T/N: This chapter is dedicated to Kahela, for always traumatizing me with Kraken shenanigans.
The sunflower swayed in the wind.
It was dusk. The sun, hanging low in the west, cast a serene light over the fields. At this time of day, everything was bathed in orange. The shadows of the sunflowers resembled a group of women wearing crowns. They seemed to be dancing. Beyond them, the autumn wheat swayed slowly.
Laban was walking down the path through the wheat field, talking continuously as he walked.
“When you do it that way, no horse can resist running. But you have to be careful. Getting them to that point is hard, but that’s exactly when you’re most likely to fall off. You have to predict when that moment will come. That way, when the horse starts to run explosively, you can help it while becoming one with the horse, and you won’t fall. Later, try it out with Jumping. Isn’t Jumping an old donkey, you ask? Of course he is, but even a donkey has four legs. And there isn’t a four-legged animal this method doesn’t work on. Plus, since it’s an old donkey, you won’t get hurt too badly if you fall. You’re not scared of falling, are you? Hmm, my son wouldn’t be.”
Laban gave a firm grip to the small feet dangling on his shoulders. The little boy riding on his shoulders seemed oblivious, staring off into the distance. It soon became clear what he was looking at. Between the wheat stalks, Tina poked her head out.
“You’re here? What have you been talking about all this time?”
Laban shrugged and lifted the boy higher by his waist. The boy let out a burst of laughter.
“I was just passing on some things I could teach him while I had the time.”
“Sounded like riding techniques.”
“You’re right. When it came to riding, I always outdid my brothers. There wasn’t much I learned from the family that’s been useful, but this is one thing I still take pride in.”
“But Laban, Gene is only three and a half years old. A hobbyhorse you made for him should be more than enough for a three-and-a-half-year-old.”
“Have you seen how this little guy rides that hobbyhorse? None of the kids his age ride it like he does. He’s a legendary hobbyhorse rider.”
Tina burst into laughter, but Laban didn’t laugh. Instead, he spoke again.
“Just wait and see. Soon, he’ll want to ride everything with four legs, from cows to sheep to pigs.”
“But not chickens? Since they have two legs?”
“Chickens? That’s too easy for a great rider like him. Don’t ever let him hear you say something so disgraceful.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The three of them walked down the path through the wheat field toward home. Laban set Gene down on his hobbyhorse, handed the two birds tied with string to Tina, and then headed to the stable. In the stable were an old donkey and a pair of ordinary workhorses. They couldn’t afford to buy better horses, but Laban cherished these animals. Every time he came back from his outings, he would pick some herbs for them. He insisted that with a few more years of care, the horses would become faster and stronger. Tina didn’t believe feeding herbs would turn a workhorse into a steed, but she didn’t interfere with her husband’s hobby.
Yes, he was her husband. In the land of sunflowers, they were a skilled and polite husband and a young, shy wife. They cultivated wheat fields, vineyards, and a small watermelon patch. They used the wheat for their daily bread, trading the surplus for necessities, and sold the grapes. As for the watermelons, they dried them to make watermelon jerky, which they ate year-round and shared with neighbors.
People only knew Laban as a man who had earned money working as a carpenter in another country and bought land. Laban had read more books than the village priest, but he kept it hidden. Tina would always refuse when asked to dance, even though she was tempted, and she always wore loose, sack-like clothes. Still, her beauty was renowned in the neighboring areas, though people said her cooking wasn’t as skilled.
Laban had built their house himself, and when neighbors came to visit, they marveled at its craftsmanship, which earned him the nickname “the skilled man.” Around the house grew sunflowers and poppies, and in the backyard lived cats that Gene tried to catch every day. The cats would yawn as the little stalker crept toward them and only move just when he was about to grab them, escaping to the roof. Whenever a frustrated Gene burst into tears, Tina would rush over, lift him up, and spin him around. Usually, this would turn into laughter, but sometimes, because of his pride, Gene would yell while still on the verge of tears.
“Bad cat!”
“Of course, they’re bad. How about this? The cats are the enemy, and you’re in a war with them, currently in a ceasefire. The peace talks are set at the windowsill. You stay inside the window, and the cats stay outside. I’ll put up a truce flag. And the snack for the peace talks will be some tasty chicken. How about that?”
“How is he supposed to understand all that complicated talk?”
Ignoring her, Laban sat Gene by the windowsill, tied a handkerchief to make a flag, and threw a piece of chicken outside. A mob of cats quickly gathered, shoving and jostling each other. As Gene laughed loudly, Laban said, “Looks like they’re having trouble deciding on a representative for the peace talks. We’ll have to wait a bit.”
Three years passed uneventfully. At first, they were extremely cautious, but by now, they both felt as though this life could continue forever. Laban visited his family home in Epherium once a year on his father’s death anniversary to avoid suspicion. He would return with gossip—stories about how the queen still had no heir, how the king had taken two more concubines but still no results, that the king’s advisor Anthalon had been appointed as an attendant for the seventh time, and how two men who claimed to have found the missing prince had both been beheaded. The king had become irritable, and his cousin, who had five sons, lingered at the palace with his children day and night.
There was also news Tina found interesting. General Ribola hadn’t died in the rain that day. He had lost his left hand below the elbow but was still serving the queen. Why had the demon spared him? Laban explained that it was because demons had to kill their primary target first.
“But if he failed his mission, why didn’t the queen punish him?”
“She probably doesn’t think he failed. After all, you and Gene disappeared.”
“Then, the fact that he’s alive means we’re safe?”
Laban tilted his head in thought before laughing. “That’s one way to interpret it. At times like this, you’re quite clever.”
Tina only smiled. Laban’s words were true. Though she had come from a lowly background, with nothing but dancing skills to her name, Tina had a good sense for cause and effect and was capable of hatching small schemes. Once, Laban had considered teaching her, thinking that she would do well if she studied, but Tina quickly grew tired of academic pursuits that were far from daily life. Since there was no need to force her to do something she didn’t like, Laban let it go. Even if she didn’t know how to read or write, Tina was the perfect woman for him.
Still, if Laban had heard what Tina had said when she was captured by Ribola, he would have been greatly surprised. However, Tina never told anyone about what she said that day. Nor did she mention that the tune she hummed while being taken by Ribola was a melody passed down among the dancers, imbued with the power of seduction.
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