“Ugh,” Tom grunted, skull pounding and lightheaded at the same time.

“If your clothes were anything to judge by, you’ve lost a lot of blood. Drink this. It’ll help restore what you’ve lost.” Tom peeled his eyes open enough to make out a cup of steaming broth.

“You speak Vith?” Tom asked, taking the cup and drinking. If they were trying to kill him, poisoning him after he woke up was beyond idiotic.

It was crude, fatty and salty, and it tasted like heaven. Tom carefully lowered the drink and gave his stomach a moment to adjust to the rich broth.

“Spent a few years in one of their tribes before I was traded for a wagonload of steel.” The voice spoke.

Tom chuckled, glancing up at his benefactor. It was an old man with wispy hair and a white bush of a beard. The old man had a permanent sunburn and cracked hands from a lifetime of hard work.

Did I get picked up by a local farmer or something? Tom thought, glancing around, his gaze scanning the quaint home and crackling fire in the fireplace before lingering on the man’s clothes.

“What happened to the girl I was with?” Tom asked, digesting what he’d seen as he drank. Tom used the cup to hide his other hand, checking his pocket.

He relaxed a bit when he touched the crypt. Okay, so either there’s no intention to keep me prisoner or they don’t know what it can do. Odd that it wasn’t stolen while he was unconscious. Anyone would lift a couple ounces of solid gold given the chance.

“I don’t know about any girl,” The old man said, shrugging. “I found you under the eaves of my chicken coop. I assume if you had a companion, they dropped you there and kept going without you.”

“I see.” Tom said, noting the wooden slats covering the window. There were hinges and a simple latch. He could open it and leave whenever he wanted.

Assuming I’m not on the third story again.

Tom carefully stood, leaning up against the wall as a wave of dizziness passed over him. He staggered over to the window and undid the latch, swinging the wooden panel away from the open square in the wall.

Second story with an eave, that’s not so bad.

“Is it morning or twilight?” Tom asked, peering at the blush of color on the horizon to the left-hand side.

“Twilight. Something wrong?”

That means I’m facing North. Tom thought, swirling the broth and taking another sip.

“How far away is the Dinamore Stretch? Tom asked scanning the area. He could make out what appeared to be rolling hills covered in grains. Orchards, barns.

The farmland is real, at least. Had the little honnuken girl carried him all the way out of the city? Unlikely.

“Just under four hundred miles. What are you getting at son? Did you run away from the navy or something?”

“Nope.” Tom said, returning back to the bed where he spotted a wooden platter with a ham and cheese sandwich resting on the end-table.

“Why can you only speak Vith, anyway? You don’t look like one.”

“Took a hit to the right side of my head in a raid, had to re-learn speech. Unfortunately I was in Vith custody at the time.” Tom said.

“May I?” He pointed at the ham and cheese.

The old man nodded, his lips pursed as he digested Tom’s bullshit.

Tom grabbed the grilled sandwich and took a huge bite out of it, his eyes rolling as he groaned.

“Oh my god, cheese.” Tom groaned in English. Vith food was okay, but cheese.

“What language is that?” the old man said, head cocked.

“That’s what it sounds like when I try to speak in our native tongue,” Tom said around the sandwich. “Total nonsense.”

“I see.” The farmer frowned. “I had a cousin who had something similar happened to him. Except he got hit on the left side.”

“What does it matter what side you get clobbered on?” Tom asked.

“I suppose.” The farmer said with a shrug. “So how did you get to the Vith? Were you deployed in the army or the navy? What unit were you in?”

“Can’t remember. Retrograde amnesia.”

“There’s that babble again.” The farmer said. “You poor boy. Well, take all the time you need to recover. If you’re feeling up to it you can help my granddaughter out with the chores tomorrow. Maybe you’ll feel like telling her the truth.”

“I’ve been telling the truth.”

“I don’t think so, young man.” The old man said as he stood. “I know a deserter when I see one. You don’t have to worry though. I know what it’s like to be young. We’ll keep your secret until you decide it’s time to move on.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t think you’re a real farmer,” Tom said. “You know where the language center of the brain is, your clothes are too clean. You’ve got no sign of dirt, soot or animal shit anywhere. Your fingernails don’t have any dirt under them, and your stove has never been used before today. And your granddaughter? Seriously? What grandfather would allow their granddaughter within a mile of a completely unknown young man, especially one suspected of desertion?”

The ‘farmer’ paused, tapping his fingers together nervously.

“You make a mean grilled cheese, though. I’ll give you that.” Tom said, taking another bite.

“Fine. Young mistress Honnuken dumped you in my lap, and I’ve gotta keep you on my plantation until –“

“Nooope,” Tom said. “You were actively trying to get information out of me. you’re not a babysitter. You’re a spy.”

Tom held out the empty plate.

“I’ll tell you where I’m from in exchange for another grilled cheese.”

“I’ll…get right on it,” the sun-weathered old man said, taking the plate. “don’t climb out the window while I’m gone. Seriously. The Honnukens will beat me within an inch of my life.”

“You are a Honnuken,” Tom muttered, yawning and leaning against the wall as the dense food hit his stomach. “You know where Broca’s area is and the treatment for blood loss.”

The old man reddened for a moment before shaking his head and turning away.

“Kabul En’hols,” he muttered quietly to himself as he left the room.

About fifteen minutes later, a stunning young woman entered the room with a cheerful smile.

“Sorry about my grandfather, he’s an old fuddy-duddy” she said with an apologetic smile on her pouting lips. Her clothes barely contained her curves, nearly spilling out of her shirt as the buttons were strained beyond the limits of puny material sciences.

She was obviously partially Vith judging by her skin tone, a souvenier from the old man’s time among the tribes.

“Here’s a couple more sandwiches. You’ve got a really healthy appetite,” she said, unconsciously wiggling her rounded bottom as she placed the tray on the desk beside the bed.

“What are you, twenty-five?” Tom asked looking her up and down. she was rather developed.

“Seventeen, actually.” She said demurely. “I’ve been living with my grandfather ever since my parents –“

“You’re a seventeen year old girl, and you use the same soap as your grandfather?” Tom asked incredulously.

“There’s…there’s only one kind of soap here on the plantation.” She said.

“Isn’t he rich? He owns the plantation doesn’t he? Would he not get his granddaughter her choice of scented oils and soaps? Do you enjoy smelling like an old man, or do spies all share the same scent?”

The girl’s expression flattened.

“You’re getting on my nerves, young man.”

“Don’t speak to your elders like that, young lady,” Tom responded.

The girl’s eye twitched.

“I’ll let Grampa know you liked the sandwich.” She said as she left in a huff.

“Please do, they’re fuckin’ fantastic.” Tom said, retrieving the grilled ham and cheese and taking a big bite out of it. Ain’t got time for obvious honey-pots.

A minute later, the old man walked back into the room, wiping his hands off on an apron with cooking splatter.

“Borrow that from the cook?” Tom asked.

“…yes.” He sighed and shrugged out of the apron before tossing it aside.

“You said you’d tell me where you came from in exchange for another sandwich. I got you two.”

“I’m from a planet called ‘Earth’,” Tom said. “Apparently it’s one of the Kinzena’s bolt-holes, where they stuff secrets they don’t want anyone to find out about.”

“Do you know why you were there?” The old man asked.

“Sure do.” Tom said between bites, thinking back to that hulking giant walking on the razors edge of sanity. The ‘why’ of why he was there was…pretty intense and probably not the kind of thing you give to a spy in exchange for a sandwich.

“How did you get to Orsoth?”

“Hitched a ride.” Tom said in English.

“Is that Earth?”

“It’s English. A common language on Earth.”

The old man scratched his head.

“You answered my questions but I still know almost nothing about you.”

“Exactly.”

“Why were you in the Tower of Penance?”

“Big dude snatched me in the middle of the battle outside Burrok castle, I think they called it.” Tom said.

“Battle outside Burrok castle?” The old man paused a moment. “Many young Alia were drafted for that operation. You were on our side?”

“Nope.”

“You were with the Vith? How?”

“Just kinda fell into their laps a few months ago.” Tom shrugged. “Stuck with them because I figured it would be the best way to get my daughter back.”

“Your daughter?” The old man said, his eyebrows climbing. “Who has your daughter?”

“I’m not sure.” Tom said, using his napkin and standing to look out the window at the glow blooming to the north. “I figured If I held a hot iron to your country’s balls, the responsible party would come forward offer me a deal.”

“That seems…incredibly optimistic.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Tom asked, glancing over his shoulder. “Assume I’ve lost her already?”

“I suppose not.”

“What about you?” Tom asked. “What do you care about my story or where I came from?”

“You’re a very unusual young man. I’m curious.”

“No. You’re afraid of something. The Honnuken owe their loyalty to the Kinzena. What reason would motivate you to hide me from them, other than fear?”

“Avoiding a massive war isn’t a good enough reason?” The old man asked with a shrug.

“Please,” Tom scoffed, “Honnuken are so valued that they are always captured alive and bartered back and forth between sides like trading cards. Healers are also extra durable, because they can heal themselves. In every war your family has ever been involved in, you’ve suffered less casualties than every other family. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I could want to avoid senseless slaughter.” The old man said.

“Maybe. But I doubt it. Why are you really helping me?” Tom asked.

“Let’s just say I appreciate you liberating my niece, and my other motivations will have to remain speculative.”

“Fair enough,” Tom said. “I appreciate the sandwiches and you hiring a prostitute to pose as a seventeen year old,”

The old man’s eye twitched.

“But I’ve got a war to get back to. I’ll be rejoining the Vith frontline tonight.”

“Burrok castle is nearly sixteen hundred miles away through some of the densest jungle imaginable, filled with maneating predators, poisonous plants, and confusing geography.” The old man said, his voice grave. “That’s going to be a very long walk.”

“Not that long a walk,” Tom said, pointing. “Your barn is on fire.”

“What?” The old man said, frowning. “WHAT!?” he leapt to his feet and peered out the window, where the glow in the north had resolved into a snakelike army of torch-bearing Vith, charging deep into enemy territory, and setting it all on fire.

“Yes! Burn it all down!” Tom could faintly hear a familiar voice. “These pathetic southerners deserve to starve as you have! Salt the earth with their blood! Find the sperm donor and bring him to me!”

Carol. Godamn. I never thought I’d be happy to hear her voice.

“I’m gonna shove my fist up his ass!”

There it is, Tom thought, eyes narrowing.

“That was a really good sandwich,” Tom said, patting the frozen Honnuken on the shoulder. “Point out your cook to me so they don’t kill him. I think it also goes without saying that you’re my prisoner. If you’re feeling up to it you can help healing the wounded tomorrow. Maybe you’ll feel like telling them the truth.”

“Fucking En’hols!” the old man cursed, His face reddening.