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You’ve been scraping at the hard soil for ages when you hear the truck coming, long before it actually arrives.
It wasn’t hard to miss, after all, as it chugged and rattled its way up through the hills in stages, its driver forced to coax it up the steep inclines. Your ramshackle little house is the first of several clinging precariously to this stretch of mountain road, and with a wheeze of brakes and old valves that’s where the truck comes to a halt.
You readjust the baby in his sling, lean against your hoe, and wait to see what they’d take from you this time.
Not that there’s all that much left to take. The local Royal Army commander always makes a big speech of it, telling you pompously that the contributions of individual citizens like her are essential for the war effort, while his troops raid your larder and make off with your last laying hen. The Golden Path say and do pretty much the exact same thing, except they refer to you as ‘sister’ and at least have the grace to look ashamed. The same lies from different mouths.
You and a good deal of the other ordinary citizens of Kyrat hate them both, in nearly equal measure.
The man who steps down from the passenger side of the cargo truck is in gray and red. Ah. Looks like today’s going to be a Royal Army day. From where you’re standing, you can see that the truck is full of boxes and crates and bags of rice; for Kyra’s sake, don’t they have enough already?
A cold wash runs down your body, when you realize what else they might want to take.
As the man gets nearer, you see that he’s not just Royal Army, he’s Royal Guard. A Royal Guard officer. A lot of gold buttons, self-assured stride. Between the red beret and the mirrored aviators, you can’t really tell what he looks like, let alone try to read his eyes to gauge his intentions. The other man you can’t see at all. When he doesn’t get out of the truck too, that cold wash turns to ice water.
Your grip on the hoe tightens, white-knuckled and sweating. Swing it at the approaching officer and he’ll just gun you down; you can see the big pistol at his hip. If you bolt, the same thing will happen…except the bullets will hit your little boy first. It still takes everything in you to stand your ground, unmoving.
“Hello, good morning! Is English all right?” he calls out cheerfully, producing a clipboard from under his elbow.
You blink. A whole confused second passes before you think to nod.
“Oh good! I’m afraid my Kyrati’s a bit on the rusty side,” he says, as he stops in front of you, flipping through papers. “Ah, here we are! This is Avinash Road, correct?”
You eye him warily before nodding again.
“Awesome! I’ve got some things for you here. Be a love and hold onto this for me, won’t you,” before pushing the clipboard into your unresisting free hand.
What in good Kyra’s name?
The officer pivots neatly, plants a boot on the truck’s back bumper and swings himself up, leaving you to stand there clutching both your hoe and his paperwork, thoroughly bewildered. His voice seems so familiar. And why does it makes you think of the neighbor’s beat-up old radio when you try to place it? Crackling static. That doesn’t make any sense. But neither does the fact that he seems to be in the process of unloading things, pushing some crates onto the open tailgate before dropping down easily again. He carries them easily too, whistling a little as he sets them near your feet, three in all.
Looking down, you see they’re full of food.
One’s halfway filled with potatoes, a few bundles of leafy greens laid on top. A couple of cabbages, a sack of rice and another of lentils, a small bottle of cooking oil…
You stare at the bounty, dumbfounded.
“It’s not all that much, I know,” he says, completely misreading your face. “And no meat or fruit or anything. Perhaps next time.” He sounds almost apologetic about it.
Wait…next time?
“Why are you doing this,” you ask, with quiet wariness. You’re still not entirely convinced it isn’t some elaborate trap.
“Call it…hmm, a new government initiative? A humanitarian aid program? I haven’t really thought that far yet,” and takes his clipboard back.
“You haven’t thought…” You trail off as you adjust the baby to a more comfortable spot.
“Oh, hang on a moment, I believe we might have some baby things…” Flipping through the papers on the clipboard, he hops into the truck again and disappears between the piles of goods. The sound of him rummaging around floats out, followed by the noise of cartons falling over and a muttered curse or two. He emerges with another cardboard box and an air of triumph, setting it down beside the other stuff.
“Cute little mite,” he says, chucking the baby’s chin until he burbled happily.
This close, you can see more of his features, the shape of his face…the lock of blond hair that’s escaped from under his beret.
No way. It’s impossible, there’s no way he could be…
“King…King Min?!” You blurt it out loud without meaning to.
The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he raises the aviators to throw you a conspiratorial little wink.
And here you thought you were dumbfounded before.
He laughs. “You’ve caught me! But we’ll keep it between us, shall we? Our little secret.”
“Who would even believe me,” you manage to stammer out, and that makes him laugh again.
Just then, the driver leans out the open window…and you do yet another double take.
“C’mon, old man! We’re burning daylight here,” Ajay Ghale yells. Ajay Ghale, supposed savior of the Golden Path, driving around in a truck with Pagan Min. To deliver groceries, apparently.
The tone of his voice is almost affectionate.
“Ah, my chariot awaits,” Pagan says grandly…and he sounds the same way.
As he’s getting in the truck he looks back to give you a cheeky little wave, which you automatically return.
“Not to worry,” he calls out over the engine noise, “we’ll be back this way again soon. Now that the war’s over and all.”
You watch in stunned silence as the big cargo truck rattles up the road, on to the next homestead.
The war’s over. The war is over.
And those two, together, is proof of it.
Your tears drip steadily off your chin, but you find yourself laughing too.
***