The Pass by Zion Kistler (top 100 novels txt) 📕

to do—now that he had a bit of freedom he didn’t really know what to do with it. Maybe I should explore the town a bit…? This idea seemed acceptable. So he headed off towards mid-town, thinking that he might want something to eat while he was wandering around.
So he found a bakery and bought with what money he had a large pastry, and ate it thankfully. I wonder what everyone else is doing right now. He wondered, and decided to go take a look at the battlefield. He guessed that it probably wasn’t that much better than it had been when he had been there cleaning the day before, which in Treaf’s opinion had not been much fun.
He arrived at the ramparts shortly, and he climbed the familiar stairs up it. The air seemed silent and musky, like everybody around it was dead or not present. When he looked out into the battlefield the sight was not pretty. There were torn bodies of both man and beast, along with crusty weapons, spears, and who-knows-what. There were things that stuck out in obvious ways, like Trial Dogs that had been shot with dozens and dozens of arrows until the poor beast had died. Treaf personally did not know what the workers would do about these particular situations, but Treaf was glad that he would have to be the one to do all of the dirty work. Actually he should have been eating like a king right then, besides being treated like a king, for he was basically the one that had thought of the plan to end the stupid battle. Treaf remembered bitterly that the higher-ups hadn’t thought of a single plan, and that he had thought of them to be pigs. That was the funniest part of the story, but Treaf still didn’t want to think about it, or he would become sick.
There then came to ear a rattling sound, and Treaf looked down inn curiosity, and what he saw immediately did make him sick. A cart of dead bodies was being hauled away, and the stench made him almost puke. It was a pungent smell of musky murkiness, and Treaf felt the air around him seem to become thicker. He covered his mouth and nostrils, and decided not to react. If he did, the cart below him would stink even worse than it did now.
He decided that he did not want to eat the other part of the pastry right then, so he started walking towards the guesthouse, where things were bustling and dinner was going to begin.


Chapter Three

A Journey of Silence
After a few minutes there came to ear a loud gonging noise, and Treaf had learned that this sound was a dinner bell. He found it difficult to believe that they had only been in The Jaragon for a few days now, and in a way it was quite disturbing. If they had been traveling for a few months, why did it seem like years and years of it? He couldn’t even imagine what it would be like when they were done with the journey—it would probably take decades if they continued going at this pace.
As he walked down the stairs feeling a bit depressed he saw the moment when everyone came in from work or training, and he realized that he would probably get the first seat that night. Not that it really mattered, he wasn’t the type to think about things like that, but he was thinking of nothing else, and if he did think of anything else he would be miserable and probably scream till he felt hoarse.
As he had predicted, he did get the first place, and like wise got the first plate of food. It was potatoes, gravy, and a very strange soup that was pink and that tasted of radishes. The others basically had about the same thing, but that didn’t really matter, for it was food, and if they didn’t eat it they would just die like any other soldier. Hmmmmmmm. I do wonder if the King will be here, Treaf thought, and grinned. For some reason he found the King very funny, and he didn’t really know why. Maybe it was because he seemed so babyish and unfit to him. But that didn’t matter. If they could get out of The Jaragon before anything bad happened between them and the King, they would be able to camp out in the woods and create Magical Beings, but then they would be attacked by Blackwolf spirits and have only a few men to fight for them. This whole struggle really depends more on the Elder than I thought. If we didn’t have any Magical Beings fighting with us we would have lost.
After dinner, there was desert, and Treaf stuffed himself with this, for he didn’t have anything else to do for right then. I guess I should be happy, Treaf thought. At least I didn’t die, and at least we might be able to gather an army from the Elves. Too bad we left Goshop before the messenger arrived, or we would have been able to tell what’s going on over there. He didn’t know if the messenger would be able to find them there. But then he realized that the messengers had been actual warriors, and that they would probably know where the lot of them were if they made it at all. And the villagers in Goshop would tell them that the army had left anyway, so initially there was nothing severe to worry about. Treaf felt slightly contented with this, and was ready to accept the fact that there was still hope left for all of them.
After the desert there was not much talking or other things, so Treaf decided after a few moments to go back up to the top floor where he could hopefully get some peace and quiet.
He and the stampede of others soon were walking up the stairs, and Treaf was suddenly reminded of when they first came to The Jaragon, which was not so long ago. Probably only a week and a half, though with the battle and all Treaf felt that it had seemed like a whole month.
When they arrived at the top floor most of them went to their beds, and Treaf decided that he should probably do so too. It felt good to lie down, but he realized that the glories of almost beating Mildo had drained him of a lot of muscle power, so he considered the next day he would probably be quite sore. And if I have to work tomorrow I’m gonna really get mad. If they expect me to train with swordplay extensively and then go start cleaning up, I think the King should be hung. Treaf felt a funny tinge to this, so the comings of a bad mood lifted.
It didn’t seem too long before the daylight stopped abruptly, and so Treaf decided that he would shortly attempt falling asleep. If he had had something to read he would have gladly done so, but he didn’t, and that was part of being in an army. He could of course always buy one, but that seemed unnecessary, and food would be more important. Can’t trust the cooks, after all....

Buy now Treaf had been working for more than an hour, and his mood had not increased one bit since he had started. He was a laborer under command, and at this certain time he was moving a pile of rubble with a seemingly small shovel. The trouble was, the stones and bricks and other things were too big and heavy for the little shovel, so Treaf had to rely on his muscle power, and even then it was a divine struggle.
Treaf infrequently swore do to the heat and the situation at hand, and one or twice people noticed, looking at him with their curious little faces. Y’know, who thought that a bunch of scattered army would repair a damaged town, Treaf thought, and with that his shovel snapped in half. In dulled surprise, Treaf realized that he had been wedging it between a wall and a large stone, and the eviler part of him had been scheming to keep it there until breaking was immanent.
Half grinning, half looking shocked, Treaf went to the shade and drank some water. He put some on his head, which was making rivers of sweat. He banged the lid on the container, and he got up, his pants plastered to his legs. Others were working with him, and some of them looked miserable, but some did not, and Treaf felt strangely that the happy ones were damaged in the brains.
With no further disgusted thoughts, Treaf went back to work, this time with a spare shovel. He felt everything go quiet, and the only thing that he could really hear were people’s hard breathing and other such noises. He continued on, jamming his jaw into the side of his mouth to prevent himself from screaming, swearing, and banging his shovel on a rock.
Then something entirely new happened; there was a certain person who looked particularly happy, or particularly demented. He looked around at everyone, and then looked like he was going to burp. Then he paused, and started singing loudly, as if this would lift the mood. His voice was droned and high, and Treaf found it very hard not to laugh. He would have found this whole thing acceptable if the song had been an uplifted work chorus, but it seemed to be more of a funeral hymn. Whoa—that was unexpected, Treaf laughed in his thoughts. Actually Treaf expected the man to have started weeping next, but he did not, and Treaf was partially glad. Otherwise he would have started laughing very hard.
After a few more minutes Treaf’s mood had lifted a bit, and he started to look at things with a positive air. The sun was out, and that would make the crops grow, which would be good for the people of The Jaragon. It wasn’t like he wanted good fortune and blessings to rest upon them forever, but he thought that since they had basically destroyed their whole town, it would be wise not to dislike them. It was a simple way of reasoning, but anything more complicated would go strait to the King, and he would make things worse than they already were.
After probably about a half hour Treaf was released from duty, and he was ordered to instead haul out dead bodies. Another pleasant surprise....Treaf’s thoughts were then muffled to a halt as he realized what he would be doing next. He had surpassed it before, and he knew what it was like. There was the stench,