master of the roads. I think of you often, out there alone, but it is vital work, so keep at it, my courier.
Tabatha has been a delightful child, and the Lord-Regent and I will do whatever we can to aid her. Perhaps it was instinct that had me argue she should go to the pharmacy that fateful day. This is guess is her trial as you had yours. Write back when you get the chance, I know you barely have a moment for it during the day.
...
He looked up, suddenly, as one of the boys spoke out, "Master Elias, there's something out there."
The boy, Tom, was barely out of his childhood. All the boys here were around fourteen or fifteen, they served a two year term, he had heard, before seeking quieter work.
Elias folded the letter quickly and neatly, putting it in his jacket pocket. It was night-cold but not true cold. The apples were ready to be plucked in Outer Kingston, and in his hometown. Late Harvest, some called it, and the locals celebrated with many apple dishes and dainties.
If only they had a radio light enough to carry, he thought, as his mind wandered again to memories of his god-father's nightly broadcast. It was news of the wider world, told fairly straight up.
He was walking over to the young boy, not running. For none of the other boys, who had turned to look at what the youngest was seeing, saw anything.
"There are still animals in these parts, Tom," he said quietly. "Let me look with you for a minute."
He looked out, scanning the dark flat undulating lands. Here and there patches and growth and even a few trees could be found.
"Focus your vision, and remember your lessons," he said to the boy.
"Thank you Master Elias."
The Lord of the Road Commission was at home. Elias had several seniors, in each major town there was a Lord of the Road Commission which he reported his workings to and received news of places where the road had broken.
That spring had been his first spring on the job, and spring was the most stressful time, as all of the damage undergone by ice and snow and wind had to be repaired.
Their woodsman skills were tested then, and he helped to chop up and move many fallen trees from the roadway. Closer to Outer Kingston, of course, where there still were plenty of trees.
"Wake me if you need anything," Elias said to the others. The boys and their tents surrounded his own in a wide circle, so that they each had a sector to look after during watch, taking their neighbors sectors when their neighbor slept.
He returned to his little fire, and slung his rifle off his shoulder, checking the round chambered. The safety was on. He kept a brush and a small multi-tool which was his gift from his god-father when he left their house. His knife was long and sheathed on his belt.
He took the belt off, resting the rifle under his pillow. It's length stuck out on both sides. He brushed off some dirt from the traveling blanket and unfurled it fully before wrapping it around himself.
He muttered a song quietly before sleeping.
The road is long, forever on and on,
Without wood or stone to cover your head,
Rest with one eye open, you weary,
Traveler, keeper of the perilous road,
Without men to travel it, thy shall perish,
Be you narrow path or wide rutted road,
Without the traveler thy shall be trampled,
Fire and water, he set down beside you,
Rest with one eye open, you weary,
Traveler, keeper of the perilous road,
Do not travel alone, keep watch my friend,
Let shadow and lonely dell protect you,
Loosen your day belt, eat a light meal,
Do not slumber as from gluttony or drink,
When the day breaks do not dawdle,
Break your fast and go oh wanderer.
There was some sign of movement outside their camp that night. They didn't stay long, but he had the boys pack up everything, having a little breakfast and then began away east to the site where problems were reported with the road.
"Hurry up Tom, and don't forget, keep alert," Elias said.
They moved quickly along the road, passing only a post-man headed into Outer Kingston.
There were three new boys amongst the group, who had arrived this summer, while the rest started when he started, with a long period of preparation and training last winter.
They had another two month or so before the winter snows become too much and they returned to a period of further training.
The boys covered ground pretty well, he kept in the middle of the group, periodically cycling to the back to encourage everyone not to get split up. The sun was just past it's noontime heights when they came to the obstruction in the road.
He called it black rubble, for he didn't know the true name of the odious substance that blocked the road there. It was at a point where the road narrowed and on either side sloped downward into dells or gullies.
Like tar or broken up coal it was black as the night and painful to touch. Bicyclists could ride through it, he supposed, but any travelers with animals would have to find a way around.
The wound in the earth spread some ten yards around the road in a roughly circular pattern.
"Everyone stay back. Let's count our supplies," he said, unlimbering his pack.
There were many theories on where the black rubble came from, but no certainty.
The boys stopped and started taking out their own packs and dropping whatever specific items they had carried.
"Josiah, take your bucket and looking for water. I'm talking fresh good water. Take one of the young boys with you, show them the water lore," he said first. "We will make a cleaning solution. Three of you on that. Count up what herbs and flowers we have suitable. The rest start a watch around here, we don't know if anything lingered."
It took almost an hour for Josiah to find water and carry it back. They made a herbal cleaning solution.
"We'll have to sacrifice a brush or broom. Whose got one that they can spare," he said. He didn't want to lose his little brush and it was too small anyway.
One of the boys offered up his broom and he dipped the broom in the bucket, and then brushed the cleaning solution against the black rubble, sweeping it away and starting to purify it.
"We can clean metal things after they make contact. So take whatever knife or scraping tool you have and start scraping away at the bits stuck to the earth."
Elias noticed some minor obstructions in the roadway, like rocks and fallen sticks and had the boys who were available haul away anything that might cause a carriage's wheels to judder or break.
It was a solid hour and a half before the wound on the road was scrubbed and scraped clean, and they burned the soiled broom, placing the metal tools used in a fire they built hot and high.
It was a sign of something foul that they had to use the hot fire, but the boys enjoyed it, bringing logs, sticks and branches to feed the fire until the coals were perfect. The knives endured the heat, but the handles did not. They made temporary handles with strips of leather when the knives cooled.
After that they let the fire cool off and set up camp.
Elias had dozed off when he was shaken away by one of the boys.
"There is someone riding in the dark along the road, Master."
It was Tom.
Elias grabbed his rifle and knife, removing himself from the blanket and stepping up to stoop and look out towards the road.
The fire was the only reason Tom had spotted them. They were coming, riders on horseback, no carriages or things. Several of them had lit branches which they were holding up.
He pulled Tom away, guiding him to the downslope below the level of the road. Would they be blinded to what was along the road as they approached it, and what was their purpose or direction after all?
Tom whispered, "bandits? but who are they hunting?"
Elias merely put his finger to his lips. The boys were scattered further down the hill where it flattened out. There had been no time for he or Tom to shout an alert to them.
At least one of the other boys was supposed to be watching with Tom, but it had been a long hard day's work.
He was very alert, hiding as best he good with Tom, as the riders came, and then swept past further east.
Bandits, he thought, were boys raised wrongly, with only panic in their lungs, and the group as their only refuge.
After a long time, he woke up his 1st assistant. "Matthew," he hissed.
The boy, now almost 16, in his last fall before his service would be complete, awoke. "Master?"
"Who was supposed to keep watch with Tom?"
He was still waking up, but after a momentary pause he said, "Morgan."
It was in the last hours of the night, he couldn't go back to sleep, though he hummed the song his godmother had once sung.
He sat up, and added to his duty journal. Tom was learning quickly, and some of the boys who had served some time, but not the longest, were a little slack with things. He wrote to the Masters of the Roads, both Outer Kingston and for his home march.
He wished for the warmth of his Godmother and Godfather's fire. The sun rose, veiled by the thick clouds, it would rain today.
