"It is obvious that groups such as Mirshal, the Adma, and the traitorous Risir should remain on our outlawed list. However, is it not obvious to the other councillors that we cannot suppress every dissent without bringing about unrest and war? Let the people have their little disputes, so long as everyone remembers who the true enemy is…"

-Recorded by the Grand Stenographer in Kurikuneku's Council Synod.

244 YT, Spring: In the North of Gaurlante

At the checkpoint the soldiers stood close together, almost touching, watching the road with a practiced, easy wariness that Geshor couldn’t help but admire. It was familiar to him by now – the way they stood, leaving their rifles leaning against their vehicles but well within reach at a second’s notice. Geshor, his backpack and bedroll slung comfortably over both shoulders, made his way slowly toward them neither picking up his pace nor slowing. They watched him curiously, and he graced them with a wide smile until he was close enough to hear them speak.

“Halt! Identify yourself!”

In the distance the old, rusty railroad track continued south, parallel to the road Geshor followed. It was a curiosity to him, catching his eye as he glanced away to avoid eye contact with the approaching soldiers. He suspected they didn’t even notice, or at least they didn’t take note of it. Gaurlante was an even more technologically advanced region left than it had been before the Empire, but they still had no appreciation for their own past – if they did, they would have made use of the railroad by now. They’d wash the rust away and put new cars on the track and set the whole system running again.

“Identify yourself!” came the shout again, and Geshor held up one of his hands, calling out reassuringly to the soldiers as they approached.

“My name is Geshor,” he said, adjusting his long coat. He could see from his peripheral vision that the two soldiers closest were holding rifles, their barrels up. Carefully he avoided looking too directly at the soldiers, lest they take offense. To look a Gaurl in the eye first was to demand some respect. They walked with military precision, firm and planted stances as they moved forward step by lightly rolling step. “I have –“

“You are travelling through Gaurlante?” Geshor felt a sharp tug on his left shoulder and he was turned around to look at the Gaurl soldier’s face. “What is your business here?”

“Only passing through, though I suppose I am documenting the scenery as I pass,” Geshor said with a smile. “If you’ll check in my pocket – the left one – you’ll find that I have been keeping a journal describing the landscape of your wonderful valleys. I find this place quite pleasant and it’s been many years since I –“

“And what’s your business passing through?” the soldier asked, impatient. Geshor frowned at the soldier. He was a young man, several decades Geshor’s junior. If he had to guess, the soldier was no more than a few years into his adulthood. The boy bristled at Geshor’s unmasked pity and shouted, close to the old Scholar’s face, "Your business!”

“Why, I’m going to visit an old colleague of mine in the Crescent Land,” Geshor said. “Scholar Iltha, in the west by the sea… an old friend I have not seen in a very long time.”

The boy narrowed his eyes – whether it was suspicion or mere distaste, Geshor couldn’t be sure, but there was no way this soldier was old enough to remember the early days of the empire. And at his age, how likely was it that he was a serious student of the empire’s history? He might know a little bit of the old world, a little bit of the in-between age, and a little story of the Invictan expansion through Gaurlante, but beyond that?

And besides, the name Iltha… who would remember it in this land anymore?

“Are you an affiliate of the Adma?” the boy asked, glancing at his fellow. The second soldier now stood off to the side, rifle barrel pointed at the ground, looking a little more relaxed and drinking from a canteen. He drank carelessly, letting the water run down his chin and neck. Still, Geshor caught a glimpse of the other soldier’s eyes – fixed on the old scholar through it all.

Geshor laughed, a forced laugh. “Child, do I look like a member of the Adma? I carry no gun, and I’m certainly no musclebound glory-seeker. Surely you’ve met them in the field, you must know how they look, and –“

“You could be a spy!”

Geshor chuckled, his nervousness spiking. “I’m no spy, and I’m no Adma. There’s no need to get so antsy. Please, I’ve been traveling for some time; do you really think I would have gotten this far if I were Adma?”

The other soldier – judging by his voice, a little older than the one harassing Geshor now – grunted loudly. “That’s true, Geshor, but it’s procedure. We have to do things thoroughly, I’m sure you must understand.”

“Yes, of course.” Geshor nodded. “And to answer your other questions, I am not affiliated with Mirshal either. Nor Risir, nor any other seditious group. I have no political affiliation for or against the Invictan Empire, as I am merely passing through here on the way to visit my friend in another land.”

The younger soldier narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Geshor. “Do you have a document?”

“Yes,” Geshor said, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. “Signed by the hand of one of your fellows in the north. The border town Carakhte, yes? I must say, that place is very foreboding. But I guess that’s necessary, given the mood in these parts of the world…”

“Shut up,” the younger soldier said.

“Hey, relax.” The other one lowered his canteen, screwed the cap back on, and slung it onto his belt. “Don’t be so high-strung all the time, you’ll hurt somebody.”

The younger soldier laughed, a cruel and uncaring laugh unbefitting of one as young as him. He snatched the paper out of Geshor’s hand and stepped away from the old Scholar, unfolding it with one hand while keeping a grip on his rifle with the other hand. The soldier’s eyes scanned left and right down the paper. “Looks to be in order…” he muttered. “Hold your arms straight up.”

Geshor complied, hands toward the heavens as he stared at the mountains in the distant north, fixing his eyes in the far distance. The soldier motioned to his companion, and then reached into Geshor’s pocket, finding the journal he’d mentioned. The boy flipped through it, and was apparently uninterested in the content, as he put it back in the pocket almost immediately. Then he ran his hands along Geshor’s arms and sides and legs, searching for any hidden weapons or objects.

The soldier stopped, and reached into one of Geshor’s other pockets, muttering something in quick Gaurl tongue that Geshor couldn’t quite understand. He was growing rusty, and when the soldiers spoke too quickly he wasn’t sure what they were saying. The boy pulled Geshor’s pocket knife out and held it up before him, shouting, “What is this?”

“It’s a pocketknife,” Geshor said. “I’m traveling across all of Gaurlante, surely you wouldn’t expect me to make the trek without a pocketknife?”

“This is a weapon!” the boy shouted. “This is a weapon of assassination!”

Geshor stared at the boy in confusion, his heart beginning to pound, the beginnings of panic in his mind. Then the other soldier laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder and said, “Relax, it’s just a pocketknife.” Slowly the boy lowered his rifle, and slipped the folded knife back into Geshor’s pocket.

“Alright, get out of here.” The boy waved with one hand before securing his grip on his rifle and motioning for Geshor to pass. Slowly, Geshor lowered his arms, and began to walk past the soldiers, who took up positions behind him and walked him to where their vehicles stood against the side of the road.

“Best of luck on your journey,” the older soldier said as he climbed up into the truck. Geshor spared a glance over his shoulder and noticed the older one continuing to watch him as he walked.

Past the checkpoint, Geshor checked his pocket to make sure that the document was intact – it hadn’t been ripped and it was folded correctly and placed carefully in his pocket. At least the young soldier had respect for procedures, and for documents. Geshor had no idea how many more of these points he would have to pass – how militarized was this region becoming? – but if he were caught at one without a document giving his permission to move freely through the area, he would be in trouble. As a non-citizen of the Empire, one foreign to Gaurlante (or so the imperials would say!), there’d be no one to bail him out of jail.

His book was unharmed as well – none of the pages had been torn. Geshor took a few deep breaths as he walked, slowly picking up his pace until he moved at a normal clip once again. “That could have gone far worse,” he murmured under his breath.

Once he was safely beyond the checkpoint Geshor allowed himself to survey the land more thoroughly. Many of the mountains visible to the East and West were still visibly snow-capped, the lingering cold of this past winter not having left the highest peaks of the region. In the warm sun of each day, the snow would recede a little from those peaks, and then at night the water would freeze again, changing the patterns on the sides of the mountains with each passing day.

When Geshor had walked a few minutes longer, he heard a rumbling noise behind him. He did not turn at first, but the rumbling grew closer, and melded with the crunching of stone and dust under heavy wheels. Geshor turned, and the soldiers’ truck came up close by him. It was an old vehicle, possibly reverse-engineered from the model of one salvaged from the old world. Its paint was scratched and marred by lines and pits.

When the truck came to a grinding stop, one of the soldiers leaned out and called toward Geshor: “Hey, why are you walking on foot anyway?” It was the older soldier – the younger one sat with his hands on the truck’s steering wheel, staring stonily ahead. Geshor glanced over the older one’s shoulder, toward the younger, and couldn’t read the boy’s expression. He would not respond to Geshor’s gaze. “Wouldn’t you prefer to have an escort? We can get you to the edge of the Crescent Land in a couple of hours, you know.”

Geshor glanced down at the ground, then looked over the edge of the truck’s hood, toward the far mountains. “I would prefer to see this land the scenic way, if that’s alright. I do have all my documents in order, don’t I?”

“You do,” the older soldier said. “But aren’t you just going to visit somebody all the way over in the Crescent Land? That’s a far way to walk just for a visit. It’ll take you weeks on foot in total.”

“I’m already a good part of the way there,” Geshor said. “I do appreciate the offer, of course – it’s very kind of you that you’re willing to give a humble traveler a ride.”

“An exile,” the younger soldier said, through gritted teeth. “If we took you to the border, it would only be so you would be out of this land as quickly as possible.”

“You’re the one who didn’t want to take him,” said the older soldier. “What’s the problem now?”

The younger soldier rolled his eyes.

“If you wish to give me a lift there, I would certainly appreciate that.” Geshor smiled as sweetly as he could manage, though by now it must have been clear to the soldiers how forced his sweetness was.

The younger soldier’s lip curled in disgust as he stared over his comrade’s soldier, out the window, toward Geshor. “No need,” he said.

The older soldier scoffed. “Well, you can get a vehicle in the next city – it’s less than a day’s walk from here. Be on your way.”

Geshor nodded and turned away. As he began to walk the rumbling sound of the truck retreated.

After another few miles’ walk, Geshor stopped by a stand of trees and decided to make camp there. It seemed a suitable location, with a small creek flowing through the area nearby. The sound of the water masked his steps as he made his way to the clearing, and bending over the running waters he saw a few small fish. Shadows beneath the surface, they danced with the water itself. Geshor caught several of them on a small line and roasted them over a spit while he made camp. He ate well that evening, laid his bedroll in the night-lengthened shadow of a tree, and slung the simple canvas of his tent over that for shelter.

Under the canvas late at night, surrounded by the noise of water babbling and by the croaking of too few frogs and insects, Geshor read for a little bit in one of his books, then opened his diary. There he noted the day’s events, wrote a brief description of the two soldiers, and then he closed the book.