"Pull, you wretch!"
The wheel ground against the rocky gravel and nearly thumped off the ledge.
"I am?! You push! We're losing ground!"
A pilgrim decisively joined in and halted the movement of the toppling cart after clasping the right side with all his might.
"Will you two shut up?!"
The cart groaned loudly.
'Will you all shut up?! Just save the goddamn cart before I lose dinner!'
Corvin — who was pulling at the back left wheel relentlessly — was trying to rescue a sorry cart from toppling over a ridge in the road. He quickly crouched down and shifted his right hand underneath the back post, gaining leverage, and pushed arduously.
The blisters on his feet screamed at him as he grunted.
The supplies inside rattled: potatoes falling out of sacks, fastenings coming undone, the rest of the load slowly sliding down the left side as the bed tilted. At the front, solid planks became exposed along with other materials for repairs.
'Whatever idiot let it get this close to the edge better skip out on food later.'
Corvin peered around the left side of the cart, his foot digging into the ground right near the ledge. It wasn't a deadly fall due to height, but because of how it separated you. Ahead, a farmer was pulling desperately at the forward arm.
Corvin called out through a pained expression:
"You! Grab one of the boards and thread it through a gap in the wheel!"
The middle-aged man looked dazed at first but finally grasped the meaning. That wheel was the issue — it was what had tottered over the edge in the first place, and where the frame was leaning.
He nodded as Corvin's foot scraped the ground and let go. Suddenly the load was unbearable, and everyone tensed as their fingers dug bloodily into the wood. After what felt like an eternity, the man was back with a strong plank and slotted it between a gap in the wheel. It became a lever.
Right before Corvin's leg was about to give out, the farmer planted one end of the plank against the ground and frantically grabbed the other, yanking. That was when a guard found an opening to join, providing the much-needed effort to settle the cart safely from danger.
Corvin collapsed.
"Argh!"
His hands were stiff, calloused fingers scraped open. His legs were sore and he was too afraid to even check the state of his feet.
'I didn't even know these old boots could get in an even worse state... actually that's not true.'
The procession had stopped to account for the cart crisis, its formation broken in response to the emergency. The guard grabbed the farmer by the collar.
"What's the meaning of this?! How could you allow the procession to almost lose the cart?!"
Corvin grudgingly stood back up. His leg went limp for a second and he almost toppled over. The familiar pang of pain when his feet struck the ground kept him upright. He positioned himself closer to watch the argument unfold.
"Meaning?! Let me see you pull this thing! All you guards do is hold your spears and pretend to do something!"
The farmer shoved the guard away from his collar. The guard clicked his tongue.
"I'm not the one who almost doomed the whole city." He found the other farmer who had been pulling at the time. "You too."
The other farmer, a middle-aged woman, looked towards the mountain with scorn.
"If we took more breaks, this wouldn't have happened. So why haven't we?"
'She makes a good point.'
The small crowd of pilgrims and farmers parted behind them and out came an older man in faded robes, hands behind his back and a soft smile across his face.
'Edren...'
The formation of the procession had made it difficult to reach him — that was one of the reasons Corvin hadn't talked to him yet. The crisis had broken that. Corvin had been dreading having to maneuver around the elders.
Edren approached the two men and methodically clapped his hands together.
"Now, now. There's no reason to argue. We must continue the procession."
The two men reluctantly stepped away from each other. Edren earnestly looked at the older woman, then turned around. Hands behind his back, a sincere look ahead to the mountain.
"The Mother decides when we walk. The road decides how we walk. Now, we continue."
One by one, everybody followed. The farmer and guard resumed their usual positions, tension unresolved. The pilgrimage began anew. Before Edren disappeared back to the front, Corvin trailed him. If his suspicions were correct, there should be reason for a conversation between them beyond finding information.
Twenty-seven people remained. Ahead, the silhouette of the mountain had grown larger. Behind was a rough road of unnatural fractures and unstable footing.
Corvin approached the ritual guide.
"Excuse me, do you mind if I borrow some of your time?"
Edren glanced over with a practiced look and the same soft smile.
"Then accompany me, I must make my way to the front."
A spark filled his eye for a second.
"Boy, how old are you?"
'Huh? Why does he want to know my age?'
He hadn't even considered how old this body was. Well, everything else was similar, so his age had to be too... right?
'Well, hopefully.'
"Around 17, I believe."
Edren's smile turned more earnest. He said in a somber tone:
"Ah, you must be the child of the road then. I was but a normal keeper back then."
Corvin scratched behind his ear and tried to look like he knew whatever the hell Edren was talking about.
"Yes, I was hoping you could tell me about back then. That is why I wanted to talk."
The ritual guide placed a hand on his chin as if recalling a memory. Whatever it was, it seemed a pleasant one.
"Of course. Never before had an Accepted given birth on the road, and now I get to speak to the child."
His hands resumed their position behind his back, a satisfied look across his face.
"It would be my pleasure."