《Tago》 Chapter 1 Tago raced the sun. His feet were sore from a long day at the market, but they had not yet begun to blister. The three remaining jars of preserves clanked around his pack, nagging at him to remind his mother that no one in their right mind would buy spiced pumpkin, this late into spring. Tago tightened the strap across his chest and adjusted his pack to fit neatly in the small of his lower back. He secured his purse and clutched the produce that he had bartered for, before taking one more look back at the sun. It suspended itself over the hillside, a dazzling fixture illuminating the fields and winding paths that sprawled across the western half of the Domingo province. At this time of year, the sun urged the children to quickly finish their chores, so that they may play along the creeks, catching bugs, frogs, and occasionally a fever. Their parents worked diligently, taking advantage of the mild climate and rewarding themselves at the end of the day with ripe fruit and sweet wines. Generally, the residents of the hillsides were welcoming to one another as demonstrated by the gleeful manner in which they greeted their neighbors and patrons, but with the berry festival less than 10 days away, competitiveness filled the air like a dense fog. Tago paused, took a deep breath, and turned the back of his hand to face the sun. He extended his four fingers horizontally and folded his thumb into his palm. Then he overlayed his pinky, parallel to the horizon. He squinted and raised the corner of his lips to meet the creases beneath his cheekbones. ¡°I still need to grab the post,¡± he thought to himself as he lowered his arm, ¡°If I hurry, I should still make it back in time.¡± Tago shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, leaning forward before settling into a comfortable rhythm to run to. His black hair bounced beneath his eyes and he brushed the ends of his hair back behind his ears, revealing his stained fingertips. He began to pump his arms feverishly and his legs followed. The market was open every Saturday and Sunday from Sunrise to Sunset. The residents of the Domingo province traveled westward toward the coast from their farms and villages to purchase and sell goods. All the farms and Villages were located east of the market, on the hillsides. The market road continued eastward toward the Hursay Mountain range where warmer air spurred ingenuity in the larger cities. The fruit farms in the Domingo province were strategically placed along the running springs at the base of the Hursay mountain range. The freshwater that ran down the mountain nourished the soil, producing a rich purple color and a firm texture. Some residents claimed that an overactive stream excited the soil and thus produced larger bushes with more vibrant fruit. Others claimed that the shyness of the Sun in the winter determined how harsh the rays would be in the spring, which was crucial for peak sweetness. Tago was partial to fruit but may have harbored some animosity toward the culture it produced. The Hillock were a kind and simple folk, content with living quaint and peaceful lives. Conversely, Tago carried a deep desire to prove himself as more than a simple berry farmer. If it were not for his mother, he likely would have left the hillside years ago, but Tago adored his mom. He loved to see her smile, which was a rare occurrence, and quite a startling one, when it appeared without warning. Tago¡¯s concentration was quickly interrupted, ¡°awwgk¡± he uttered, as he slipped on a cowpie that had found his right step while in stride. He quickly shuffled off the path to rinse his foot in a nearby creek. ¡°Just my luck¡± he mumbled. He looked up and saw a few hillock children across the creek, peeking through the woods, laughing and stumbling over themselves ¡°Mooo¡± the children mocked ¡°MOOO¡±, before disappearing into the trees. Tago picked himself up and shook off the excess moisture from his foot before returning to the path. He looked down, then quickly began to run once more. After a few more close encounters, he arrived at the city gates of Rudango. The brick archway at the west end of the city entrance was adorned with colorful banners and the mortar joints appeared recently brushed, revealing cold gray stone and ashen grout that lined the City walls of Rudango. The walls were dull, protective, and stood 50 feet tall. The interior of the city, however, was as lively and inviting as a carnival. Approximately 300 Hillock lived within the walls of Rudango, and 5 times as many frequented the city to patronize its shops, pubs, and masonries. Rudango was split into 4 distinct sections, which divided themselves laterally, across the city. As intended, this commercially advantageous layout insisted that its guests visit each of the four sections before exiting on the opposite side of the city walls. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Sun Pies, Moon Pies, best you¡¯ll find in the city!¡± Shouted a dirty man pushing a cart with a dozen or so of, quite possibly, the most delicious-looking berry tarts Tago had ever seen. Tago¡¯s stomach muttered, and he quickly hopped onto the cobblestone path opposite the dirty man. He followed the path eastward, passing confectionaries and restaurants filled to the brim with sweet treats and jolly customers. Jealousy filled Tago¡¯s gut like a stone, tumbling around until it settled at the bottom of his stomach and confused his feeling of hunger for a dull and growing resentment, which was fortunate since he hadn¡¯t eaten since the blueberry puree he had for breakfast. Tago began to run, or at least he tried to, parts of the cobblestone path were slick with soapy water, as some shops were mopping their storefront as part of their closing duties. He walked slower than he liked, glancing into the shops through his periphery. He glanced through the paned windows of a shop one-fifth the size of its neighbors and noticed a bronze sun hanging above the register. From its center, it emitted three golden rays, dividing the sun into thirds. The rays appeared to flicker in a dull orange roll, like a campfire that was preserving the last log of its bundle. Tago paused and turned to a young lady outside of the store who was pacing from table to table, picking up empty plates, stained napkins, and unattended cutlery. She might have been 3 years older than Tago, but the bags under her eyes belonged to that of a woman who may have been 10 years his senior. She had dark blonde hair, that she wore under a red head cover. Some strands of hair had escaped and were darting about wildly as if they were trying to help the frantic women finish clearing the tables. Tago interrupted, ¡°Do you know how long before Twilight? The young lady turned to look at Tago, her eyes shifting between the tattered ends of his pants and his stained fingertips, before settling on a black smudge on his nose. ¡°One second¡±. She gestured with her eyes as she finished folding a linen tablecloth she had draped across her chest. She reached into her apron and retrieved a small brass locket. The rightmost edge of the locket was well-worn, providing the user a guide for which end of the face plate to open. ¡°We still have about 90 minutes,¡± she said ¡°Thank you!¡± Tago exclaimed, before turning once more down the cobblestone path. ¡°Wait, stay right here¡± the tired-eyed woman whispered. She entered the shop and returned holding a small paper bag. ¡°Here¡± she spat, ¡°These are our signature Aubergine turnovers. You¡¯ve never had better¡±. She was right of course; Tago didn¡¯t even know what an aubergine was. Tago took the small white bag hesitantly, before fumbling into his purse to retrieve his coin. ¡°No, please. I don¡¯t want your money. But if you have any spare jam from today''s market¡­.¡± Tago curled his fingertips into his palms and pressed the produce he was carrying against his chest. He reluctantly set the produce down before rummaging in his pack. ¡°Of course! Here, you can have these.¡± Tago handed the young woman the three remaining jars in his pack. ¡°Are these spiced pumpkin?¡± she asked as she inspected the jar. ¡°These were my mom¡¯s favorite!¡± she cried, as she opened one of the lids to sample the pumpkin preserve. She closed her eyes for a moment, reminiscing of a simpler time. A time when her efforts were spent on greeting customers and helping her mother and father peel potatoes in the kitchen. She sampled another finger''s worth of pumpkin preserve, which sent a long, thin grin across her face. Tago held his breath, not wanting to interrupt this young woman''s warm recollection. Finally, he let it slip out, ¡°We make a pretty good raspberry spread too! I¡¯ll be sure to save you one for next time.¡± Tago placed the white paper bag in his pack, thanked the young women, and turned to face the cobblestone path ¡°Be cautious in the dark¡± she muttered. Tago replied, ¡°The light will guide me¡±. Chapter 2 As Tago entered the entertainment district, the cobblestone path he was on became occupied by more and more patrons, each dizzier and more belligerent than the last. Around him lay scattered, what felt like, forty or so pubs, theatres, and gambling halls each with their unique gripping mixture of sounds and smells, seeping out of blackened curtain entrances. Tago was not quite old enough to drink and not young enough to still find its taboo appealing. He did, however, enjoy the music. Occasionally, he would find himself slipping into the nearby alleyways and listening to the local groups perform ballads for the hill folk. His favorite songs were those with themes of honor, triumph, and very recently unrequited love. Tago pressed on, if one is truly determined they can continue on the cobblestone path, without falling into the allure of the pubs and enter straight into the masonry district. By this time of day, the masonry shops had been boarded up and closed. Even after closing, patrons could still order supplies, materials, and fixtures by dropping off order sheets into the standby deposit boxes located outside of all the masonry shops. The orders would not be processed until the next day but it saved some hillock an extra trip into the city. Finally, Tago arrived at the opposite end of the Rudango city walls, known to the residents as the housing district. Very few visitors spent much time in this district and those who did either had family in the city or got lost leaving the entertainment district. The small square homes were uniform in both shape and color. The gray roofs, matched the color of the surrounding walls, evoking a sense of security and conformity. The homes ran parallel to the inside of the city walls and wrapped around outward until they reached the masonry district. Within this concrete suburbia, lived Tago¡¯s paternal aunt Dahlia. Dahlia was a wonderfully sweet woman and a caring mother. Like her sister, she was a hard-working, no-nonsense kind of lady who was as devoted to her family as her husband was to stone masonry. Tago¡¯s uncle owned a successful masonry that specialized in crafting kitchen fixtures out of exotic stones. If Tago had not taken so long wrapping up his preserve stand at the market today, he likely would have stopped by to say hello. Tago exited the city wall and his feet were greeted once more by the smooth dirt path that weaved up and around the soft rolling hills that surrounded Rudango. He trotted toward the Post Masters office, which was located a few hundred meters outside the eastern gate of Rudango, opposite the Royal Outpost. Tago nodded at the Patrolmen who stood guard on the perimeter of the outpost and turned to face the Post Masters hut. The Post Masters hut was a generously sized wooden structure bearing the King''s crest atop a white envelope. The inside resembled that of a deconstructed beehive, manned by a single dauntless worker, desperately trying to alphabetize letters and parcels into neat rows that ran along the inside of the hut. Post in the Domingo province was not sent to a home address but rather addressed to an individual by their surname and kept at the post-masters hut until retrieved by the recipeint. The recipient could enter the postmaster¡¯s hut, greet the postmaster if they felt so inclined, and provide him their surname as well as the 5-digit identification number associated with the specific individual. Additionally, citizens of the Domingo province were allotted 12 mail stipends a year to send letters to whom they wished. Tago couldn''t read so he hardly ever received or sent written letters. Nonetheless, he entered the Post Masters hut and the small yellow bell that hung above the door, chimed sharply, as if startled by Tago''s arrival. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°I''ll be right with you, just give me one minute¡± shouted a man with slick gray hair who had his back turned to the front door. The man stood behind a wooden counter that ran across the length of the hut. He held a long width of parchment and was recording an inventory of the larger parcels, that had not yet been claimed. He stacked the packages on top of one another in order of ascending size and slid them into a corner. The pile of parcels seemed to fit themselves neatly into the space provided by other similar stacks of packages. The man turned to face Tago and greeted him as he exhaled ¡°Hello Tago, how was your day at the Market¡± Stanley asked as he rolled up the parchment he was holding. ¡°Hi, Stanley. It went well, I sold almost all of what I had brought, so my pack feels light as a feather. I traded some of the leftover preserves I had for a bunch of carrots and a handful of water chestnuts.¡± Tago didn¡¯t dare to mention the bag of artisan turnovers that were gifted to him by the tired-eyed young lady. Stanley was a broad man, with nimble fingers and quite a distinguished sweet tooth. Had Tago alluded to what he had in his possession, Stanley would have entered into a persisting frenzy. A peek would have turned into a taste, a taste into a bite, and a bite into a cloud of powdered sugar and crumbs. ¡°That¡¯s wonderful¡± the man bellowed. ¡°If you ever do have any unsold jams or jellies, feel free to deposit them right here with me, no postage required !¡± he declared, as he rifled through a row of envelopes with the grace of a tenured harpist. ¡°Your Surname?¡± Stanley asked requisitely. Tago sighed and recited the information in a soulless tone, ¡°Abaroa, 4-97-23 and 4-97-21 ¡°Ahh, here we are, three envelopes addressed to your moth...erh... I mean, resident 4-97-21.¡± Stanley handed Tago the letters and then turned toward a stack of packages that rested against the wall. ¡°Give me one second,¡± Stanley said as he ran his fingers down the pile of packages. Tago examined the letters, the first envelope had a bright red strawberry stamp in the center, it likely contained a pamphlet with details regarding the upcoming berry festival. The other two letters bore the king''s crest beneath a golden sword, the stamp used by officers of the Royal outpost. Tago placed the envelopes snuggly into the slit on the outside of his pack. Stanley returned holding a small wooden box wrapped tightly with twine. Stanley handed Tago the box and cried, ¡°Where is Gonzo? The two were inseparable, except for today of course. The Rat had come down with some sort of cold and decided to stay home while Tago went to market. Gonzo deserved the rest, he had been hard at work taste-testing the jams that Tago and his mother were planning on submitting at this year''s berry festival. Tago inspected the box as he responded, ¡°He¡¯s not feeling well. But he should be back on his feet in no time.¡± Tago shook the box and it produced a familiar rattle. Tago beamed and looked at Stanley, ¡°I have to go, I''ll see you at the festival¡±, he said as he slid the small wooden box into his pack. Stanley smiled and waved, then unrolled the width of parchment that he had tucked in his pocket, before turning back to face a never-ending sea of packages Chapter 3 As Tago exited the Post Masters hut, he was greeted by dim golden rays. The light was soft and the sun was inching toward the horizon, eager to rest beneath the mountains. Tago didn¡¯t bother to measure the sun, he knew that when she peeked through the clouds and draped parts of the hillside in sweet amber ribbons, that twilight was quickly approaching. ¡°Ok, almost home,¡± Tago thought to himself. He hopped from side to side on the balls of his feet, stopped, and appeared to fall forward. Then he caught himself by planting his right foot firmly into the ground and lunged. Like a slingshot, Tago sprang forward and zipped down the dirt path. The constant rattling coming from within his pack acted as a metronome, dictating the cadence at which he ran and serving as a fruitful reminder to get home swiftly. Between Rudango and Tago¡¯s village, there were dozens of rivers and streams, each as wild and wide as the last. There were thick and mysterious forests, teeming with all sorts of woodland creatures; Great Elk, Moss frogs, wild boar, and Tago¡¯s favorite, summer sprites. Summer sprites are soft-bodied beetles that buzzed around sluggishly in the fall and winter. But late into spring, they started to produce a glowing yellow light from within their abdomen. This light invigorated the beetles and they would spend the rest of the summer maneuvering above the forest floor, nimbly hunting caterpillars, millipedes, and even other lethargic Summer Sprites! Tago spent many summers positioning himself in a forest clearing and waiting for the glowing arrival of these flying critters. He would crouch and wait until an unsuspecting Summer Sprite flickered within arm''s reach and then Tago would smack the beetle out of the air. If Gonzo was prepared, the rat would leap from Tago¡¯s shoulder, scurry over to the stunned beetle, and wuld deliver the final blow. After the two had amassed a respectively large lump of beetles, they would exit the forest and return home to roast the summer sprites over an open fire. Tago liked the taste and his keen reflexes and eyesight were better for it. The forest was home to plenty of other creatures less trivial than a glowing beetle, and some, with gruesome reputations. Nestled between the rivers and forest were the villages of the Domingo province. Tago¡¯s village was the smallest; it was well known for producing the sweetest berry preserves and most delicious fruit wines. The people in his village were uneducated but could recite fifteen different ways to determine if a piece of fruit was ripe for the picking, without even needing to touch it. The last member of Tago¡¯s village who had entered, and won the Bery Festival, was a woman named Rika. This happened over 20 years ago and if Tago¡¯s mother remembered correctly, she had submitted a, particularly delectable RazzBerry parfait. Tago¡¯s mother always reminded him that, had she not gifted Rita that quart of milk, she never would have won in the first place. Tago¡¯s feet continued to beat on the path like a small drum. A growing symphony of Moo¡¯s and the smell of manure alerted him to the fact that he was rapidly approaching the outskirts of Cava. Cava was a large cattle-farming village that supplied beef, milk, cheese, butter, and fine leather goods to residents, all over the Domingo province. One quickly grew accustomed to the smell, but the residents were much harder to tolerate. Albeit a broad generalization, the people were as stubborn and unpredictable as their livestock. Their ambition was fueled by their financial opportunity and their access to rich and energy-dense foods. As the saying goes, ¡°The most tenacious ones come from Cava¡±. This applies to both the steer and the individuals who raise them. When Tago was a little boy he had a friend named Orson who lived in Cava. Orson¡¯s family processed and sold jackets, shoes, and light leather armor. Orson was a burly boy who had never been defeated in a wrestling match. He had short strong arms that he used when helping his father process hides. A few years ago, Tago had severed ties with Orson, after a particularly egregious incident at the river. Orson had hit his growth spurt much sooner than the other boys and he took it upon himself to demonstrate the contrast. Orson arrived at the river where other adolescents had already assembled after completing their duties. He flaunted his fine leather boots and challenged Yusef to a wrestling match. Yusef was a tall, blonde-haired boy from Tago¡¯s village. Yusef¡¯s father owned a wine farm and studied martial arts in his spare time. Yusef¡¯s father trained his son how to maneuver around an opponent and to make calculated attempts to exploit weaknesses. Yusef accepted and the two made their way toward a flat piece of grass near the riverbank. The match lasted less than 10 seconds. Orson was slow, but with very little space, Yusef was not able to make the most of his agility. Orson grabbed Yusef by the collar and swung him over his hip and onto the ground. Yusef let out an expletive and demanded to be let go. Orson agreed, but not until he had helped Yusef wash out his foul mouth. Orson grabbed Yusef by the neck and plunged his head into the river. Yusef¡¯s arms began to flail and Tago shouted at Orson to stop. Orson ignored Tago and laughed, submerging Yusef¡¯s head deeper and deeper into the crisp water. Yusef¡¯s arms flailed around violently and he clawed at Orson to try and make him loosen his grip. Tago stood frozen in place, a mixture of fear and embarrassment filled his head before spilling out of his eyes. Satisfied, Orson released Yusef who emerged from the surface of the river, gasping for air. Orson left the river bank and walked toward a group of teenage boys at the forest¡¯s edge, who had been watching this ordeal take place. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Tago shook himself off of that unpleasant memory, and quickly made way for a farmer and his drove. Tago smiled and the farmer nodded, then whistled at the herd, directing them off the road and into a narrowing path that led into the village. Tago was very cautious of where he stepped, so he ran with his head down for an extended period. When the smell of manure had faded from the air, Tago took a deep breath and lifted his gaze. Over the rolling hills, he could see the textile village of Tela. Just outside of the village, a group of small children were running around in brightly colored clothes, flying kites. As he got closer, he could see that each child wore a personalized article of clothing, tailored specifically to the child''s special interest. One child had a silver wolf embroidered on the back of his shirt. The eyes gleamed as if taken directly from the beast and sewn onto the fabric. Two of the children noticed Tago and ran toward him, holding the end strings of a kite. The taller of the two children ran up beside Tago and handed him the flying strap, then instructed him to do, something spectacular. Tago grabbed the kite string and began to run as fast as his legs and lungs would allow him. After quite a lengthy sprint, the kite had risen about three hundred feet into the air. The kite appeared to soar beneath the clouds like a wooden eagle and for a brief moment, flew alongside a flock of crows. The kite eclipsed the setting sun and its reflective embellishments shimmered and shined for all on the hillside to see. Then, Tago flicked his wrist sharply and the kite flipped and turned, before taking a nose dive straight toward the earth. The kite appeared helpless as it struggled to correct itself in the air. It began to falter and its colorful ribbon tails flapped in a desperate tantrum. Some of the children fell to their knees and one boy cried, ¡°It''s gonna crash!¡± Tago feigned a gasp and stopped running ¡°I.. I can''t control it!¡± he yelled. The kite began to fall faster and faster, like an injured bird who had come to accept its fate. As a collective, the children began to run. They converged on the point where they expected the kite to make a devastating impact on the ground. They could hear the kite whistling as it screamed toward the earth, and the tall boy to who the kite belonged to, couldn¡¯t help but look away. Tago screamed, ¡°Look out!¡±, and the children covered their faces to protect their eyes from any splintering pieces of wood. Then, when the kite was only a few feet above the ground, tago pulled the thin string upward in a swift rising motion. Inches before crashing into the ground, the kite pitched toward the sky and its crossbar trembled turbulently. Tago twirled the string above his head and the kite corkscrewed as it gained altitude. The children roared with excitement and chanted, ¡°Kite King! Kite King! Kite King!¡± Tago smiled at the children and shuffled off the path to wrap the flying strap around a nearby fence post. Tago saluted the children who were still crowded together to watch the aerial spectacular and Tago pantomimed placing a crown on his head. He returned to the path, quickly stretching his hamstrings, and continued to run. Feeling rejuvenated, he turned back one last time, to look at the sun.