“What is going on here?” Leon surprised himself by unconsciously speaking the question in his new language.
"Ask them!" Ferschall responded.
Leon conveyed the message and still, no one budged. After a moment, Cooper answered him without even bothering to look up from his work as he wrapped bandages around the man’s head where an ear appeared to be partially gone, “What does it look like to you, Leon?”
The question was rhetorical. A bit of a soft reprimand for his speaking out of turn. Unfortunately, he still didn’t savvy.
“How about someone help me understand?”
Reed pushed off a wall to Leon’s right and spoke up, “I’ll take a stab at an explanation.”
He pointed to their seething leader and the fallen soldier at his feet, “Ben sent his two ‘stooges’ off to follow our benevolent host after he was specifically warned not to…these elite soldiers got in over their heads and Gunther there is lucky Mr. Ferschall even bothered to bring him home. That about sum it up Ferschall, son of Grimm?”
After Leon relayed Reed's assertion, Ferschall nodded appreciatively at the young man. But Ben snapped back before Ferschall could respond, “Those two stooges as you put it are special forces combat veterans who specialize in stealth RECON boy, and I won’t have you patronize them while one is still bleeding on the floor! Their training, combined with their unique stalking ability, has afforded them a dam near undetectable presence on over forty combat zones on some of the most dangerous conflicts throughout our world.” Ben glared up to meet Ferschall's somber gaze. He motioned for Leon to translate, “These men are warriors of great skill. I say the only way anyone got the drop on them was if someone led them into a trap…”
And there it was, the reason for the tension. The accusation hung stagnant in the air for all to taste as Leon reluctantly provided the translation.
Leon watched Ferschall closely for any tell he might give. Yet, he gave them nothing as he once more searched the faces throughout the room.
That man could be one heck of a poker player if given half a chance.
Finally, when Leon thought the tension might boil over, Ferschall responded, with a severe scowl, “I did not betray your men, Ben Heegan. Perhaps you are mistaken in your estimation of their skill, yes? These men move quietly, but not stealthily. Their scent was not completely quiet. They did not keep to the dark shadows but, instead, skirted arrogantly through brighter paths.
“I was heading inland and upwind, to secure a small herd of mountain goats. To bring one back. To feed your group!
"By the time I noticed they followed, they were already under attack. I turned back to help them, yes? By the time I reached them, the Hootsi had claimed them." It took Leon a little while, but he eventually got the message across to the rest of the men in the room.
"Well, what are all these spears doing here?" Ben asked, still refusing to concede his suspicion.
Ferschall responded through Leon, “Weapons are basic currency to the Hootsi. You want a meal, you trade a weapon—you want a wife, you trade many. Nothing is for free in these lands. I’ve had peace with the local Hootsi clan for many years, but because I offered you hospitality it was my honor to save your men. This man I was able to wrestle from their clutches, the other was already taken. I did not escape unscathed, yes?”
He proudly exposed his right arm pulling back a wet sleeve. Leon whistled before relaying the rest of the message. Ferschall had clearly been clawed by a paw large enough to cover most of his large, muscular forearm. The men holding the spears lowered them a bit at the sight of those mangled claw marks.
Cooper glanced up and mumbled something about needing to take a look at that afterward.
Ben let out a long sigh and his shoulders lost some of the tension they had been holding. “You’re not lying, are you? Who are these Hootsi? Are they the ones who persecuted the Bladed ages ago? Or are these aggressors a small village tribe? If so, can we beat them?”
When Leon finished translating, Ferschall ran an exasperated hand over his face and chuckled deeply, a bit of that original mania from the night before seeping back into his countenance, “Easy now. We need to sit down and talk. The sun has not yet risen and yet we have much to do. Come sit, let’s draw water and boil porridge, yes?”
Leon gave the invitation, then added, “I’m starving. How about you all pony up some coffee as well?” Ben scowled back in response.
# # #
Gunther awoke shortly after Cooper finished patching him up. He was also able to validate Ferschall’s explanation. No one walked on eggshells anymore, and Leon was eager to hear whether Ferschall could provide some clarity.
The rich smell of an oat grain porridge and freshly brewed coffee inundated the dwelling, its steamy fragrance enticing enough to draw a certain sleeping beauty out from her cave.
As their meal progressed, Leon marveled that Shana was able to transition so quickly from a stoic grump to her cheery confident self as soon as her spoon hit the porridge. She didn’t even seem to need the coffee. Merle was offered some bones from the soup the night before, and he made short work of them while the others enjoyed their breakfast.
Once they all had a chance to savor their porridge and coffee, Ferschall alone retained a look of disgust. Their appreciation for the bitter drink baffled him. He spit it out on his first try.
Eventually, he broke the ice. “There are many things about this area you are not knowledgeable of, yes? Will you allow me to give some advice?”
Ben nodded for Ferschall to continue after Leon's translation.
“The Hootsi are not merely a village of people, per se, they are a remnant from an entire race of people. One of the original seven tribes to be exact. This is their land. I live here at their mercy.” He paused to let those facts sink in while Leon did his work, then continued. “The years have been good to me, no?” He fluffed his beard and brushed a calloused hand across a worn-out leather bracer as he cackled to himself. Then, he looked around to see if his humor resonated.
When he could tell it didn’t, he moved on, “No matter, the point is there are many who will be coming.” This got Ben’s attention and Ferschall leaned forward in a sinister smile. “Coming for us I mean! There is no way for us to get your man back right now." When Leon's translation drew gasps of anger, Ferschall held up a finger to stall protests, "But old Ferschall knows where to go to get him later. So, perhaps you want to go there with me to get him, yes?”
After a moment, Ben shrugged. “Okay, I’ll bite, ask him where we go, Leon.”
“North. The Hootsi trade the captives of the North Fang’s Kingdom for their own captives once a year. Your man will be sent to North Fang’s Capitol, Hollinger, just before fall harvest.”
“How long from now till then?” Ben leaned back and stared daggers at Ferschall while he waited on Leon to finish.
“The northern migrations are just now beginning. You have two new moons, maybe longer, no?” Ferschall’s strange penchant for ending statements with questions wore on Leon. Although, as a favor to Ferschall, he left them out as he translated.
“Why would they even think he’s of this North Fang Kingdom?”
Ferschall looked back at him as if he had made a joke until he realized he hadn’t. His eyes narrowed, and he responded slowly, like talking to a slow-witted child, “Because he’s of Wolf tribe heritage.”
Leon asked the question he assumed all of those in the room were wondering at that moment, “Then what heritage are the Hootsi?”
“They are from the tribe of the Great Cat.”
“So, that makes you…?”
Ferschall scowled in frustration, “Your ally, until I decide differently, no?” He mumbled something about polite etiquette before turning back to Ben. “Now, it's my turn to raise a few questions, yes? Where are you from?”
Ferschall held up a hand to stop anyone from speaking as soon as Leon finished relaying the request, “Before you answer, know that I have a hunch, I jus
t want to hear it from one of you, personally.”
Shana butted in between bites for the first time, “We came through that massive tree in the ruins above, from another world.”
Ben shot her a look that had her staring back down into her bowl before she said another word. Even so, he wasn't fast enough to stop Leon from conveying the message.
Ferschall leaned back, stroking his long beard. A small measure of relief softened the hard edges on his worn face. “It has happened then! It is as I suspected, yes? Regardless, even if your friend could be with you now, where would you go?”
Ben leaned forward. “You know of the Royal Trees?”
“I know enough, yes? Mainly just whispers of rumors passed down from generations before my time. I know to leave that tree alone. Your people, your ancestors were the brave voyagers thought to be lost to us for many years, until one day a man simply returned through one of the ancient trees. He claimed to be from another existence, from a world outside our own.”
“What happened?”
Ferschall casually lifted a spoon to his mouth and spoke around the porridge, “Him? He was put to death."
"That's it?" Ben was losing patience between Leon's gasping efforts to keep up.
"Umhmm." Ferschall finished chewing, "Those were dark days, no? Several hundred years ago. No darker than these, but different. Our leaders, our rulers, have grown better at pretending not to be the beasts they truly are.”
Reed chimed in next, “Well, the tree doesn’t look like it will be taking us anywhere anytime soon. The bark is shot. The whole thing looks dead.”
Once Ferschall received the news, his head jerked up. “Impossible! How are you here if the tree has withered?”
Leon knew the response was rhetorical, but he relayed it anyway and Ben answered, “We followed what we were led to believe was an accurate method for opening a path to get here. There were two other trees on our side, why aren’t they standing beside the tree here?”
“I suspect those on your side are simply seedlings from three of the ancient Royals here on this side.”
“Where are the other Royal Trees then?”
“I don’t know. Their locations here have been long since lost to the ages. I only know of this tree in this ruin because this is where some of my ancestors lived, many, many generations back. There are ruins like these all across the remnant of the ancient boundaries of the seven tribes in Fayden. Your trees could be lost for good or standing forgotten and alone, just about anywhere, no? Most believe what you have done to be myth and exaggeration…but not me!” He beamed back up at them from an empty bowl. Bits of porridge stuck to his whiskers, making a mess of his beard.
Ben groaned at the grinning lunatic staring expectantly back at him. “You mean to tell us there is no way to find the location of those trees?”
“Perhaps, yes? There may be one out there who knows their location.” he vaguely motioned outside his house.
Ben gnashed his teeth and glared at Leon, like he was somehow responsible for the message. “Out where?”
“Out there, far away…Maybe we will find your answers at the Bladed archives in Hollinger, yes?”
Ben finally nodded as if he had come to a decision. “It’s settled then, we travel to Hollinger. Ferschall, how about it? You said they would be coming for you too. Can you be our guide? We don’t have much to compensate you, but perhaps we can reach an agreement?”
Leon remembered all the gold that had made it through and frowned at Ben. Eventually though, Ferschall nodded his acceptance, “It just so happens I need three strong backs to help carry my most valuable pieces from several years’ worth of work restoring pottery, yes? Would you be willing to share my load along the way?”
Ben smiled a genuine smile as he motioned toward Leon, Shana, and Reed, “I suspect these three will be just perfect for the job. I can assure you they will have no complaints about pulling their weight to ensure they help to find a ticket home.” He slapped Leon on the back in a playful gesture, but a dark look passed across his face as he turned to look each of them in the eye, daring anyone to contradict his decision. Leon thought twice before relaying Ben's response, but eventually gave in to the glare in the man's eye.
“Great, it's settled then, no? Let’s get moving as we have much to do if we are to be loaded up and across the border by night.”
“How far is the border?”
“Not far, not far. We must travel inland before we travel north, yes? It will be a close call, but we should be able to make it there before nightfall. Otherwise, we will be hunted and killed by many Hootsi. No doubt the word has spread, and they will be preparing for a fight.”
“There is no way to reason with them?” Leon asked.
“Ha-haha hehe,” Ferschall cackled,” No! Not after what I did to free your friend last night. They will fight us all to the last man, then maybe ask questions later, yes? Only enemies honorably captured, are ransomed in Hollinger. Others, who surrender, are made slaves, or are executed as punishment for such dishonor. It is their way, no?”
Shana stopped Leon before he could give Ferschall's last line, “Why exactly would there be Wolf Tribe people down here on Hootsi territory?”
Ferschall scrunched up his nose as if the answer tasted bad in his mouth, “Why not? They’re mostly slavers and bandits that come here, they take men, women, children, and loot, yes?”
“And I’m assuming the Hootsi do the same? That is why they trade prisoners each year?” she continued.
Leon smacked his forehead once the reality of the situation dawned on him, but Ferschall answered somberly, “Hootsi don’t trade for their own warriors. Those Hootsi men unlucky enough to be captured have dishonored the tribe and are banished, yes? Hootsi always attempt to trade for the women and young ones of their tribe who have been taken. The gathering at Hollinger every fall is the one time of year there is a truce between all Tribal Kingdoms."
"And yes, they raid as well. Though their raids are blood raids, meant to visit vengeance on those who dare attempt to take from them. So, all the more reason to hurry, yes? We must cross the ancient border quickly…especially because of her." His eyes fell at last on Shana.
"Why her?" Leon asked.
"Leaving Hootsi lands with a woman in hand is a crime punishable by death, yes? All more reason to conceal her before we leave.”
Chapter 8
The mid-day’s sun cast rippled shadows over miles of wide-open canyons through a patchwork sky of cotton clouds. The previous day’s haze had been washed away and Leon continued to marvel at the rough, arid scenery surrounding him.
For Leon, the rocky landscape's distant profile sparked memories of the old cinematic westerns he had been forced to endure at Gus' side for years. Yet on closer inspection, rugged exposed hillsides of red granite outcroppings were peppered with the foreign sheen of deep sapphire and purple tinged mineral deposits.
Even more surprising were the clusters of trees that had resembled tiny oases along the shoreline the night before. Instead of the swaying palms he expected to encounter on their path, Leon found those hamlets were actually comprised of giant thick-barked trees, more reflective of some Jurassic era scene from a science book than the tranquil Mediterranean palms he had expected to encounter. They were grouped in small circles, and their massive canopies swayed hypnotically in the morning breeze as he and his companions marched inland.
Leon mentally paused in his appreciation of the new scenery. He realized that, while zoned out on the sights below, he had momentarily forgotten the grudge he carried against Ben and his merry band of mercenary thugs. The prior moments notion, that they were his companions, forced him to consider something undeniable. He would need to continue to rely on Ben and his men for survival, and Ben’s crew would likewise probably need Leon and, by extension, his friends to help them if any of them were likely going to make it home. They were, for better or worse, all in it together.
In any case, Leon was thankful Ben’s men
temporarily traded him and Shana the heavy pottery packs Ferschall intended them to carry. Despite the fact that they were all loaded down with Ferschall’s stash of spears, the lighter, less encumbering backpacks they received in return contained a few useful remnants of scavenged gear. Ferschall’s packs looked sturdy enough, but they were laden down with mountains of pottery and certainly weren’t made for a swift hike over the jagged foothills they were ascending.
Despite the fact that Leon couldn’t quite get a bead on why Reed could be such an arrogant turd at times, Leon’s estimation of him increased considerably when the Blade carrying grump shrugged off Ben’s offer to have one of his men carry his gear as well. Much to Leon’s surprise, Reed proceeded to hoist that bulky pack across his shoulders. In fact, he then took off near the head of the party, easily matching the pace of their special forces’ escorts.
Leon was also thankful Ferschall had provided a supple leather skinned tunic to wear over some type of thin woven fabric before they left. It was trimmed with a thick leather belt. His cross-country shoes and hat definitely gave the group cause to laugh after he finished his wardrobe upgrade, but he was happy to at least be comfortable once more. The new threads were certainly warm, even if they did make him feel a bit like an Arab Viking. The best part was he now had a hidden pocket for Gus' medallion.
Even with the lighter packs, the pace they kept was grueling. It was more than a bit humbling for someone who cut his teeth on manual ranch labor and made a hobby out of long distance running to realize he was completely out of his depth with those around him.
Leon glanced back at Shana. She appeared to be in amazing shape, but, in general, she wasn’t doing any better than him. Her head pointed down as she trudged up the hill behind him. She had been clothed in a similar wardrobe to his, and he couldn’t see her facial expression due to the hood Ferschall insisted she wear to hide her hair and face, but Leon could clearly hear her panting and grunting as she struggled to climb the last few feet.
A Choice of Blades: The Blade Remnant, Book One Page 9