Imix nods, once, calmly.
Inside his mind is a whirl, like the eddy that forms around the edge of the ghats. His thoughts bobbed around like the leaves caught in those eddies.
"Good Fortune... not providence. Not a believer then - or not a believer in me? It seems I may have dropped Texikuk to the crocodiles with my talk. What could this problem be - if it is plague, should I beware Gilders' cough? If war is coming..." On, and on, and on whirled his thoughts.
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As you make your way back towards the ghats, Sarre comes up beside you, her long loping jog easily catching up with you and Lijart. Your friend nods and smiles as she slows down, breathing a little heavy as her heart rate lessens, beads of sweat on forehead. Its apparent she's been running awhile. Staring upward, she shades her eyes and takes in the cloudless sky. "A little warm, but a beautiful day, none-the-less," Sarres states. She never says hello, never gives any customary greetings, just launches right into whatever's on her mind. "Anaisa Pye must have been whispering her in mother's ear this morning. Shame to waste such a day on a moot."
Sarre is the head of her household, her father dead on a hunting trip, and her mother never recovered from the loss. Now half-mad, Sarre's mother, Barra, rarely is seen in public, leaving Sarre to provide for her three siblings, to augment the small widow's pension her mother receives. Despite having to grow up quickly, Sarre never lost her faith - she sees the beautiful everywhere, and although upbeat isn't exactly the right word, she's positive, and sure of herself and her place in the world.
"I woke early this morning, decided to hunt even though its our caste's day off. Went to the northeast, stayed pretty close to town. When the call came, I ran back through the farmsteads - they were all empty, the farmers inside or headed this way."
Lijart just grunts, barely a recognition. He's always been cold to Sarre, never asks you to "do right" by her.
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Thom stiffens as you grab him. A man at once warm with others and distant, you realize that you might be the first person he's been embraced by in a long time. Slowly, he thaws, and returns the hug. It feels, for a brief moment, like being embraced by summer; cicadas droning and the smell of wildflowers rustling in a gentle breeze.
"Of course, dear. The bag will be here."
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Despite the admonition, Telowo smiles a broad, happy, smile. Laughing, he makes his way down the ghats. "It is good you haven't changed one bit, old friend. We're very much living the Fable of the River-Borne, yes?"
The fable is an old one, the meaning a little inscrutable. Two sisters, born of the elements, the Father of Waters itself, grow up so similar people often can't tell them apart. They share the same qualities; laconic, wise, ever-moving forward in life, but at a measured, constant pace. One sister leaves, journeys around the land, is gone for many years. The other stays behind, gets more rooted. The sister that stays behind, she gets restless as she ages, impatient, always wanting more, and achieving it, always looking forwards, to her death. The other sister, she ranges far and wide, achieving little, always looking backwards, to her youth.
One day, word reaches the sister-stayed-behind that her sibling is returning home. The sister-stayed-behind builds a room onto their old family house, her own children now living in the room that the sister-gone-ahead once grew up in. The new room is the finest room in town, and contains the most expensive decorations, furniture, and comforts, the envy of all the folk nearby.
The sister-gone-ahead returns. She's happy to see the room, how well her sister-stayed-behind has done for herself, always looking forward. But when she goes to bed that night, once again, in her family's home, she is restless, looking ahead to death. What will the future bring? How will I be received? Her mind turns well into the darkest hours, Ayida-Wedu in the deepest depths of her nightly grave.
Frustrated, the sister-gone-ahead rises from her fine room, her comfortable bed, her fine things, and she makes her way to her sister-stayed-behind, where she crawls into bed with her sibling. The room is shabbier, draftier, a room well-lived in. And with each other, the siblings sleep sound and deep, going backwards and forwards at once.
"Glad you've come here, old friend, and I'm glad you haven't been looking forward with your life. Today, Shadeholme needs a man of your strength of character. But don't ask me to give up my comfortable bed! It makes the winter nights so much more bearable!"
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You run, gazelle-like in your sprint, up to full speed in a matter of moments. It feels good to press yourself like this, all-out, no concern for endurance, which may be the case with a longer run. A few hundred yards in total, and you should be able to give your chores to the others. You hope it is fish-cleaning! Always messy, always stinky, fish-cleaning! You hear Hemlock pull up short, a grunt of pain. Looking back, she seems to have pulled something, as she slows to a limping walk, frustration rampant in her posture. Injuries. They always happen in the weirdest moments. Spend a morning beating the hells out of each other, with no real problems. and then a simple run-
With enough of a lead, you decide to show off a bit. Suuha will surely take the easy way, around Eel Mound, by the canal-side watchtower, and across the stone bridge to the pagoda. You, however, will beat him soundly for the second time this morning, going up the steps, across Eel Mound, and then down the ghats to the stone bridge.
The steps up Eel Mound, like the ghats, are all mathematically precise, the same measurements - but they are not made for sprinting. Small in nature, so that children can easily climb them, you take them five a time. Unfortunately, towards the top, you're sure there's one step that must be mis-measured, because, heart-pumping with exertion, you slip, and for a moment the world upends and spins. Bracing yourself, your hands and knees take most of the damage, immediately feeling the sting of road rash and blood. And even worse, your left elbow hits a step - a hard, unforgiving step - and your vision blackens for a moment, the pain crowding everything else out. By the time you get to the ghats, its too late, your spill having cost you valuable seconds. Suuha is crossing the stone bridge, Alto right behind him. Third. You came in third.
Hopefully, its not fish-cleaning tomorrow.
Drazan regards Sarre by meeting her eyes with his while still following after Lijart, "Many attend the moot, even the fish from the waters spear themselves in hopes of accompanying the fisherman. Strange for so many to be in one place at one time, and to welcome strangers without Three People's rights.".
Drazan suddenly holds up his hand as he halts himself, "Anaisa Pye is whispering in mother's ear this morning; what makes her whisper? She doesn't want to share the fine day or does she keep a secret?" Drazan asked, always interested in the sayings of Three People, especially when it involved their gods and more so with Anaisa Pye.
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The pagoda, in addition to being where daily service is held, is also where most of the other important functions of town take place. Festivals, funerals, and moots - all of them use this space. As such, it is one of the oldest places in Shadeholme, stretching back in time to before the great-grandparents of great-grandparents. The cobblestones, fit together nearly perfectly, have been wound down with use over the years, essentially one flat stone floor. The pagoda is ringed with trees, except on the canal side, itself open to the elements - to all Takayah running water is life, to the devout, all water is sacred. As such, events happen here no matter the weather, often to the dismay of the less religious.
Today, there's no worry about rain. The sky is cerulean, nary a cloud in sight. Midday now, the temperature had climbed greatly, almost uncomfortably warm for this time of year. It isn't helped by the sheer numbers that have come for the moot - it seems news of strange happenings has gotten around, people whisper of soldiers, Mountain Tribes, beastlings to the south, strange omens swirling in the leaves, even Suriname, suddenly arrived.
That last rumor, at least, bears fruit. Despite the crush of people in the square, Imix is given plenty of space. Plenty of sideways glances as well.
Even the hedge-witch, Helgya, who normally avoids anything at the pavilion, arrives late with Issy and Nando, Issy looking positively miserable as she rides, like a child, on Nando's back.
The townsfolk crowd into the pavilion, then into the surrounding woods, then up the ghats that climb Eel Mound. Facing Eel Mound, at the far side of the pavilion, is a stage. The stage is simple, used for ceremonies, plays, musical events, and moots. Behind it, a small stone outbuilding contains various modular pieces that can be assembled for various functions - trellises for theater backdrops, an alter for services, and for moots, a long reed table, placed sideways, behind which sit four of the five most important people in town. To the left sits the Exciser-Head, Texikuk, stony-faced, staring straight ahead, arms crossed. Next to her, the seat is empty, usually the domain of the Garrison-Gaptain, Galton Tyrill. In the middle sit Halton Gilders, Lord Mayor. He speaks a few words, every now and then with the man to his right, the muttonchopped High Magistrate, Bertram Hamfatten. On Bertram's other side, the Chief Engineer, Matla Tolita, sits, surprisingly attentive, as she usually takes the opportunity to doze during these meetings. On the right side of the table, another chair has been added. Surpisingly, the worm-farmer, Alma Slate sits on the stage, looking terrified as the crowd grows larger.
Nearing an hour after the horn call went out, the monks and the soldiers fan out, some ring the edges, and some stand in the crowd. Once the Lord Mayor begins speaking, he will pause after every sentence and they will repeat what he said, first the ones closest, then the next, and on down the line, the Mayor's words radiating outward to the assembled.
And soon enough, Gilders stands, and holding his hands out in the present oratorial style, coughs once, and begins.
"Citizens of Shadeholme, guests. Thank you for coming today. I'm sure that rumor is rampant right now, and I - we - greatly appreciate your patience this morning. Much has transpired today, and we need to share with you all the events of this morning."
"Early this morning, when Ayida-Wedu was rising from her nightly grave, a Chasqui arrived from Harper's Pond. They were raided by the Mountain Tribes, many dead, more carried off to slavery or worse. Harper's Pond has little in the way of a garrison, and they wished to reclaim their stolen, avenge their dead. In consultation with our Garrison-Captain, I sent him, our master of hounds, and nineteen of our soldiers to the northwest, to assist Harper's Pond in their time of need. I also sent them to ascertain whether this is part of a larger threat, and whether we will be in the warpath next."
"In the meantime, everyone will carry a weapon with them at all times, even the children. I have ordered one-fifth of our tribute to be held back, foodstuffs and supplies, in case we come under siege. We will still make the tribute run this week, and Texikuk will do her duty, presenting our work for review by the king's accountants. She is an able Exciser-Head and well-respected in the east - I am sure that she will be able to convince the king of the necessity of this action, and we will of course send the tribute along if and when we deterimine that we are in no further danger. But, with the time it takes the king's accountants to divvy up all the tributes and then send our share back our way... I simply could not risk the immediate safety of our people in the interim.
"Then, later this morning another strange event. Alma Slate, who sits on this stage, came bearing news. She was at her camp in the southwest, rising with Ayida-Wedu for a day of cacoon hunting in the woods north of the Pallack Prairie. As she made her way through the woods, she found a camp, and in that camp, seven men and women. More she noticed, hiding in the underbrush. All watched her, wordless, and she, wisely, retreated here to tell us. The men and women were dark-skinned, Tooyah peoples, obviously far from home. They didn't harm Alma, and didn't pursue her, but still, with everything else that happened, we need to find out what they are doing."
The Mayor coughs again, clears his throat. "I cannot send more soldiers - half our garrison is gone, and the rest are needed in case we come under attack. Shadeholme needs volunteers to go to the southwest, starting in the woods north of Pallack Prairie, and find these Tooyah, find out why they are nearby in this unsettled time, ascertain if they are a threat, and deal with them - one way or another."
A murmer goes through the crowd, before Sarre, standing next to Drazan, raises her hand. "I'll go."
"Thank you, Sarre," Hilders says. "Anyone else?"
"I will do this." Imix steps forward, radiating an arrogant authority that renders confusion over whether he is volunteering, or simply stating he will resolve the problem single handed.
Imix regards the woman, "Sarre", who volunteered before him from the corner of his eye. Brave? Foolish? Either way, she has ruined my chance to take control of this thing.
Istiel shakes her head as her vision returns, and starts to clutch her bloodied elbow. She lets out a sharp hiss through clenched teeth, focusing on the pain. Her breathing, labored from the sprint, is swiftly brought under control from years of practice. In... out... in... out... The pain slowly subsides through her breathing exercise... until she sees Suuha and Alto make the mound first.
The monk's opposite fist strikes the payment in frustration, and she starts to get up so as not to be seen nursing her wounds. The throbbing in her elbow is nearly unbearable, but she keeps a hand away from it. "Lucky... but well done." She comments, passing by the two as they recover from the sprint.
I will be doing the s~%* chores, I'm certain.
-------------
Her injuries now a dull throbbing, Istiel focuses on her duty at the moot. While being a message-spreader isn't exactly glorious work, it is fundamental to the wide-spread understanding of the meeting. She is once again frustrated about the soldiers. Yet here I act as one of Makaya's conduits instead of Marinette's fists.
Istiel momentarily hesitates when the Mayor calls for volunteers to investigate the Tooyah vagrants. She didn't want the others to think she was trying to get out of tomorrow's chores... but she simply can't pass up the opportunity to determine what displaced the Tooyah in the first place, and possbily deal with it as well. She regards Sarre a strong one, but not strong enough to represent Shadeholme.
The monk's fist bolts into the air as she silently volunteers.
Drazan doesn't know if he is excluded or has already been assumed to be of the number going to see the strangers in the woods north of Pallack Prarie. Sarre's hand goes up next to him, and Drazan know what must be done. Drazan's hand joins the few others that have already gone up, if the strangers be slavers, Drazan would like to see them, for the only good slaver, is a dead slaver.
Rigel blinks, her mind suddenly heady with the promise of summer: the warm air, the scent of blossom, the drone of bees fat with honey... honey... Oh, right. Yes. Better mention that.
"Thanks, Thom - um... if Issy - I mean Iseult - doesn't want to come with me, will you keep an eye on her while I'm gone? She's not a baby any more, but she's not yet thirteen - I'd be much happier knowing you and Helgya were both there for her."
_______
Arriving at the moot, Rigel does her best to blend in, unobtrusive: her exact status is a matter for debate within Shadeholme, and Takaya society doesn't exactly have a place for her, beyond the one she created for herself. There will always be those who are hostile to that notion, and Rigel's best option is simply not to be seen by them.
She spots the three Chasquis, together as always, and hovers around them; she needs to make peace with Nando after this morning, but also not to be too close to him and thus exclude the other two. She therefore greets Paola and Salty first, listening about Paola's latest crush "come find me later, I want to hear more about him" and making sure to promise Salty the first dance at the next gathering "looking forward to it already!"
Then - and only then - does she approach Nando "Sorry for being so jumpy this morning! You startled me, but no harm done, right? And that payment... it was - it was sufficient, right? Nobody's feeling cheated, right?" She swiftly takes Issy off his hands, murmuring to her "Have I got a story for you, later, honey..."
And always, her gaze darting here, there and everywhere, even talking with Nando (hey, he's not interested in her eyes, right?) - just seeing who is where, who is with whom, where people are looking - are they looking at her? Are they avoiding her? Who else are they avoiding? What's the mood? Who looks pleased? Who looks guilty? What's the real story here?
Information is Rigel's currency; in some ways, her most valuable - although the thought of 200 silk caccoons comes pretty damn close. But she hasn't earned them yet, she reminds herself firmly.
_______
It's not even a decision: Rigel's relationship with Halton (not that she'd call him that in public, ever) is more nuanced now that he's lord mayor, but the fundamentals are simple: she adores him. He took her in when her parents died, looked after her and her brother; without him, the Gods alone know what would have happened to her.
Catching his eye when he asks for volunteers, she simply nods. You shouldn't have to ask.
Oios snorts No old friend. I have only grown old. You have changed though. The one who used to dread each and every test is now setting them? Hah. Even old Turvree did not set an exam on the first day of studies. Damballah keep his soul. the two old comrades heading to the moot arm in arm.
At the moot, Oios, the kind of man to run [i]towards[i] the sound of a scream, raises his hand without hesitation.
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Sarre smiles, always amused with your questions. She for one, doesn't think of you as an outlander.
"I forget you're one of the Frozen. It is just an expression. It means like, 'things are good' or 'that's beautiful' or 'fortune is with me.' "
One of the Frozen - an insult that connotes not only the cold lands of your birth, but that the people of your birth are stuck, in terms of ethics, innovation, and evolution.
Anyone else calls you 'Frozen' that's a fight waiting to happen.
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As you work the crowd, you find it is filled with rumor, so much so, that it is difficult to tell what is true and what isn't. Certainly, some soldiers went northwest earlier this morning. Alma Slate, it appears, was up to, or onto, something - she's been in High Hall all morning, and is now seated at the big table.
The Chasquis seem, as usual, unconcerned with everything, flitting about in their own little world of awesome. Nando just grins. Cheated? NOPE!
Issy, however, still looks miserable. She stares at you for a long second, brow furrowed, stare as venomous as a shade rattler's. Then she looks away, suddenly very interested in what's happening on stage.
And, onstage things are interesting. Texikuk is pissed, ignoring the rest of the people up there just like Issy is you. It is not too surprising really - she's never really gotten along with the Lord Mayor. Halton would always rather curry influence with little favors with his constituents, rather than uphold every. Single. Letter. Of. The. Law.
More worrisome, to you at least, is that your father figure and Hammfatten seem really chummy. They've always had a close working relationship, but Gilders really seems to be leaning on him this morning. Every few moments it seems they're exchanging discreet comments, still facing forwards, watching the crowd assemble. Yep, definitely worrisome.
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A minute passes, no more hands seem like they'll be raised. Gilders nods, looking out over the volunteers. "Very well then. Sarre, Istiel, Drazan, Surinam Imix, Telowo's traveling priest, and Rigel will be our volunteers. Thank you all, from me, and from all of us. Gather your things and leave immediately. Alma Slate will take you to the campsite, and the Chasqui Salty will accompany you. If you run into any danger, Salty will run back here, as fast as Damballah will carry him - and I'll send a squad of men to help."
Gilders coughs into his hand, and then looks out into the crowd, eventually his gaze settling on the Tooyah woman, Korya. "Korya, I've heard you curse and mutter in your tongue, when the fish aren't biting. You will accompany our volunteers as well, in case the language of your people is needed."
It is all silence, quiet as a languid, humid summer's afternoon. The Chasqui, of course, didn't volunteer, but he's got a duty to fulfill. And it makes sense that the wormfarmer show you all what she found. But the Tooyah, she was no volunteer, drug into this only by the nature of her birth.
"No," Korya says, an emphatic silence at the end of her short protest. Then again, more emphasis. "No. F~!*ing. Way. I'm no warrior-monk, no Suriname. Go give yourself to the crocs, Mayor.
A long beat, her words hanging heavy in the air, and finally, Hamfatten leans over, whispers something in Gilders' ear, and the Mayor closes his eyes and nods his head.
Hamfatten gestures, and immediately Korya knows what's coming. She tries to push her way through the crowd, but two soldiers get to her first, bring her down, and then, with Korya kicking, screaming, cursing, they start dragging her up the ghats, towards the High Hall, undoubtedly to the cells within.
Halton Gilders keeps his eyes closed through the whole ordeal, and when Korya's removed, he opens them, pinches the bridge of his nose, wincing for a moment, before staring around the assembled townsfolk. "Let me make something very clear. Now is not the time for dissent. If Shadeholme needs something from you, you will do it, or you will meet the crocodiles."
Turning, the Lord Mayor exits the stage, moot over.
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After the moot the people still give you a wide berth, making it easy to move through the crowd, as if a fish moving through water. As the crowd parts before you, one small child, about seven or eight, stands in your path, smiling. You stop and she reaches up, tugs a little on your hand. "I'm Mauna. I want to be a Suriname when I grow up! Do you sleep with the crocs at night?"
Her mother rushes out of the crowd, scoops the child up in her arms, and bends in supplication. The woman, Maeve, the cook at the Copper Coywolf where you fought with Utzi, stares at your feet, avoiding all eye contact.
I'm very sorry Suriname. Please know Mauna don't mean nothin' mean!"
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Most travelers would probably take the road next to the Cheya Canal until it bends south towards the river, but not Alma Slate. She heads straight southwest, through the farms, just as she did that morning, retracing every panicked step.
You walk for over an hour, the sun growing brighter and hotter as the day wears on, the sky still cloudless. Eventually you enter some old growth forest, and cleave to the game trails, following as Alma strides on, muttering to herself as she goes.
Sarre is in full hunter mode, her longbow drawn, arrown knocked, eyes on the surrounding forest as much as on the path that Alma leads you all along, turning and walking backwards even at times, staying close to Drazan the whole while.
Salty, like tall men called shorty, is an inverse of his name. If Nando is enthusiatically prideful, and Paola is enthusiastically to-the-point, Salty is enthusiastically sweet. He can't help but to at times utter some wondrous exclamation - "Oh honeysuckle vines. Sure, they're dead now, but in a month they'll be back to life, and my ma'll make the sweetest wine! Oh! Deer droppings! Too bad we don't have time to chase it, eh Drazan!"
And so on, each time, shushed by Sarre with a dirty look.
Eventually, about an hour and a half from the journey's beginning, the afternoon is growing long. This time of year, you'll have about three hours of sunlight left. Alma stops, jogs slightly to the right, and there it is, sure enough, a campsite, the center of which lies a fire pit, now quite cold. It is apparent, from the dead matted grass and underbrush, that a group of people were sleeping here.
Drazan is not nearly as sharp looking as Sarre as he seems to almost casually navigate through the woods, all be it in a hunched over position at Sarre's attentive nudge. As a matter of fact, he looks hardly different than when he is back at home; no armor, shabby boots and ragged loose leg coverings, more shorts than trousers. The only exception is he is carrying all of his home made weapons with him tucked away in straps on his sash.
Drazan seems so at ease he stops from time to time to investigate the local fauna often to break off a leaf, twig, or flower to smell and or taste it, sometimes to his own detriment.
After Salty's mention of the deer Drazan replies, "Announcing the location of one's self is a trait of prey, but if the strangers are already expecting you, then it may drive them away when faced with one of this number. Which is it you think?" Drazan's eyes and looks about him give no bearing on the statement and question, only that he may be curious as to why Salty thought this might be a good time to go hunting that deer when Korya had just been thrown into the crocodile cells for disobeying the mayor.
'Was this any different? Would one of the others report everything to the Mayor in an effort to root out troublemaker's?' Drazan thought to himself, just before looking away and settling his eyes on Rigel and shaking the thought entirely.
Drazan follows after Alma, and kneels awaiting someone that wants to develop a strategy other than walking casually into the clearing and asking the strangers that may be hiding to come out and make themselves known. Drazan hardly knew many of the other's strengths, he felt like a fill in for a matchup where one of the other slaves had fallen too ill or died before ceremonial conflict.
Oios strokes his beard in a thoughtful manner as he sees the cold fireplace.
They were not hostile when they first met the villager Slate so there is no reason not to give these Tooyah the benefit of the doubt. The troubles that have started to affect Shadeholme did not suddenly appear just here. They came from somewhere, affecting others, and it would not be surprising that they would have caused people to flee their homes and become refugees. With the many hunters in the party there should be no trouble in following the tracks of such a large crowd and ask them what it is that they are about. I know there tongue if no one else does though Oios harrumphs I am told that my manner is not a friendly one.
_______
Rigel winces as Korya is dragged away, but she has limited sympathy. That is exactly how you don't go about getting your way in Takayan society. And defying the mayor? To his face? In public?! No, that was only going one way. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
_______
Afterwards, she searches out Issy; kneeling, so as to be on the same level, Rigel looks directly into her different-coloured eyes. "Honey, I'm on your side. I've been on your side since the first time I saw you, when those two ************* tried to run you out of town. I'll even give up my nice warm bed to keep you company in a cold barn; even when you pull the cloak away from me in the middle of the night; but I will do whatever it takes to make sure that you see Helgya so she can do what I can't. And if that means getting one of the Chasquis to take you there, then so be it."
She takes a deep breath. "I'm not your sister, and I'm not your mother - I'm making it up as I go along, OK? But I'm on your side. Don't ever forget that."
"Now, I've got two questions for you. First, why the hell is Hal- I mean Gilders - so chummy with that prat Hamfatten - and why is that *********** looking so sleek after that trick we pulled last night? Second, do you want to come with me to Cornucopia? Thom's asked me to do a favour for him, take a package there; I'm leaving later this week."
_______
At the campsite, Rigel is cautious, but listens to the stranger - the same one who nearly knocked her over earlier - and nods in agreement. "I don't sling their lingo, but nobody's ever questioned my manner, right Salty?" She throws the young Chasqui a wink.
She suddenly realises that this is absolutely NOT the way to address someone who carries themselves with such dignity. Looking him over, Rigel tries to guess who or what he is, what brings him here. Straight-backed, older, but not old. Man, the guy breathes protocol!
Clearing her throat, she tries again, with a curtsy. "Apologies, Revered One - I spoke as to an equal, but I see the lines of wisdom on your brow." Now, she's overdoing it. Backtrack a bit. "I mean, uh, I would be more than happy to assist your diplomatic efforts. Forgive my impulsive nature, and I will do my best to rein in my excesses."
At least, while you're watching, she doesn't say.
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The Moot
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As the mayor turns to go, Imix speaks up, his voice ringing out over the crowd.
"A moment, mayor. Keeping back the excise is a desperate act. A brave one as well, of course, given the possible repercussions."
"The decision is yours to make, but I will give you an alternative. I have pounds of jewellry, and I will trade it for food. If there is no siege, I will trade it back. If there is, then you will all be my guests. It should be enough to let Shadeholme survive any foreseeable siege."
"Your Exciser will still need to explain the situation, but the repercussions will be on my head."
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After The Moot
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I'm very sorry Suriname. Please know Mauna don't mean nothin' mean!"
Imix crouched down
"A child's curiosity is a good thing." he reassures the mother, before turning to Mauna "Mauna, I do not sleep with the crocodiles. I sleep in a nice warm bed, with a roaring fire. I think the crocodiles would as well, if they could!""Suriname is not something you learn, it is something you are born as. If you are Suriname, you will see soon." he pauses, gently adding "But I do not think you are."
"If you are, then they will take you away from all your family, and all your friends. No-one will ever even speak of them again. You will be raised in a far away place, with only teachers."
"Many times I have wished I was not born Suriname." he lies.
He turns to the rag-tag group of misfits he has agreed to join, now roughly converged on his location.
"Very well. Let us do this. Who will rule?"
Oios gives the pale skinned beauty a very significant look as she tries out three completely different ways of getting on his good side. Which of course does the exact opposite. One to watch out for he thinks. Still. Damballah willed everyone to have their place and saw to it that no one person could do everything that needs to be done.
Trackers lead when tracking needs to be done. Talkers lead when talking needs to be done. he looks at the group and notes that a surprising amount seem to be of the sort that can look after themselves. If it comes to a fight, then we defend each other, I trust we are capable enough at that?
"Trackers never lead, only follow." Drazan says picking up a small stone from the ground and turning it in his hand. "If they are slavers, there will be no bargaining with them."
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The journey
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The pace is punishing for a man weighed down with ceremonial armour. Trapped inside his priceless mobile torture chamber, Imix enviously eyes the mountain man casually striding along in his lightweight, cut-down clothes.
He does his best to keep his fatigue to himself, but finds he has no breath spare for conversation. Every now and then he pauses, holding out a hand for Chukix to hand him a waterskin.
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The camp
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Imix nods to the priest
"I can certainly look after myself. Chukix is not a combatant however. He will need to stay out of danger."
"If you speak their language, then you must be the one to take the lead. Even if this comes to violence, we still need information. If a fight does break out, let me take the front. If anyone is injured..."
Imix raises his right hand, and a tingling rush of energy floods through the group. It feels somewhat like diving into a cool pool in the height of summer. Pain and exhaustion flees. The myriad tiny scratches and pains that afflict one after travelling through a forest vanish.
And then it is gone.
At the moot
-----------
Istiel listens as the Lord mayor rattles off the names of those volunteering. Drazen. I've heard he's good in a fight, and kind enough for a Frozen. Good.
She gets more confused as the names continue. A Suriname? Here? Interesting. I hope he is not coming along to build the refugees a bridge. Traveling priest? Who- RIGEL? The monk softly snorts in disgust behind her mask as the list ends on an unexpected note. What does that two-copper whore expect to gain from this? Wait- I did not see her volunteer. Is the Mayor sending her...?
Question roil in her mind, and answers weren't popping out of the air. She spares a glance for Korya as the woman is dragged away. That one's spirit was always misplaced. Perhaps this will teach her a lesson.
After the moot
--------------
Istiel has been ready to travel since the moment the soldiers were first sighted atop Monk's Mound. No other preparations were needed, but she does find Suuha before leaving. "I'll honor my wager this morning when I return. Keep Shadeholme safe." She pauses, masked face momentarily matching her blank voice. "Please, do not go fishing."
Traveling
---------
Istiel appears at the meeting place with a satchel strapped to her shoulder left, balanced by three javelins and thick rope on the other. Hazel eyes turn to the Suriname. "I am curious to see what kind of Suriname you are. We are blessed to have you along." She gestures to Alma at the question of rule. "We follow for now."
Istiel barely says anything as they travel, following Alma Slate step for step. The woman was a bit unhinged, but she certainly knew her way around the forests. The blabbering of the Rigel grates on her nerves, and she rolls her eyes at the attempt to butter up the priest from the capital so she can slide into his pants like fried bacon onto a plate. The monk has heard the rumors. "Rigel. Why are you here?" She asks bluntly, muffled voice monotone, but clearly probing.
On the question of security from Oios, she is confident. "Yes. Beside us is the safest place in the forest."
Campsite
--------
The tall monk simply kneels down among the matted grass and cold embers, trying to follow them out. "Now we hunt." Her head turns to the Suriname as healing magic flows over her, removing the dull pain from her elbow. "Ah. The magical kind. Useful." There is a hint of disappointment in her otherwise, at the moment, sincere voice.
Rigel makes a face as the older man assesses her sharply; first impressions count for a lot and she messed that one up, big time. "Sorry - I got that wrong. I was trying to guess how you wanted to be addressed; should have just asked. What's your preferred title? You look too active to be addressed as Elder, or Grandfather... I'm Rigel, by the way. Rigel Quicklingfay."
At the question of combat, she shrugs uncomfortably. She is dressed in her hide armour, which took some finding at the back of her wardrobe; it does nothing for her looks. "I can use a dagger, sure."
____________
Rigel looks sidelong at the monk's hostile questioning; she expected it, and she's used to hostility. Good at deflecting it, too. But this time... well. Monks. What could drive any man - or woman, in this case - to give up everything that makes life fun? Too soon to ask that question, but not too soon to see what sort of monk she's dealing with.
She grins. "There's two possible answers to that one, honey. The first one is: that's a bad question. The Lord Mayor sent me, and that's all you need to know, especially after what happened to Korya. Monks aren't supposed to think for themselves, so just do as you're told and the Gods will look after you."
She allows a short pause, assessing the monk's response, before moving on swiftly. "The second answer is: that's a very good question, and if you're asking it, it's because you're open to thinking for yourself and not just accepting the received wisdom. In which case, maybe there's more to me than you think, hm?"
Rigel gives the monk(ess) time to mull it over, before flashing another, crooked, grin and dancing away.
____________
Rigel looks curious as the minor aches and pains she had accumulated from the journey suddenly disappear at the Suriname's order. She's been avoiding the Suriname, partly out of childish superstition; partly because he's the Excise-woman's lover and they just haven't crossed paths. But, there's no time like the present.
Biting her lip slightly, she approaches Imix. "Hi. I'm Rigel. I heard what you said earlier, to the mayor, about keeping back the excise. And you're right. It is bold. But I know the mayor - he's ambitious, and he does't just want to be the mayor - he wants to stay as mayor. I don't see him doing something that openly risky. I think someone's behind it, someone who isn't taking any risks. If you're open to a suggestion, can I point you at Hamfatten? He's the one with the mutton chops, who was whispering at the mayor the whole time. He wouldn't be too sorry to see anything happen to the mayor, cos then he'd be more powerful."
She looks at him assessingly. "If you're wanting to get to the bottom of it, I'm sure you'll find Hamfatten there. He's bad news."
With that, she skips away.
Oios will do. For that is my name Rigel Quicklingfay Oios says to the girl. Keeping an ear on what the rest are saying to each other the ex-inquisitor shakes his head Everywhere is politics and jostling for position. Cornucopia or Shadeholme or wherever else..
Turning his attention back to important matters Oios crouches next to the monk as she looks over the tracks. I have some experience with tracking myself.
===========
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Issy won't make eye contact with you - at first. As you talk though, she warms - she usually does, eventually giving you a look you know all too well. The look is the same one any time that you're about to embark on some crazy, risky, or dangerous act. Be safe!
As to your questions, Issy just shrugs to the first, her suppositions about Hamfatten as good as - and as uninformed as - your own. The second question, about going to the Capital? Her eyes get big, and she nods her head, a goofy smile plays across the kid's face. Of course, yes! You know I've always wanted to see it!
===========
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The Lord Mayor stares at you as you speak, the faintest smile playing on his lips. "We'll talk about your offer when you return, Suriname Imix. It is an... interesting one. Anaisa Pye surely smiles upon us today, to have you visiting in this time of need."
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Suuha replies, voice grave. "I'll hold you to it, loser. I, I wish... I wish you success out there."
Suuha changed his words at the last moment there. Jealousy - and shame - tint the young warrior-monk's words.
===========
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Rigel
-----
The monk is quiet as Rigel speaks, and because she is not looking at Rigel while they are walking it is difficult to tell if the monk is even listening. Of course, she answers all the same. "Bad questions do not exist. Questions are a gift from Damballah so we may expand our minds. Bad answers do exist; you are well versed in them. Your answer only informs me you do not wish to answer." Her cold hazel eyes briefly turn to Rigel, the only sign of emotion on her otherwise covered face. "Suspicious."
She silently listens to the second part of Rigel's speech, and gives a succinct rebuttal. "Or not."
Further inspection of the campsite reveals more - two different groups of people were here, the second group, Oios notes, arriving most likely early this morning. Istiel is the first to find the blood, a dried puddle at the edge of the campsite. Sarre finds more, splashed on the ground or dragged along tree trunks, as individuals moved in various directions from the campsite, outward, away.
Drazan moves to the west side of the camp, and sees that in addition to the signs of passage left by individuals, there's a group that left in the direction of the Teeth of the World. Drazan also finds the stump a Sycamore tree, about 1 1/2 feet in diameter, freshly felled, likely by an axe or axes. The trunk of the tree is nowhere to be found. It has been stripped of its branches, however - they lie scattered nearby and covered in blood. This group, at least ten in number, leaves an obvious trail through the woods, more blood, drops of it here and there, plants smashed, tree branches snapped.
Alma fidgets as you explore the camp, and once the seriousness of the situation becomes evident, she takes her leave, heading back to Shadeholme, muttering about dark omens.
The large group moved through the forest, which itself steadily wends upwards into the foothills. The day wanes, and you push on as the temperature begins to drop, up and down hillocks, each rising slightly higher than the one before, and before too long, the trees become sparse, and stretches of dead mountain grass, long stretches of it, brown fields rustling in the slight wind, unfold before you. At the bases of the dead stalks lie the new growth of spring, bright green, just peaking up from the soil. As before, the trail is easy to find, flattened stalks of the mountain grass pressed down, the trail pointing still towards the mountains.
Ayida-Wedu sinks behind the mountains and dies for the night, your lit torches now showing the way, as you push on into the mountain grass, the dead stalks rising four or five feet at times. The temperature plummets, your breath escapes as mist, the stars shine, a cloudless, moonless night.
On you go, hours pass, following smashed grass. Then, at the lead, Drazan stops, hand up, pointing towards the top of a hill where you can see the glow of a campfire in the darkness.
"Unlikely to be the strangers." Drazan says lowering his hand, and looking to Oios, as if to say Drazan is with him when he is ready.
Istiel breaks stride for a moment as Drazen raises his hand, but once she spots the fire the monk continues walking forward, straight towards their goal. "If they run, we chase. If they talk, we parley. If they resist, we crush them."
Yellow and red light flickers eerily over her permanent visage, jets of mist erupting out of the mouthpiece with her every breath. "Leave one alive for questioning."
Oios claps a firm hand on the young monk's shoulder. We are not searching for people who scare a village woman by staring at her. We are now tracking those who have spilled blood and are not bothered with hiding their tracks. The two best scouts should go ahead to see what is there. Then we decide what is to be done.
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Campsite (first)
===========
Imix inclines his head to the monk.
"Indeed. I have also been trained to fight - though not, I expect, as well as you have."
Imix looks alert at the suggestion the mayor has sent Rigel along.
He starts to answer the girl when she skips away, leaving him thinking about her words - both the content and the implied offer.
Will have to note that one. She is obviously connected, somehow, to the politics of this place.
"Alma has left - we must now choose a new leader. Decisions made quickly cannot be made by consensus." Imix nods at the departing woman, obvious scorn in his voice. "I suggest Oios, as he speaks the language. In his absence, the monk."
"From what you have described to me, it seems that this second group hunted the first. They captured, rather than killed. They head towards the teeth of the world. It suggests, to me, slavers. Slavers hunting escapees into our lands."
"By all means let us chase them - time is of the essence. With that in mind, Cukix and I will carry my armour. I suggest anyone else weighed down do the same."
Oios may notice Istiel defensively twitches a little when she is grabbed, but stops to regard him curiously all the same. "They will not hesitate to spill blood again. If you insist on scouting, we go together."
Taking a cap made of thick leather attached to the body of her torch, she carefully smothers the smokey sap flame. She looks to Sarre and Salty. "You may stay or assist, but be ready for a fight."
She silently listens to the second part of Rigel's speech, and gives a succinct rebuttal. "Or not."
Rigel shrugs, unperturbed, and smiles. "Or not."
She looks sidelong at her companion. "It's OK to be jealous of me, I would in your place, too, honey..."
The mood is dampened by the discovery of the second party on the scene; and the traces of blood. Rigel sensibly stays out of everyone's way as they track the group through the wilderness; as darkness falls and torches are lit, she wrinkles her nose at the smell of smoke and does her best to keep away from it: the stuff pervades your clothes like you wouldn't believe. She doesn't need the light, anyway - she's always been able to see in the dark. Comes in handy, on occasion.
As Drazan points at the glow of fire, Rigel breathes quietly in. "This is where I come in, I think. None of the rest of you have much in the way of stealth, carrying those torches."
She smiles at Oios. "I am the two best scouts! I'll be back in a bit."
With that, she ghosts into the night, off to see what lies up ahead. It's impulsive, and it's probably not sensible, but she's confident she won't be seen. A flash of her white teeth as she grins is the last the party sees of her as she is swallowed up by the darkness.
Istiel is busy fiddling with her torch and debating with Oios when Rigel butts in with a boast. "What? That is absurd, you-" Suddenly the slippery woman makes good on her words, vanishing into the night as soon as she is out of torch range.
Flabbergasted, Istiel stares into the night, trying to catch some glimpse of her. Well. Appears she is good for something. Sighing, the monk looks down at her smoldering torch for a few defeated moments before removing a striker flint from her belt pouch to relight it. "Now we wait." The disappointment in her voice was overwhelming.
Drazan sits into a kneeling position to wait as Rigel moves to scout the fire. "Fire Peaks warriors. No bodies and the blood is a sign that they are more interested in food than slaves. If this is the first hunt of the season for them, they will be ritually scarring themselves and making offerings to the Great Fire," Drazan says clawing up a hand of dirt and examining the earth and dust.
He continues, though still to no one in particular, "The smell: blood and fire. The strangers don't have long."
===========
On we go
===========
Bereft of armour, Suriname Imix reveals a powerful swimmer's build, wide shoulders and solid legs. The uniform tone of his skin reveals its darkness to be purely the result of his noble blood.
When night comes, the eyes on the strange horned-crocodile head shield he wears on his left arm burn with light, as if torch burns inside the skull - though a torch that does not flicker or falter.
When they stop for the campfire, he quickly dons his armour again. Though quick, this keeps him away from the discussion of scouting. He does notice just how thoroughly Rigel disappears. Assassin? Dagger and stealth? If I make an enemy of the mayor, she may have to vanish permanently he notes.
"Leader." he enquires "Perhaps we should send the Chasquis back with information on what we have found. If we fall, then they will know how strong our attackers were." he shrugs "Unless you think we will be so outnumbered we will need a runner to fight?"
Oios turns his grasp on Isitel's shoulder into a pat. Waiting is far from the worst thing. What happens at the end of it can be, Loco protect us.
As my superiors were at particular pains to remind me he rumbles pleasantly enough to Imix I am no Leader. But yes, the idea is a good one. I will be the head of our little group for now. he looks around Salty should head back to report if this night is to end with conflict but after we confirm the nature of the servants of Kalfu that we track. May Anaisa Pye smile on Rigel as she scouts.
Salty looks to the east and kneels, removing a torch and striker from his pack. "I'm bound by sacred duty to flee any conflict. If a fight breaks out, I'll start immediately for Shadeholme." Smiling apologetically, the Chasqui continues. "I wish I could fight with you, but I swore an oath. Perhaps someday, Drazan, we can hunt that deer."
Sarre isn't going anywhere, however. "I'm here to fight," she says, knocking an arrow, and crouching, looking towards the fire on the hill.
=================
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You make your way up the hill, and crouching low, are able to completely obscure yourself from any vision. The darkness, it turns out, is playing tricks with distance - the hill is less steep, but the fire is farther away, and thus, larger - much larger - than it first appeared. As you approach, your ears pick up the sound of a drum beating, one beat, timed more or less the same, every second or so.
Which is in a way, a good thing - the drum beat covers up your booted feet crunching along the dead grass, making your scouting go much easier. As you draw nearer, you see just how big the bonfire is - a massive conflagration, it reaches high into the air. Creeping towards it, you almost run into a sentry, hiding in the grass. The man is thinly built, with wild hair and a beard, braided into three long plaits, running down his chest. The man wears a hide shirt, the shirt stitched together with what looks to be rope weaved from human hair. He stares straight ahead, to the east, into the darkness, a huge stone-headed hammer at his feet, a couple of javelins strapped to his back. Looking over your shoulder towards your companions, you can't make out their torch from this distance.
On you go, towards the bonfire, another fifteen or so feet, and the air grows fetid, thick with rot. The mountain grass is flattened, roughly a circle forty feet in diameter. To the right side, the felled sycamore tree trunk lies, four Tooyah, three men and a woman, lashed to it, all them prostrate on the ground, bound to the tree trunk around their shoulders and necks, staring into nothing, shock and fear scrawled across their faces. A fifth Tooyah, or what remains of him, is attached to the trunk as well, the lifeless body's legs missing.
Five men stand around the bonfire, staring into it, one beating a set of drums strapped across his chest, a longspear stuck into the earth beside him. Within the fire itself, at its kernel, a strange darkness sits, as if all the flickering shadows of the nearby night are drawn inward into the flame. The shadows shift and swirl within the light, occasionally making visible the hint of a scaled arm, or a long, black feather.
You realize you've circled around the back of the cleared area, directly opposite of your companions, where perhaps an even more skin-crawling sight awaits. In the distance, more bonfires rage, a score at least, visible amidst the darkness.
Imix - now armoured - approaches the Chasqui. "We are all of us tired. Yours may be the most important. If Rigel is detected, and they move on us, you must run as if the hunters were behind you and you were the deer."
His hand dipped behind his shield, returning with a small piece of pumice. This he crushed one-handed and smeared on salty - a streak below above eye, a streak across the mouth, a jagged streak across the forehead.
"Perhaps, while we wait, we should clarify how each of us fight. I take it you, Sarre, are an archer? I myself am a wall - shelter behind me if you wish."
The first Rigel's companions know of her return is when she stumbles, almost blindly, into the light of their torches. "Oh, thank the All-Father, It's you! Oh gods. Oh gods. Oh gods." Ashen-faced and trembling, she looks like she's seen a ghost, but delivers her report. "One sentry, looking East. Hammer, javelins. Five at the fire, spears. Four live captives, Tooyah, tied to the tree. One dead - it looks - it looks like they cut him apart..."
Rigel stares into nothing, transfixed, at the memory of the man's corpse as she recounts the story. She's heard stories of violence, sure, who hasn't? But the present reality of it threatens briefly to overpower her.
Taking a deep breath, she shudders deeply as though about to be sick, but manages to control herself, for now. "The fire is -it's weird, unholy. Like there's something inside it. Don't ask me to explain. Can't. Crept round the outside - more fires in the distance. Like lots more. Twenty. More. So I crept back around the campfire to rejoin you. The other bonfires are far enough apart that you could attack this one undetected, probably. 'Scuse me."
She doubles over on the spot, retching uncontrollably. The sight of that butchered corpse is imprinted on her eyes, even when she closes them.
And to think just an hour ago I was worried about the smell of smoke on my clothing. Ugh. Even so, she does her best to hold her hair out the way.
While his mind processes the information, Imix studies the girl. Is she really this effected? She retained the presence of mind to ensure her hair stayed clean. If she is this affected by violence, perhaps I have misjudged her Purpose.
As Imix begins to rub the pumice on Salty, the Chasqui puts his hand on the Suriname's arm, gently pushing it away. "Don't worry about me, Suriname Imix. I can run home in my sleep." Pointing towards the fire, Salty frowns. "Save your magic for what's up there."
Sarre nods. "I'll gladly use your wall, Suriname. I can end a squirrel from 50 feet, but I've never been face-to-face with someone - or something - that can fight back.
When Rigel gives her report, Sarre gets very quiet, staring towards the fire.
========
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Chukix approaches and pulls you aside. "Master, I'm afraid my eyes fail me more every day. I have a hard time seeing in this darkness. If fills me with shame, but I I'm afraid I may be a hindrance to you if you go up that hill. Master, let me trail behind, so that I know you are safe, but please, don't make me fight."
Imix waves off Chukix dismissively.
"Unholy fire... human sacrifice..." Imix's voice is slow, measured. He doesn't seem horrified, he sounds thoughtful.
Then he smiles, for the first time, revealing large white teeth in the darkness.
"How far is the fire? How fast are they killing the captives? Were there distinctive symbols?" the questions for Rigel are rapid, and make no allowance for her distress.
He turns to Oios "If we can take their captives, we may not need to capture one of the warriors. Still, that would be for the best - I suggest task the monk with it. I also suggest send the Chasqui now - this needs to be reported to Cornucopia." his smile broadens "Twenty-one fires with six attackers per fire is not a Raid - it is a War."
Istiel isn't really paying attention to anyone else at the moment. She's watch two things- the fire, and the forest. The first to see if there is any change, and the second to watch for Rigel.
It wasn't hard noticing her approach. Rigel would notice that Istiel has a javelin cocked in her arm, ready to throw at the woman when she finally gets her bearings. Calmly, she lowers it when she recognizes Rigel, but keeps it in her hand.
The overspilling of information from Rigel is clear enough, and she speaks over the sounds of the woman retching. "Enough talking. These savages deserve death. Rigel." The monk turns her attention to the woman as she recovers from emptying her stomach. "Harden yourself. You have done well. Do so again. You will lead me to the sentry while the others follow. Together we will dispose of him- silently. Then we attack full-force."
She hands her torch off to Salty, and turns her eyes towards the bonfire, waiting for Rigel to lead the way. Istiel's entire body is tense with anticipation- this will be glorious.
Oios mutters a prayer for protection under his breath upon hearing the news before turning to address everyone. The Suriname gave you your message Chasqui. Go. Like the wind. Damballah will that we follow you soon.
After Salty has gone Oios says. The poor wretched Tooyah will not know the details of the barbarian invasion. We try to take one alive. Kill the rest. Take the survivors and the captive back with us. Isotrl. Your plan is sound but use your art to try and knock one out. When the sentry is taken out we will fall on the rest and send all but one to Legba.
Oios crouches to address the still retching Rigel.
You have done well already child. Do you feel up to leading us to the cannibal camp? The lives of four depend on it. You do not need to join the fight if you do not wish. Although an extra blade would be welcome
"We must be sure none flee to reach the other fires. Sarra, I will imbue your bow with everything I have. It will be your job to shoot any who flee. They may outrun us, but not your arrows. Take care not to ruin your eyes with the fire."
"A little after Istiel leaves, I will call on what powers I can. "
He pauses, then continues "If there is something in the fire, your bow should be able to kill it. Istiel asked after my speciality, and it is this."
"Will you be praying for us, priest?"
"Is it true all savages deserve death?" Drazan says, barely audible among the others and their planning. Standing, Drazan draws his spear and sets his dirt covered hand to the haft, fastening his grip with a twist. He turns his cold eyes from Rigel and the others, to the burning in the darkness.
"Yes, all savages deserve death."
"While you plan the opponent's mercy, the strangers lessen bit by bite."
Oios nods. He touches Drazan, Imix, Rigel, and Isitel in turn and murmurs a quick prayer as he imparts a protective Aegis on them. May Loco watch over you as you bring Damballah's justice to the foul cannibals.
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Salty nods, lights his torch, and he's off down the hill, torchlight bobbing in the darkness.
Istiel takes the lead this time, with Rigel close behind, as the women make their way up the hill, catlike, predators under the cover of darkness.
The sentry is in the same spot he was earlier. As you approach, you see he's tired, black circles under his eyes, as if he hasn't slept in days. The sentry reaches into a pack at his side, and removing some dried herbs, crushes them in his hand and then quickly snorts the herbs off of his palm.
Too late, perhaps, and too distracted for sure, the man looks out into the darkness, sniffing a bit, shifting his weight from foot to foot.