The Kalt religion, reputedly barbaric and cruel, was understandably centered around horses. Despite this reputation, in all her times riding with the Kalts, she had always felt welcome. Sometimes, Maran wondered if all those stories about Kalts tricking you were true. Did they really make all their bone tools out of their enemies? Did their bone armor and weapons really talk to them? Could they actually change shape into bears and devour babies? Everyone knew of the stories, but no one had ever seen these things happen.
Done with wondering, Maran took an opportunity to examine the farms. Down here, in the valley, the farms were so productive that drifters rather than Loam harvested the food. These farms had the advantage of the vast irrigation system developed over the last thousand years, fed by the reservoir above the dam. During the war, the Loam had used war captives for labor rather than seeing them starve. Since then, the war captives had been repatriated and drifters and debtors helped out. Grandfather didn’t much like the drifters and refused to work with them, figuring that Loam should do Loam work.
According to Oro, the average farm turned out enough food to feed one hundred people for every Loam. Some farms produced almost one hundred and fifty to one. Jura City needed all that food as the drifters kept coming to the city, and they had made promises they weren't going to go back on. It began as a humanitarian gesture when Fera Nea fell, its starving survivors stumbling in. Since those black days, times had only gotten worse and the refugees more desperate. By all morality, there was only one thing to do, so they broke their backs and they broke the land to feed them all.
How long could they go on? That was the question that no one could answer. Either the land would break or the will of the Hadeans would break, and by all indications, the Hadeans would never break. They would never resume trade with the Malachites, nor would the Malachites resume trade with the Hadeans. There would be no grain from the south.
The Loam could expand north, into more dangerous territory above the reservoir. However, the Hadeans wouldn’t allow that. That artificial lake and thick forest acted as a natural barrier against invasions. Nobody was allowed to build there for any reason. Any hostiles coming down through the deep Hadean mountains would need to hack their way through the trackless wilderness. A smaller force could float down, but they would have to fight their way through fortified choke points.
Also above the reservoir lay holy Mount Perma, and no one farmed that. That was where the first Earth Lord fell dead, and so began the creation of the world. Only the holy jade carvers were allowed on that mountain.
Some Loam had moved down river, but the blight hit down there was just as bad. Some Loam tried living on the other side of the mountains, but those farms lay in the rain shadow. If they had enough time, they could build a new reservoir and establish a new irrigation system, but that would take decades. They didn’t have decades. They needed to feed these people now while dealing with an agricultural administration that did not understand their problems. Food could not be produced like steel.
For centuries, the Loam had administered themselves. Then Fera Nea fell, the drifters came, they lost the war, and everything fell apart. The Union established the Agricultural Authority, all output of the Loam farms became the property of the state, and the Ironmongers became the undisputed lords of the Agricultural Administration. Since that day, the Ironmongers had relentlessly tightened their dictatorial grip over the Loam.
Maran’s attention turned back to her travels as the wagon approached the next checkpoint. Unlike the previous crossroad, which only had one widow, the Zarand border checkpoint had four widows handling the constant traffic. Unlike Armselig, these widows knew their business. They looked at travel permits every day and knew intimately how one should look, feel, and even smell. Maran handed over her travel pass with trepidation.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Gemain commented, barely glancing at the paperwork. She turned to her fellow widows, “The cockroach is a widow; has in-laws in Sureh. She wastes her time traveling between farms. No wonder we starve. Look at this paperwork! Everything wrong. When you see paperwork this bad, it’s Nachlassig.” Shaking her head, Gemain waved Maran through with a rude gesture. “There will be a reckoning one day, girls, and we’ll straighten this place out.”
Sureh
As stars and spirals scattered themselves across the darkening sky, Maran rode into Sureh.
Sureh was a bustling river town. Food arrived from the farms, where it was loaded onto barges for the journey to Jura City. Drifters loaded them as quickly as possible, but so much food came in every day that the boats couldn't haul all that food down the river in one growing season. The remaining food went into the Agricultural Authority warehouses that lined the river. Widows ran those warehouses as well.
The boats were manned by drifters, the non-dwarf peoples that came into the dwarven territories. It was a rare dwarf that ventured out onto the water, and even a rarer dwarf swam, for they were all muscles and bone and did not float. Hadean legend said that the Earth Lords made dwarves from fire and iron, and those materials were inimical to water. Loam legend said that they were made of ochre and mahogany. The Loam histories did not explain the fear of water equally well.
Maran planned to use that fear of water in her own favor. In order to bypass all the checkpoints, she would ride a barge straight to Jura City.
As Maran’s wagon came to a stop, a tough looking dwarf on crutches barreled over to them. “You!” he yelled, pointing with his crutch, “Get your god-damn ass off that wagon and show me your god-damn travel pass.”
Maran had never seen this Hadean before, so she scrambled down and showed him her pass. He peered at it in the dimming light. “You are out after curfew!”
“I just got in town, sir.”
“Keep your god-damn mud-mouth closed. I didn’t tell you to talk. You are out after curfew. I ought to lock you up, but the jail isn’t finished yet, so I’ll have a man escort you home so that you actually get there. I reckon I’ll keep this pass now. You won’t need it until you leave. You can get it back then. Now git.” The Hadean slammed his crutch across Maran’s back, causing her to stumble. He followed that up with a kick behind her knee, making her fall, then followed that up with repeated crutch blows across her back.
After enough blows, the dwarf on crutches spit on her, then walked away.
Somebody from the night patrol came over to Maran, somber and sober. Just last year, the night patrol could be best described as a beer crawl. Their self-appointed mission was getting food and drink from every possible family. The townsfolk liked this arrangement as it kept the patrol off the streets and under watchful eyes. In the Loam mind, a bored person with a weapon was bound to use it, so it was better that you never got bored. This apathy no meaningful impact on safety as very little ever happened in a Loam town. Sometimes the drifters crews got out of hand, but the Loam had been managing that by themselves for years. The simple truth was that guarding a Loam town was busywork for the war wounded.
Verlassen leaned over her. “Come on, Maran, it’s time to take you home. Next time, sneak into town.”
“Verlassen, who is that guy?”
“That’s our new captain. Damned Ironmonger. Acts like he owns the place. Really. He’s ordered folk to build him a house. Oh, I remember back when we had proper Ironmongers who really cared about the Union, and not just themselves. Once they sacked Chairman Svero, it all went downhill. He was the last one who really cared about the Union.”
The name of Svero sent a chill down Maran’s spine. Loam had every reason to hate him and his hateful ways.
“Yes, Uncle, but who is he?”
“Gusseisen. Perhaps I should say, the self-appointed Lord Gusseisen. He thinks that he’s gonna own this part of the valley. He’s already talking about relocating some villages for higher efficiency and greater defense. He wants to put a fortress on the knoll. That Ironmonger expects us Stonehandlers to make it for him.”
“That’s crazy talk, U
ncle.”
“Don’t say that too loud. I know it’s crazy talk, but he’s a proper Ironmonger, and they’re all funny if you ask me. Weird ways and paranoid secrets. They’ll gut you just as soon as hate you. Myself, I’m in no mood for gutting.”
Verlassen began shaking and breathing quickly.
Maran put her hand on Verlassen’s arm. “Calm down, Uncle. Breathe. Let it pass.”
Verlassen stopped for a few moments, letting his shaking ease. “Thank you, miss. That was almost bad.”
“Will you stay here if the Ironmonger stays here?”
“I hope not, but I’m afraid to ask for a transfer. He’s bored and he’s looking for someone to hit. I don’t want that to be me. Oh, why can’t it be like it used to be? You fed us. We talked to everyone. Nothing happened. It was a good life.”
“We all love our work, Uncle.”
“Aye, there’s nothing so fine as holding your spear and looking serious, standing like a watchdog before the flocks. Happiness is knowing that everyone is there, well and safe.”
“Uncle, if it comes to bloodshed, will you stand by us?”
The old dwarf looked away. Maran patted his arm. “I hope we don’t find out.”
“From your lips to the Iron Duke. Maybe HE can talk some sense into them. Now in you go. I don’t have time to dawdle. The boss is counting. He does that, counting. He always knows how long you’ve been away. It’s unnerving.”
Maran waved bye to Verlassen, stopping at the kitchen door, watching him shuffle down the street. She felt sorry for him. For soldiers, retirement duty out among the Loam was voluntary, and the ones who volunteered only wanted a quiet life. Given their circumstances, Maran couldn’t tell who really watched over who.
When Verlassen turned the corner, Maran slipped in, hoping to enter quietly, but instead met both her in-laws.
“Hello!” Maran exclaimed.
With shrieks of delight, Yaren and Pooneh stood up from the kitchen table and threw themselves at Maran. The welcome was taken up by more voices, like an echo rippling through the house, the remaining clan soon arriving.
Yaren yelled, “Break it up! All of you! I’m the grandfather of this house! Move! Let my daughter sit down! Cook her food! Wash her feet! Bring her bread and salt! There’s always time to say hello, but there’s only one time to make a proper welcome.”
Pooneh whispered in Maran’s ear, “Don’t bother with him. Once he leaves, I’ll put you straight to work. You’re no guest! You’re family.” Those words caused a quake of love to run down Maran’s own spine.
Once that kitchen emptied, Pooneh did exactly as she promised, starting Maran into preparing her own welcome feast. When Yaren arrived back, he saw Maran working and threw up his arms. “I’m going to the butcher. He has enough sense to let guests be guests. Now, let’s see if I can avoid old Iron Pants.”
“Double your order!” exclaimed Pooneh, “There’s nothing worse than running out of food. I would die of shame.”
Yaren was no more than two steps out the door when Delaram walked into the kitchen with a handful of baby. After shrieks of delight and big hugs, Maran took the baby from her sister-in-law.
“You are so cute. You are. You are an absolute darling.”
“He’s a little boy!” Delaram cooed. “We haven’t named him yet. We were waiting for you. I was thinking that we would arrange something, but it looks like Grandfather invited all the neighbors, so we’ll name him tonight. He’ll be Kirim.”
“Ohhhh,” gushed Maran. “Oh my ...” Happy tears welled up from her eyes. “You are the most terrific woman in the whole world, Dell. Kirim? You’re a little Kirim! One day, I’ll tell you all about your uncle. You have a good name. You’ll grow up fine. When you are old enough, I’ll give you Kirim’s things. Your auntie, she's going to be good to you.”
Kirim’s reaction was to stick his tongue out. Seeing how he looked hungry, Maran gave him back to his mother.
“I would stay and talk,” Dell noted, “but he would rather watch you than nurse. More talk later. I want to hear everything.”
Once they were gone, Maran returned to her kitchen work, utterly beaming with joy.
The first guest to show up was the butcher, along with his whole family and a freshly slaughtered lamb. He kissed Maran on the cheek. “Don’t worry about the rations. I’ll blame the blight. The creature died from the feed. Ha ha!” After him, more came.
By the time the naming ceremony was ready, the entire neighborhood had packed into the house.
Sometimes around midnight, Poonah gave Kirim the onion, which granted him his name. No one exactly remembered why you gave a baby an onion, and every elder had a different story for it. However, it was tradition, and the Loam were a people of tradition, through and through.
Osei
That party began a lovely week for Maran. Every day, she visited some neighbor for some meal, ran into some old friend, or just had the company of Delaram. To her delight, she also got to help with the lime kilns. Her in-laws, the Margianas were lime burners by trade, which was one of the few non-farming profession allowed to Loam. All the farms desperately needed lime for their farming, their roads, and their construction. The family maintained seven kilns, one of which was always burning, even on holy days. With seven kilns, they could make lime continuously.
The lime was useful against some blights. If you added lime to the soil, the plants grew happy again. Unfortunately, the newest blight seemed immune to lime. Whatever was going wrong, it was a different process. No traditional or untraditional remedy had yet worked. If a field went bad, it had to go out of rotation permanently. Anything grown there eventually became unfit for consumption, even for the goats.
Between visits and chores, Maran watched the Osteras river. She needed a boatman to get her down river, and the one that she wanted was Osei.
Osei was noteworthy for many things, such as his amazing laugh or his black skin, but he was most noteworthy because he had taken the Vow and become a pacifist. As far as anybody knew, Osei was the only drifter to swear the Vow before the White Lady. Osei was also a close friend of the family. As a war prisoner, he had worked for Yaren. After the war, he chose to buy a pole boat. If Maran trusted anyone to get her safely down river and into Jura City, it was Osei.
Approaching Osei directly would attract unwanted attention, so Maran used Delaram as an intermediary. Dell was unlikely to flee town with a baby in her arms, so her long, motherly walks would not arouse suspicion.
Four days later, Dell brought Osei home. Far and away taller than any dwarf, he inched his powerful frame through the door.
“I must apologize, my good friends. It is rude for a guest to bring nothing, but I could catch no fish this trip. The fish grow scarce, even for me.”
Pooneh sighed, kissing him on his cheek. “You tried, but I will miss the fish.”
Maran sighed as well. She hadn't eaten fish before she met Osei, but now she considered fish absolutely wonderful.
As custom demanded, everyone ate bread and salt before they talked business. Yaren, being the senior male, opened the subject.
“My friend, my daughter here wishes to visit Jura City. She believes that you might take her on your boat.”
“I could, but that would be illegal. I am not a man for idly breaking laws, even unjust ones. To be truthful, I enjoy my honest life.”
Yaren nodded with respect. “This is why we chose you, as you are so respectable and trusted. You understand our ways. You repay kindness with kindness. I will remind you of what we have done for you. Did I not take you in when you were a prisoner? Did I not give you respectable work at my kilns? Did I not treat you as a member of the family? Did I not pay you even as a prisoner?”
“You did all those things, Yaren, and I am grateful.”
“Then you can do this small thing for me. It is not anyone that I entrust to you. This is Kirim’s wife. You must remember Kirim, for he rode on your back many times and called you uncle.”
&n
bsp; Osei smiled as wide as an ocean. “Yes, my friend, I remember Kirim. I honor his spirit. For him, I will do this. I have no doubts of success. Yet, what will you do for me if I am caught? The Kommissars would surely confiscate my boat, and I could not buy another one.”
“If you are caught, then I will buy a boat for you.”
“Then we have a deal.”
To complete the transaction, each drank stout out of the same tankard, pouring the rest out on the ground for the earth itself.
The formalities concluded, Maran spoke up. “How do we do this? We’ve got Iron Pants out there patrolling the docks, ready to grab anybody on any infraction.”
“My young friend, I already have a plan. You need not worry.”
“And that is?”
“A plan endowed with elegance and simplicity. You will go down below the point, out of sight of town and ready yourself. I will pole downstream, below the point. You will wade out and I will pick pick you up.”
Stark terror overcame Maran. “Water? You want me to swim? You do know that dwarves don’t swim. We sink.”
“You have nothing to fear. I know there is courage in your heart. You can do this. I will throw a rope out to you and haul you aboard. Simple-simple.”
Maran stared at him wordlessly. This was a really bad plan.
Poonah poked Maran with an elbow. “This is the point where you are respectful of your elders and say yes.”
“Yes, I will do this,” Maran blurted out even though she regretted every word.
Osei grinned his disarming grin. “Then we are agreed. When I see you travel south, I will travel as well.”
Early in the morning, Maran said her goodbyes to everyone. Pooneh gave her an oilskin bag to help her things stay dry, as well as enough food for the trip. Yaren gave her no end of advice. Little Kirim gave her a baby kiss.
Weeds Among Stone (Jura City Book 1) Page 3