Dmitri struck ahead, his saber slashing at any low-hanging branch or stray leaf that lay in his path. Petrov, Leo, and Fyodor followed a few steps behind him. They remained wary of Dmitri, in part because he swung his saber like a madman, but also because he had said so little to them upon revealing himself. Dmitri was not so much a man to them as he was a ghost, a phantom from their past who had mysteriously reappeared in their lives at a very opportune time.
The Czarian ambush, Dmitri's timing, the curiosity of his friends – none of this was lost on Nicolai, who held up the rear of the column. Unlike Dmitri, Nicolai was careful to step lightly through the brush, so as not to make a sound, as though his silence would somehow muffle Dmitri's hacking. With every dozen steps or so, Nicolai glanced over his shoulder, not wanting to be surprised for a second time that night. Yet all these movements betrayed his focus. His mind centered not on watching for unwanted guests. Nicolai’s main concern was Dmitri.
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Dmitri was a derelict figure in their lives. Of the four of them, Nicolai was the one who first encountered him. But the details of their meeting remained cloudy in Nicolai's mind. Nicolai could only remember the rain beating upon his back as Dmitri leaned over to look at his face. That was Nicolai's first memory of him. But there were gaps in his recollection that left him confused as to their exact history and relationship together. His next memory was of them sitting in a yurt eating lamb stew. Then he could only recall them running through the woods, in a delirious state of exhaustion, when they were about fifteen.
After that, his last single memory was of them being hurried into a cabin, where they first met Tobin, his nephew Petrov, along with Fyodor and Leo. The three boys had been entrusted into Tobin's care by their parents, who had wanted their children to escape the growing threat of the Purge. Tobin, a trusted citizen of Osley, took it upon himself to chaperone the five boys all the way to the docks of Sagemark, where he secured their passage on a Maricanian freight ship. He gave them specific instructions on who to speak to and where to seek work upon arriving in Maricania.
Their journey to Maricania lasted two weeks. They kept mostly to themselves, staying out of the crew's way, except when they were called to do chores, which they could not avoid despite the fact that Tobin had paid a passenger's fare for each of them. But they had the nights to themselves, during which they grew to know each other. Yet Dmitri remained aloof during these times, choosing to sneak off by himself. He conversed very little with his fellow Chenians or the crew. Despite their efforts to go find him during their card games or conversations, Dmitri was nowhere to be found. Except for one time.
It was the final night of their voyage. The crew had drunk the last of the liquor, in hopes of replenishing their thirst onshore the next day. Nicolai and his friends kept to themselves that night in the mess hall, for the sailors, who were Maricanian, had altogether shunned them for most of the journey. He feared that the combination of alcohol with whatever prejudice they may have would lead to a confrontation. But the crew scarcely noticed the five quiet ones. The sailors only survived an hour in a drunken stupor before the majority of them passed out. Not wanting to push what little luck they had, the five of them slipped quietly into bed, not even bothering to play cards or talk for fear of waking one of them.
Nicolai awoke later that night. He sat up in his hammock and looked around. Everyone else was dead asleep. Not one of them stirred even a little. Yet Nicolai still felt alert and restless, as though something was awry. Dmitri's hammock lay bare, which wasn't particularly unusual since he had been sneaking off most nights. Nonetheless, Nicolai felt the urge to look for him.
Nicolai started from the bottom up, choosing to search the cargo bay, then the mess hall and equipment rooms, before rising to the deck. The sky bore no moon that night, yet it shone with the brilliance of ten thousand stars, miniscule lights that stunned Nicolai. He stood on the deck for nearly ten minutes, slowly turning his head to take it all in, much as a child does upon discovery. It was during this awe that Nicolai turned to the quarterdeck. His continuous view of the stars was interrupted by a figure, who stood silently, a darkness surrounded by beads of lights: Dmitri.
Nicolai opened his mouth to speak. But at the last moment he decided against it. He realized that Dmitri was at the wheel, guiding the ship, an interim captain who was standing in while the actual one lay drunk below deck. From his vantage point Dmitri could see the entire ship and had no doubt been watching Nicolai while he stood admiring the stars. Had he wanted to speak to him he would have. Besides, what was Nicolai to say? "What are you doing there?" or "Do you need a hand?" No, Nicolai thought, Dmitri was too aloof to react to such obvious conversation starters. So, rather than speak, Nicolai sauntered up onto the quarterdeck as Dmitri continued to steer. For another ten minutes no words passed between them.
"How long are you going to pretend that you actually want to be here?" Dmitri finally said.
"I haven't decided yet. Do you always steer the ship at night?"
"No. This is only my second time. Even drunk the captain usually manages to stay awake through the night. He doesn't sleep much. Except for one other night. And tonight."
"Have you worked a ship before?"
"No, Nicolai, I have not worked a ship before."
"I can leave."
"You could."
Nicolai took a step toward the stairs. But then he reconsidered and moved instead to the railing that wrapped around the quarterdeck. He leaned over, his back to Dmitri, as he looked down at the water that broke white against the hull.
"You found me, didn't you?" Nicolai asked.
"You don't remember?"
"Only a little. I can only recall you looking at me as I lay on the ground. It was raining."
"So you already forgot the rest?"
"What do you mean?"
"It was early spring. And yes, it was raining. I was with my stepfather, may he rest with Ada, in our yurt. Then one of our dogs outside started barking. He figured that a wolf was trying to pick off one of the lambs so we went outside to check. We found nothing so he went back inside. But I stayed. I knew there was something more.
"Our dog stopped barking, but it still growled. It looked off toward the hillside. So I untied it and it ran off. I followed it until it stopped before you. You were laying facedown in the mud, in tattered pants, your hair matted. You looked as if you had been catapulted from a prison. It was awful just to look at you.
"I called my stepfather. He came and together we dragged you back inside. You were breathing, and your heartbeat was still strong, but you remained asleep for almost two weeks. You would stir every now and then, which is when we'd force water down your throat so you wouldn't die of thirst. Finally, you came out of it.
"You said nothing at first. You ate and drank. You loved our lamb stew. Three weeks passed before you even told us your name. That was when . . ."
Dmitri paused. Nicolai turned around to face him.
"What happened then?" Nicolai asked.
"My stepfather caught pneumonia. It struck him hard and fast. A week later you and I buried him."
"I'm sorry. I don't even remember that."
"No matter. You're better off for having forgotten."
Nicolai and Dmitri said nothing else for the rest of the night. Nicolai remained on the quarterdeck for another ten minutes before returning to the sleeping quarters below. He awoke the next day to find Dmitri had vanished. Even after they docked he was nowhere to be found. He and his friends searched the whole of the ship three times before the captain finally asked them to leave.
In the days that followed, the remaining four made their way south from Casis to Knight's Harbor, where they eventually established themselves in the Chenian enclave that remained their home until their recent departure. During their first few months there, they made inquiries as to Dmitri's whereabouts. They asked the locals while they were searching for work and were even given a few leads. But each time the glimmer of hope of finding their friend turned out to be a disappointment, either in that it led them to another Chenian or to nothing altogether. Soon Leo, Fyodor and Petrov gave up. Nicolai continued the search, motivated to find the Chenian who had saved his life, to locate the friend who knew a part of his life he could not recollect. But as the months wore on, even Nicolai gave up his efforts.
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Dmitri hacked his way through the last line of brush that stood between them and a clearing. He cut a path through the vegetation with steadfast determination. Even as thorns and twigs scraped his skin he pushed forward until he stepped upon soft blades of fresh grass. He stopped. The other four came up beside Dmitri, where they also paused, admiring a scene of their past, a shot of nostalgia.
Casis. From the grassy ridge where they stood the port city laid before them. Unlike Knight's Harbor, where every good and luxury imaginable came through its docks, the official export of Casis was wool, while it imported a few goods from abroad. Unofficially, however, this quiet red-brick town was the largest exporter of zycoxium, otherwise called zy. Zy was a narcotic alkaloid derived from the white meadow berries that flourished in the surrounding hillsides. Maricanian shepherds, who brought in their flocks to have them sheered near the port, would also collect the berries on their journey into town. There they would sell or barter their wild harvest to apothecaries, who would dry the berries in the sun before crushing them with stone and mortar into a fine dust. The resulting zycoxium dust could then be used in any standard hookah pipe, allowing addicts to experience hallucinations once restricted to shamans and seers.
Several factors prevented the Maricanian authorities, including the Shavice, from successfully restricting the sale and use of zycoxium. For one, the white meadow berries, despite what their name suggested, could grow almost anywhere. Apothecaries had long ago discovered how to cross-pollinate the berries with various types of vines. As a result, they could be grown not only in meadows, which the Shavice regularly monitored, but in any type of soil in any temperate climate. While this meant that the berries proliferated in other regions, those from Casis remained sought after for being of a purer, more potent strain. Then there was the issue of bribery. Even amongst the most loyal of Maricanian authorities there remained a select few in each unit, including the Shavice, willing to take a cut of this trade. So, zycoxium in Casis flourished, as did a few other illicit services, including smuggling.
Dmitri was the first to descend the path from the ridge into Casis. He was the first to step onto the cobblestone street that bisected the city and led straight to the wharf. He approached the first sailor he saw to inquire about passage to Chenia. All the while, the other four kept their distance, always a few steps behind Dmitri but never so close as to reach out and stop him should he say the wrong thing or overstep his bounds with the locals.
Dmitri remained a man possessed for the remainder of the night. He secured accommodations on a clipper, bartering the long rifles they had stripped from the Czarians in exchange for safe passage. None of them dared to ask him if they should have kept the rifles before he made the trade, for fear of casting doubt on Dmitri's decision. Such a feeling of mutual distrust continued through the rest of the night, as the clipper they boarded left Casis for its trans-oceanic voyage to Sagemark, the capital of Chenia.
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