text: I shouldn’t be doing this... “I think I want to go with them...” Bertramus choked on the words as he said it. The acrid smoke from his father-in-law’s mahogany pipe scratched its way into Bertramus’ nostrils and clawed at his throat. He kept his gaze at the half-eaten plate in front of him, but he could still feel Gisella’s icy gaze from across the table. The crackling fire in the hearth behind her did nothing to warm his wife’s stare. Her father spoke first. “No. You don’t.” Puffs of smoke billowed out after every word. “You will stay here. Be responsible. And do the right thing for your family.” He thrust the wet end of the pipe at Bertramus. “You’ll stay and keep my daughter happy and our bellies full.” Bertramus didn’t have a response. His father-in-law was right, it was his duty to stay. But this was his dream, his legacy that eagerly awaited him. The opportunity would not last long, and his friends would go with or without him. Could Bertramus really stand by and watch them live out grand adventures when he just tended his father-in-law’s shop? But could he really leave his wife, and her family? His family. Bertramus couldn’t imagine doing either. So he sat there. Saying nothing. The fire crackled and hissed in the dark silence. “I thought you were happy.” His wife’s voice cut through the fog. He still tried to avoid looking into her eyes, one glimpse at her tears and he knew he would buckle. “I am happy. Very happy. But...” he wrung his fingers underneath the table, fraying the edges of his overcoat. More seconds passed, with nothing but a mouse-ish sniffle from his wife. Bertramus tried to clear his throat. “It’s not forever. Only five years. At the most.” “Five years is too long. Even one year is too long!” His Father-in-Law said. “Who will run our books? Who will look after my daughter, your wife , when I die?” The embers in his pipe glowed a fierce orange. “Papa, you’re not dying,” Gisella said, forcefully. Her father gave a humph and took a long drag of smoke. His eyes strangled Bertramus with every tendril he exhaled. Gisella turned back to Bertramus. “Why do you want to abandon us? We’ll go under, you know that don’t you? We can’t keep up with the orders you’ve put in place. We don’t know the procedures, we don’t know the manufacturers. Last time you were sick for only a week, and we lost two dozen clients!” “Enico can handle the books, I’ve been showing him how for the last few months. And I’ve already let our clients know that he will be a temporary replacement for me. And if things get too bad, I can just come back.” “You’ll be half an empire away, you won’t be able to come back in any timely manner. And what if you don’t come back at all! You’re always sick doing this ‘easy life,’ as you call it! The journey just to get to the valley would kill you. I couldn’t stand it.” Gisella turned her face away, hiding a small tear. Bertramus reached across the table to try to grab her delicate hand. “Come with me then.” He shouldn’t have said it. He knew it before the words had left his mouth, but the dam had broken, or at least cracked. There was no going back now, he resolved. His wife stared at him in shock, pulling her hand away. Gisella’s father slapped the oaken table. “See, I told you. He wants me gone. Just leave me to die alone huh? Why not just kill me right here, you coward.” His father-in-law threw a gravy soaked knife clattering across the table at him. Bertramus loved his father-in-law, and the thought of him dying alone was torturous. “You know we can’t leave him, Bertramus.” Gisella gripped her fathers thick leathery arm. “Papa, we’re not leaving you, that would be madness.” “Tell him that then! Dream’s aint worth shit, boy, if you got no one around to share them with! When my wife died, gods rest her soul, I would have killed myself if not for Gisella. Your wife, I remind you again! And now you want to just spit on us and abandon us!” His face was menacing with the stark firelight casting shadows across every weathered crease. “Calm down Papa, you’ll go into a fit.” She patted his arm. “He’s not going to leave us.” “You are my father, you know what you’re saying isn’t the truth, you know I have love for you.” Bertramus finally looked up and matched his wife’s gaze. “And you know I love you . But I can’t just sit around and wonder what-if. I want a legacy.” “You have a legacy! The business is thriving!” His father-in-law said, throwing his hands up. “With all due respect, sir, this is your legacy. They know your name, they know your business. You built it, I’m only maintaining it.” Bertramus saw the rage etch deeper into his father-in-law’s face, and put his hands up instinctively. “I am forever indebted to you for allowing me to run your business, and to marry your daughter. But can’t you understand me wanting to make my own mark?” His wife's eyes glistened, her tears slowly drowning his dreams of the valley and the school he would help build there. She took his hand. “But you would be here.” Her hands were warm and comforting, wrapped around his own. “With me, with us. How could you need anything else?” # I shouldn’t have come, he thought, six months too late. The road to the valley was long and arduous. He had written to his wife almost every day, explaining that the road was hard but that he was excited to show her all the things he had seen. He hadn’t received any letters back. The couriers had told him that when they delivered his letters, they had to leave it in the shop’s post box; there was never an answer at the door. He would keep writing though, keep sending bundles of letters and crude ink drawings with each courier that came. Though they came more and more infrequently as the caravan trudged deeper into the wilds. It was the only thing keeping him sane on this cursed journey. Bertramus flipped through a small journal; thoughts he didn’t want to share with his wife, or anyone else for that matter. ‘Tonight two of our pack mules were killed and utterly torn apart by beasts so horrible I struggle to describe...’ ‘Yesterday half the company had nearly died from dehydration, expelling almost every possible liquid from their body after eating some foraged berries found along the mountainside. One of our younger stewards perished.’ ‘This morning Morajim and Audemar had gotten into a fight and Audemar threatened to leave, cursing the entire venture and yearning for his city life. I felt for him. If he leaves, I believe I might go with him.’ On and on the troubles went, with each day bringing new and terrible challenges. He thought this group of adventurers and explorers he traveled with were supposed to be some of the best in the empire. However, from either poor planning, embellished credentials, or just rotten luck, it was certainly more difficult than anyone had imagined it would be. Bertramus sighed heavily and readjusted himself on the splintered wooden wagon seat. The one comfort he had. He pulled out a fresh piece of thick parchment and dipped a battered quill into an inkwell. “To my dearest love.. Today Morajim and I discussed supply chains and some investor promises. There is so much potential for us to succeed. The wildlife here is stunning...” The quill hovered over the parchment, dripping dots across the page as the wagon bumped along. There didn’t seem to be much else to say. He folded the letter and stashed it back in his leather folio. Bertramus sighed, looking across the yawning sea of golden razor grass stretching out in front of them. The scouts slashed at it with machetes and thick leather armguards. ‘Even the grass is dangerous’, he muttered to himself. “All our nights are spent in great company, and spirits are high. People are very excited to get to the valley. We have only a few more weeks to go. There are so many interesting people traveling with us, some at the top of their fields, some fields I didn’t even know existed. We’re to pass into a forest tomorrow that should lead us to the mountains. I hope the birds there are as colorful as people have promised.” “We are a week out from the valley, the forest was dark and deep but it slowly turned to a pine forest that reminded me of your grandmother’s house we used to visit. The snow tipped mountain range stands tall over our shoulders as we follow it until we hit the pass. I’ve attached some pictures an artist who is traveling with the expedition has sketched for me. This is beautiful country. I hope I can show it to you one day.” Bertramus picked at a large blister on his foot with the tip of his quill. Yellow pus oozed out of it mixing with the black ink, and he cursed dabbing at it with a stained rag. He looked up through the pines at the hulking shadow of the mountain, always looming over them. He sighed, this sight would be watching over him for the next few years. Hopefully it will feel more like home after they have the initial fort built. He continued with another letter. His body ached as he wrote about his improved constitution. His fingers screamed in pain as he tried to keep his lettering neat and tidy after hours upon hours of holding ropes and chopping wood. His once soft hands used to only carry the calluses from writing with a quill for hours on end. Now they were cracked and covered in blisters and grime. He didn’t even recognize them. The dark grit underneath his fingernails smiled at his misery. He couldn’t find the will to smile back. A call came from down the expedition line that they were finishing their break. He hefted up the now tattered leather pack and strained under its weight. What he wouldn’t give to be able to ride on one of the carts again; his cart had been lost during a river crossing. What he wouldn’t give to have his wife massage his hands as she once did. What he wouldn’t give for her to rub his bleeding and tired feet. What he wouldn’t give to be in his bed, with his wife, at his home. Yet the road stretched on.