Forty-First Beginning – The Buddy System 05

[The previous post was an attempt to continue the beginning in this post, but without the advantage of having any of my writing with me.  I think I'll use it, but they need to be combined.]

Gus sprawled on a stroof joint over an ale shop, fur fluffed to absorb the only stray sunbeam he had found in this town.  His tail twitched very occasionally.

Below, a line of old men squatted against the alehouse wall and talked about how the entire world had gone to rack and ruin. Gus wasn't surprised. Old men did that sort of thing.

"I give it two more years," one of them said. "Everyone thinks they're so clever with their merchant calculations.  Short sighted."

The others nodded or grunted. They were taking advantage of the sun, too.  But they had no lovely black fur to aid them.

Gus flicked a satisfied tail tip.  He would not have fluffed out in strong sun if he hadn't been up out of sight. When strong sun lit his fluffed fur, even a human could see that the underfur on his belly was pale and that he had stripes. Gus didn't think of himself as a tabby. Tabbies were common. He thought of himself as liquid obsidian and did not fluff in strong light where there might be an audience. He especially didn't fluff and sun in windows.  He didn't know what it was about windows, but he could remember few times that he had fully relaxed in one without someone blurting, "He has stripes!  Look!"

"Competition is good for everyone," the same voice sneered.  He hawked and spat.  "People doing their manly duty are laughed at.

-------------

It wasn’t a nice town.  Something about it kept the smoke from fire pits and chimneys low.  In some areas the raspy fug only reached the upper stories or roofs of buildings, in others the haze reached the ground.

Forty-First Beginning – The Buddy System 04

[Same story, alternate beginning.  Or, perhaps, another chapter.]

Next beginning. 

Guscodus decided that he would explore this town, backwards as it was and annoyed as he was with the boy and his bird.  He was a fine, sleek cat and a credit to any traveling party.  He was clever and swift and even if it was completely understandable for him to be angry at the position he had been placed in and the people whose stupidity had placed him there, even if he had stalked off into the night, leaving his navigator, his leash holder, his ruler behind, even so:  he could still scout out this town that they had been approaching and use his nimble wits to learn of its opportunities and dangers, bringing the information back to lay at his master’s feet, like a still warm and only half-eaten rat.  The boy would be grateful and impressed.

Tail twitching as he marched back through his thoughts, Guscodus concurred with himself and, stretching slowly and thoroughly, rose to begin his search. He would have to come up with a name for the boy, interim though their relationship was. It made thinking cluttered if he had to bat around for a title each time.

Master was dead out. Master wasn't even twitching and bleeding, it was too dead to consider batting around in boredom. Gus had had three Masters in his time and this temporary place holder of a boy was no Master.

Navigator wasn't bad. Or wouldn't be if the boy had any clue where he was going. Servant was too condescending, even for him. Leash holder came close but was too long and implied more control than the boy had. Handler made him sound like a common animal and manager made him sound like a human.

Gus padded in fits and starts along the roofs, fitting the tempo of his travel to the changing terrain. Herder was not to be considered. No cat could be herded.

Runner, perhaps. Runner had possibilities. Words regarding business or human relationships, such as friend, never entered his feline mind. Neither did words like Provider or Keeper.

Runner would do, he supposed. He would try it and see how it worked. Gus twitched his tail and paused before leaping onto what might prove to be the tallest roof within the city walls. It still annoyed him that the boy saw him as only a tag end to his difficulties.

Gus had been angry with the boy for other, larger things at the beginning. But, trouper that he was, he had eventually put those behind him. He was prepared, now, to see the whole thing as an unfortunate horror that they'd both have to deal with. 

Forty-First Beginning – The Buddy System 03

The strangers wore well oiled leather, chain, and plate armor, in various combinations.  From the entrance they looked to be three men and one woman, but Nevvic knew that such assessments could shift when a boy got closer.  He looked around to see if he could see any excuse to talk to the strangers.  Gripper wasn't in sight and the regular morning folk were circled around a dice and cup game.  From appearances, it was a rare contest.  Not a glance was spared for the unknown foursome.

"Ho, boy!  You from the woods?"

That was a surprise. No need to consider tactics, now.

"Yes, good traveler.  My folk make charcoal in the woods."

"See, Arthetor.  All we needed to do was stop hurrying.  Come, boy and sit.  We have some questions.  We travel in search of dragons."

The speaker kicked a stool out from under the table and nodded toward it.  He was tall and rangy, his armor was hardened leather plates, each the size of a hand or larger, the plates grommeted with metal and bound together with chains.  He wore a metal cap helm, tied under his chin with leather, and a bearskin cape.  His hair and beard were clean and blond and intricately braided, but his feet were protected by nothing more than old rope sandals.

Navvic hurried to sit before the man could change his mind, before his companions could object.

"I'm afraid we have no dragons in the woods, farer.  Or, rather, I'm not afraid in the woods because there are no dragons there.

The leaves are dense and the beasts can't see through.  The branches reach wide and intertangle.  Certain, one could get through, if it had a reason, but none has fixed on a reason for as long as my uncle has lived and longer."

"None has landed near the edge and galloped through, under the branches?"  Brennus pushed a dish with sections of grilled sausage toward Nevvic.  Nevvic nodded and took one, gratefully.  Sausage was a rare treat.

"At the edges, where the trees are scant, there are thick brambles.  Perhaps they cannot pierce a dragon's hide, but they block sight as well as the leaves of the treetops. 

Oh, and my folk, when they build a mound, making charcoal, they remind each other not to stay close to the mound longer than necessary, once the fire is going.  Mayhap past dragons have dived through treetops and mound crown, following the smell of fire, and gotten naught but buried, banked fire for their efforts."

There were other things that Nevvic's folk did to avoid drawing dragons, but this portion he was allowed to tell.  For it was a rumor and a guess, and not something known certain.

"Do you stay always in the woods, boy?" Said the one called Arthetor.  This one was coiffed so that only the cloth-wrapped tail of his hair could be seen, running a small way down his back.  His armor was plate, and well pieced.  His helm, on the table, was more elaborate than Nevvic had ever seen.  A glance down showed that his boots were thick leather with strips of metal riveted on in rising stripes.

It was hard to guess the true size of his body under it all.  But he was obviously bigger than most men.

"No, farer.  Today I'll be ranging upslope, to see if salmon have started in any of the streams."

"They come up this far?"  This man was short and slim.  His wiry, greying hair had been cropped off in a flat line just above his chin.  His wispy beard had been similarly cropped just below his chin.  There was a thick leather cap with ear flaps on the table near him.  He wore a red leather vest and robes that obscured his feet and hands. He made a gesture showing that Nevvic could finish the sausage, if he wished.

"Oh, yes, farer.  The ones that spawn near flat places draw bears, but the ones that leap the falls into narrow breaks in the cliffs can be harvested safely."

"The cliffs up ahead?  They go as far as that?"

"Not every year, farer, but most.  Whether any can top the cliffs and go beyond is a thing argued about constantly.  Some farers have spoken of fish like salmon, but striped, that live in lakes high up the mountain.  But the lakes have no leaving streams, so if they are salmon, they can nevermore reach the sea."

"We are being rude," said the woman.  She wore chain to her knees, with plate strapped to her forearms, neck, and shins.  Strapped to her chest by chain around her neck and back was . . . Something round that glowed.  She, also, had a helm on the table and her hair was loose and pale brown around her shoulders.  "My name is Sechlainn, follower or Cardijahn, she who blesses mortals and strengthens them to slay dragons.  Her aim is to free the land of their terror.

"This clansman," she indicated the tall, blond man, "is Brennus Conchobar.  The second name is his clan name.

You heard Arthetor's name.  He is from the spire.  That is Limmidocious.  He's a wizard. His sort usually don't travel with my sort.  I see his pledge to our quest as a milestone and a turning point. Men have long cooperated against dragons.  We have successfully protected our homes and fields and flocks.  Now we are joining to take the worms' nests."

Nevvic looked down at the table, reddening.  Limmidocious spoke. 

"Folk in these mountains think it unlucky to give their birth names to . . . Well, to anyone not close family.  He'll have a cognomen, a thing that he's called by folk in general. 

We won't be angered if you give us that, boy.  Custom is custom."

"I'm called Charnevvic, farers."

"Nevvic being local for nephew.  Is char associated with making charcoal?"

"Yes, farer.  I live with my uncle, and he's called Char, for the charcoal."

"And do you have any further information about dragons, Charnevvic?  Beyond the news that they leave the woods alone and that they leave the salmon to the bears?"

"Well, one will take a bear from time to time, when the bears come into the flat to swat salmon.  And there's a rumor that they come and scratch their backs on the side or the edge of the cliff."

He fished into his pouch, fumbling out a ragged, translucent curve of something.  He handed it to Sechlainn. 

"Folk call those dragon scales.  That's not a good one.  Good ones look like they're maybe a scale.  Folk make combs of them.

It may be just a story, of course.  No one here goes looking for dragons.  Maybe you know.  . .?"

Sechlainn handed the flat lump to Limmidocious.  He examined it with a show of thought and care.

"I can't swear on relics, but I don't know what else it could be.  This has tumbled in a stream, hasn't it?"

"Yes, farer.  The closest to the cliff these are found, the nicer they usually are.  But they're found in all the streams.  If they were only found in a few, we'd have sent word to the sages and mayors, asking if that meant there was a nest or lair up in the cliffs. 

If they were found often, we'd have sent to ask if there were many dragons laired up beyond the cliffs.  But they only get found a few a year, and they come from every stream.  So maybe two fought, up over the cliff, and they raked scales off of each other, and those work their way down with the rains.  Or maybe one dragon died and animals fought over the carcass, spreading bits around.  Or maybe something big ate it, or many big things did, and they couldn't digest the scales, so . . ."

Brennus cut the speculation short with heartfelt laughter.  He slapped the table and wiped a tear from his eye.  The others were pulled by his joy to chuckle, or at least smile, along with him. 

"Limmoc, he ponders just like you do.  Crap sprayed on cliffs with dragon scales in it like corn in a road apple?"  He threw back his head and roared his delight.

"That would make quite a learned dissertation,"said Arthetor, with forced solemnity.  "The plebes of all the orders would pack the halls."

"You speak truly, Arth, though you jest.  It would be a significant knowing if I could prove it.  I would be duty bound to report it as widely as possible.

Although for the first declamation in hall, I'd use obscure enough language that the plebes wouldn't know I was talking about scat . . .

. . . So the hall would be packed with journeymuni, instead."

At that all three men laughed.  Sechlainn shook her head, one hand tracing a design inside the glow on her chest.  She was smiling, but Nevvic got the feeling that she was seeking after something besides the gathering of information about how dragons fit into the world.  She wanted only their location, and she felt this could be found best by questing and heeding her glow.

"Is it true that Cardejahn is a new goddess?"  Nevvic was surprised to find that he'd asked the question.  A person's god was more personal than a person's name.

"She is not new, but her power has increased and her purpose has changed and hardened recently.  The land suffers from dragons.  People are willing to pledge themselves to be her hand as she strikes them."

Now the three men looked at the table.  Sechlainn plainly wished to say more, but forbore.  Continuing would not be courteous to her fellow farers.  Nevvic asked no more.  The folk at the other table did not appear to be listening.  That made this news his.  He could maybe get a cup of ale, some other day, telling about the armored strangers.   

Forty-First Beginning (NaNoWriMo 2013) The Buddy System 02

Other folk lived in the woods. Most of those hunted or raised tusked pigs or gathered wood to sell at the inn. The family was one of two who made charcoal, which was lighter than wood and could be sold down the mountain with a hand-drawn cart. Nevvic had once made the mistake of asking if it wouldn't be better to go to the inn and sell the charcoal to a drayer who had emptied his cart there and could use a load for the way back.

Uncle's reaction had been slow, but violent. Nevvic had been cuffed, shoved, and bodily thrown from the house. There had been grunts and loud, strangled noises. Anger and contempt had been plain in the tone of them, but only a few words could be heard picked out clear from among them and not much more could be guessed at. Nevvic concluded, in the end, that Uncle was very distrustful. Or that he was uncomfortable with change. Or that he resented a mere boy, and one beholden to him for food and shelter, daring to question his ways. Or maybe something else. Or all. It had been a painful experience and Nevvic had never risked repeating it.

That event and the reactions of the rest of the family to it had put a stop to Nevvic asking nearly anything. He even stopped asking about his mother and his father . . . and hid name.

Jenko sounded good. He would consider Jenko. He scrambled on toward the inn, keeping on the shadowed side of upthrusts or scraggy bushes when he could.

Nevvic usually kept pretty quiet at the inn. He tended not to ask strangers questions until he'd seen someone else ask and that the stranger didn't mind answering. Even then, Gripper, the innkeeper, usually did most of the talking, balancing his store of news against inquiries as to the guest's purpose on the road and experience in the trip.

Inquiries about the weather and the state of the road were allowed and expected. You wouldn't get a direct answer to a direct question about prices of good that were passing through, but a general question about prices in general would get news about prices being up and down. Questions about the cost of fish or flour or salt would be answered and elaborated on, so long as that wasn't what was in the guests's bales or barrels.

Spreading news of bandits and taxes, traveling bards or wizards seemed to be an obligation. These things didn't have to be asked after. Some would talk spontaneously of fashion or of paladins and their quests or of thievery in other areas. And everyone swapped news of dragons.

Dragons were a bane on the land and every man's hand and eye and rumor was against them. All longed for a world free of them and all knew that world would be a joyous and wonderful thing. Strangers and known merchants would speak of recent predations and would compare the steps that people used to protect themselves against them and to make life with them bearable. Here in the wilds, the inn was as near to a kremlin as the area had. In case of attack, folk would come here, if they could. Gripper would expect them to bring blankets and food if they could, but he'd make room.

Nevvic had always listened raptly to tales of dragons. There was a new goddess in the land who was sending paladins against dragons. She was giving them special magic. there was a rumor that they could give ordinary men the magic to find dragons and to call her in. He wanted to learn more. He was ordinary, if anyone was.

There were no carts in the cutoff near the inn, so there were probably no merchants inside. There would be locals, though, gathering for the morning gossip. And maybe travelers. Nevvic scanned the sky, then risked cutting through open scrub to the inn.

There were horses in the staging area near the entrance of the overhang. Nevviv hurried and found that a group of four travelers were eating their breakfast and dickering with Gripper's son, Tote. Tote left to load the group's packs onto their horses, along with the food and fodder that they had just purchased.

Forty-First Beginning: The Buddy System 01 (a late beginning on NaNoWriMo)

Maybe his name was Jenko. Jenko was a good name. Solid, yet jaunty. Responsible, yet not dour. Nevvic yearned for a bit of not dour. And for a name. Uncle ruled the family and never called him anything but nevvic - nephew. Uncle approved of little, including loose talk and direct questions. Uncle would not approve of his trip to the inn, but he was so unlikely to approve of anything else Nevvic did that there was really no reason to avoid the trip.

The family lived deep in the woods, far from proper roads. Woods or not, the whole area was an odd mix of rounded hills and upthrust rocks, partway up a spine of mountains that reared up sheer cliffs a couple of days' walk further west. Having tall peaks to the west made for cool springs and falls and cold, cold winters.

The mountains sent down rills and streams in a net of wandering meanders. Salmon sometimes ran the streams and sometimes didn't. Dried salmon was a cheap staple that would keep through the winter. Uncle didn't approve of cheap so much as he despised spending any cash or trading anything away. He didn't approve of Nevvic wandering about, checking to see if any of the streams were running salmon, but the latest hive of charcoal had been sealed and was underburning away.

Nevvic's hands weren't particularly needed for marking the next trees to fell and definitely not needed for watching the hive and tamping the cloak of soil that had been heaped over it to smother the flames and cause underburning, an action near to burning, but that left charcoal instead of ash as it finished. The boy had big feet, but was weedy and had no weight to push down with.

Better to keep the task with his own sons. Better that they worked the knowledge and skill of charcoal making in through their hands and feet. Better that they develop the eye, the nose, the feel of wood making itself to charcoal underground. Better that they stay in the dense woods, away from the sight of dragons. Nevvic had been told yo stay under cover since he had come to the household as a toddler. If he didn't make use of what he'd been told, that was his own load.

If Uncle had been the sort to visit the in to lift a mug and trade talk, then it would have been risky to go there, instead of up and down across the hillface. But he wasn't. Nevvic could go to the inn and offer work for trade and if the salmon were flying, someone at the inn would tell of it.

Sometimes Nevvic traded sweeping or scrubbing or fetching water for a cup of soup and a bit of bread. Sometimes he would brush and comb a horse for a traveler, for a copper. Sometimes he would haul bales or barrels of goods into the storeroom, for the innkeeper or for a merchant. That was the hardest work, but the innkeeper would add a cup of ale to the soup and bread. If the merchant was important, or paid well, there might even be butter.

The inn was built of stone. It had started as a slab of upthrust that had split from its brothers and fallen between them. The held it up, making a tall roof on the top side of the slab and a low roof on the broken side, with plenty of overhang. That was a heavy enough hat to keep any dragon out. Over more years than was accurately remembered, the innfolk, and others, had carried stone to be worked into walls under the slab. The walls wandered a bit, having been raised at different time to different purposes.

There was a path near the inn, circling through a line of upthrusts thick enough to give decent cover. Over years it had been widened into a road, one that could span a wagon pulled by a team of horses or oxen. There was just enough traffic to keep the inn in profits. Folk came to live near the inn. Folk who fished the streams or panned it for gold, which was scarce, but which came down in flakes and grains and occasional nuggets from the high cliffs during spring floods. These folk lived in upthrusts not very near to the inn. Crowding the inn would have been endangering it.

Other folk lived in the woods. Most of those hunted or raised tusked pigs or gathered wood to sell at the inn. The family was one of two who made charcoal, which was lighter than wood and could be sold down the mountain with a hand-drawn cart. Nevvic had once made the mistake of asking if it wouldn't be better to go to the inn and sell the charcoal to a drayer who had emptied his cart there