Chapter 56 - The Farm in Irttat
Chapter 56: Flame in the Swamp 12
People gathered at the doors of apothecaries and the medical hall, but the medical hall’s doors were tightly shut. Guard knights stood with cold iron swords in hand, their points leveled at the crowd, speaking in flat, indifferent voices: "Mugwort, ten gold coins a ling. Barnyard grass, ten gold coins a ling. Plantain and wild apple, twenty gold coins..."
The crowd went silent for a beat, then erupted.
Prices like that were dozens of times higher than usual.
For the middle classes, such prices were expensive but survivable, the kind of thing you gritted your teeth and paid. With income from estate rents, factory profits, and respectable professions, they earned roughly a hundred-odd gold coins a month. A few doses of medicine would empty a month’s income, but nothing more.
But for the poor, even the better-off ones who worked in the factories earned no more than about one silver coin a day, settling accounts in copper. Some had never laid eyes on a gold coin at all.
At normal prices, most of them could scrape and stretch and manage to afford two doses. Now, it would take a year of not eating and not spending to accumulate enough gold for a single dose.
And for the poor, saving money was nearly an impossible task.
Even the cheapest bread cost one copper coin. Coarse wheat bread was cheaper, two pieces for a copper, but the husks were never properly removed, and eating it left the throat raw and dry.
To eat enough to feel full, a day's wage of one silver coin was spent almost as quickly as it was earned.
With an income and expenditure ratio like that, expecting the poor to have any savings was pure fantasy.
The respectable middle classes, though displeased, pressed to the front anyway, taking out their purses — perhaps the only time in their lives they had ever been squeezed in beside people this dirty and this unwashed. But alongside the faint resentment on their faces was also a trace of relief, and a subtle, complicated sense of superiority.
The fewer people who can access a right, the more powerfully it manufactures that feeling.
Look, only they could pay. Only they could purchase their right to live when danger came.
Perhaps it was the glint of gold coins that finally cut too deep. The poor, who had been scattered loosely outside the medical hall, began to draw together, gradually forming a mass, standing in cold silence, watching the well-to-do file inside with satisfied expressions, while the impassive guards stared down at them.
At the front of the crowd stood the head of the guild, a woman with a wild tangle of golden hair, disheveled as an unkempt lion. Middle-aged, broad-shouldered, a respected figure in the slums for miles around. Her name was Elke.
A woman who had just bought medicine and was stepping cheerfully back through the door looked up without warning and found herself staring directly into Elke's cold lioness eyes. She felt a chill run through her, looked away with an awkward expression, and hurried off against the wall with her medicine box clutched tightly.
The crowd outside continued to buzz, the atmosphere like a pot of water slowly heating, growing more agitated with each passing moment.
At last, someone's voice broke through the murmur and rang out in the darkening street: "We're going to die either way. We might as well go down fighting!"
The voice was sharp and thin, cutting through the air like a needle, striking the burning atmosphere with a single sharp note. The mood froze for one instant.
Then the water boiled.
Steam blew the lid off the pot. Scalding water surged out, and with a hiss extinguished the fire beneath.
The crowd erupted.
"There are so many of us. Can’t we take down a dozen guards? If we can’t buy medicine we’ll die anyway, so we might as well try!"
"Sisters, let’s go! Smash those doors. If they won’t give it to us, we’ll take it!"
Elke, the head of the guild, felt her heart sink.
She understood: this was the moment. If they missed it, if people came back to their senses, it would be harder than ever to find anger strong enough to carry them over the barrier of class fear, to make them resist at all.
That bone-deep fear and deference had been poured into every poor person from birth. It was the first lesson the world taught them — be tame.
So even though the people were unprepared, even though everything was happening at once, even though they had no weapons, even though charging meant certain losses, Elke raised her fist high and, under the eyes of everyone behind her, shouted: “We’ve had enough! Forward, we save ourselves!”
They threw themselves into a brawl with an emergency patrol unit the city lord had dispatched.
Faced with the fury of the crowd, the guard knights, fully armored though they were, were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Their swords were seized, they were beaten senseless, and they were dumped at the door.
Of course, casualties were inevitable, especially for people who had nothing but their bare hands. A number were cut down by the sword and fell where they stood; some lost a limb, some were stabbed deeply and bled without stopping, lying in the street alongside the guards of uncertain condition.
The guards’ swords vanished, claimed by hands in the crowd. Their well-made armor, genuinely valuable, was stripped off as well, leaving only the soft linen beneath, every last defense torn away.
Inside the apothecary, the crowd that had broken through found themselves brawling over the shelves. Herbs were scattered to the floor, ground into powder, or crushed into streaks of green juice underfoot.
The ferocity of it made it nearly impossible to believe these were people gravely ill.
After all, there were countless who needed medicine, and the apothecary’s stock was finite. Breaking in without any agreed system of distribution meant conflict was inevitable.
Fortunately, they had a leader with enough standing to be heard — Elke.
Elke, sick and stumbling, climbed up onto the counter, cupped her hands around her mouth, and bellowed down: "Everyone stop! Stop! We manage this stock together. We distribute it according to who needs it most. No one gets less than they should! Keep fighting like this and the herbs will be trampled into nothing!"
Elke’s years of authority carried weight. Most people were willing to listen. Besides, it was Elke who had led the charge, stepping forward first herself, with not a trace of self-interest visible.
The crowd gradually stilled, all willing to hear her out.
Over the past decade, Elke had been the most unwavering union leader in the slums. Neither coercion nor bribes from factory owners had ever made her turn coat. She had remained committed, fighting always for the tangible interests of workers and the poor.
Of course, not all their demands were met. Some that provoked strong enough public indignation were resolved at half-measures; "too ambitious" demands were consistently ignored.
After all, no matter how loudly they argued, power was not in their hands. Other than using the union to "make trouble," they had no other means.
And this, now, was the most powerful act of trouble-making in the union's history.
They were already prepared for what came next: further sanctions from the city lord, tightening policies, factories clawing back every concession they had made and then some.
But this time, Elke said: "We organize ourselves."
This was a plan she had already been working out in her head since she had been blocked at the door.
Where would the herbs come from?
Gathering from the surrounding forests. Growing in household herb gardens. Importing from nearby cities.
There were too many people who needed medicine, and the existing stock would not be enough. Even with perfect redistribution, it would run out.
So alongside centralized distribution, they needed to find ways to increase supply.
All of this required organization.
Of course, the organization was crude and improvised, held together for now solely by Elke’s credibility. It was temporary. Even as she spoke, Elke was already thinking ahead to what came after.
Kelsey said: "Anger can give people strength for a time, but it isn't a lasting solution. It can carry them through this, but they will just as easily die in the next round of absurd exploitation and suppression."
“Having organization is good. But an organization that doesn’t know what it ultimately wants, or how to get it, will eventually be broken apart and become nothing but another stain of blood, another achievement under some noble’s boot.”
"They won't be the first, and they won't be the last."
Lucita asked her out of nowhere: "Who are you?"
Kelsey blinked in mild surprise, then laughed. "I'm getting carried away."
"Ten years ago the human world had three kingdoms. The one that died is called Eaton, it was my homeland. My mother was Audrey the Third. I was her third daughter, and I served as crown prince for the last three years before the kingdom fell."
She paused, and laughed a little self-consciously: "At the time, the name Kelsey traveled fairly far. They even gave me some nicknames. I thought that since I didn't hide my name, you would have put it together."
Stasia cut in: "Tyrant. The Bloody Crown Prince."
"Shut up. How embarrassing."
"Ha."
Elke had never been this deeply unsettled in her life.
Since the day they had attacked the knight squad and seized the medicine, the city lord had dispatched three successive detachments of guards to punish and suppress them.
In the beginning, relying on the iron swords and equipment they had seized, plus the determination of people who had nothing left to lose, they beat back the incursions three times, holding their ground in the slums, appearing to grow stronger.
With medicine fairly and fully distributed, the plague came under control, and the situation gradually stabilized. As people recovered their health, daily life and work slowly began to return to something like normal.
But only Elke knew, she was at her wit’s end.
Those guard dispatches had been a surface gesture. The city lord was not foolish enough to keep sending squads to be worn down again and again.
The temporary squad leaders Elke had assembled, the strong and capable ones, had each been approached, one way or another, with incentives.
The city lord was offering them a way back: the title of provisional knight, a respectable profession, a life altogether different from before, no more need to live in fear...
What made it worse was that many of them worked in the factories, including Elke herself. With their jobs gone, they were growing poorer by the day, and the slum they had chosen as their base was beginning to feel like a cage.
The mood was shifting.
The city of Pharos, near Grande.
Stasia wrote the last line on a piece of dark yellow parchment paper, folded the letter and placed it in an envelope.
Kelsey was beside her, helping her melt dark red sealing wax over the flame, and poured it onto the envelope's flap. Stasia removed her family signet ring and pressed it down firmly.
When it had cooled, Stasia pocketed the ring. The envelope bore a round seal in vivid red: a crescent moon and a scattering of stars.
The family crest of the Callen house.
“There.” Stasia held it out to Lucita. “I’ve written a letter of recommendation in my family’s name to a mentor at the Spring Tower in the capital. You can send it along with your own application letter. With this, you may receive an opportunity to study magic at the Spring Tower Academy.”
Lucita tucked it carefully into her storage space and thanked her sincerely.
She truly was interested in the magical towers. She wanted to know how far magic, rebuilt from nothing over five hundred years, had developed compared to the ancient texts she had read.
Stasia shook her head. "It's the only thing I can do for you."
She didn’t understand how a non-human could awaken a magical gift, but it had clearly happened in Lucita’s case.
Given that the finest magical instruction on the entire continent was found in the magical towers, Stasia had brought out the family signet ring she had taken from home — her sister had presumably assumed it was lost long ago and most likely had a new one made by now — and written Lucita a letter of recommendation.
It was, after all, a place accessible only to those of noble birth. And Stasia’s sister had made a considerable name for herself in recent years. She had evidently recovered the title and territory of a marquisate, and become a trusted pillar of the Kenting king.
July burned hot, and a sharpening wind began to blow. Elke added a layer of clothing.
After all, this was the last time she would wear this coat.
Her mother had made it for her. She had worn it with great care, mending and patching it over ten years.
She tightened the coat around herself and murmured: "Mama..."
Before her stood a gallows heavy with the smell of blood.
In the crowd below were the neighbors and friends who had stood with her half a month ago.
She saw Dalila.
Dalila's eyes were fixed on her, unblinking, fists clenched at her sides, with a fire that flickered in her gaze.
Elke smiled at her reassuringly, then looked around at her other companions.
In their eyes she saw regret. She saw guilt. She saw relief.
Some could not bear to look. They closed their eyes.
But Elke's final thought was: Closing your eyes won't help. The next one will be you.
Bright red turned to dark. Another wronged soul was added to the gallows. The sun moved from south to west, slowly sinking.
Night fell over Grande. Tomorrow would be a new day.
Grande was reopening. The news reached Pharos.
"Why didn't you help them? You could have. I know you could have." Stasia held the morning paper and pressed her lips together, looking at Lucita with her eyes full of confusion.
"I couldn't, Stasia." Lucita sighed.
“Why not? You clearly…”
"Do you mean help them seize the medicine? But they could do that themselves, and they did."
"But they failed in the end!"
"With my help, they would still have failed. They might have held out a little longer, nothing more."
“But… but…”
"Or do you mean help them kill the city lord and the factory owners?"
Stasia went silent and couldn't find words.
"I can't do that." Lucita said, and Stasia’s eyes flashed, and she was about to argue, but Lucita shifted course: "I can only kill Primavera. I cannot kill the city lord. Do you understand?"
Stasia slumped back against her chair.
Kelsey came over, and gently touched her hair. "Only they themselves can kill the city lord."
And the reason they had failed was that they had not yet found the way to do it.
"I understand now," Kelsey said, as though something had just occurred to her, and lifted her eyes to the distant street: "The first thing I want to do is study this — how to kill the city lord."
After about ten days in Pharos, Kelsey had recovered well enough, and Lucita set her mind at ease and raised the matter of departure.
Neither tried to hold her back. They probably understood, after all, that the human world held little appeal for anyone from Irttat.
Delphine chattered away: "Is your home far? Is it beautiful there?"
"Very far." Lucita said as she walked through the train station, apparently talking to herself. People around her were casting increasingly strange glances, which she ignored. “Very beautiful. It’s the most beautiful place in the world.”
"Really?!"
...
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