by Philip Smith
“Finneas Hideborrow, don’t you take that tone with me! I spanked you when you were a wee lad, and so help me, I’ll do it again right here in front of the whole town!”
“Mrs. Peddledew, please,” the butcher insisted in an urgent, hushed tone. “Not in front of the other customers! Talk like that will make me the laughingstock of the town!”
“You’re already the laughingstock of the town, ya halfwit!” She grabbed the ham off the butcher’s block, dropped three copper-stamped coins on the table, and huffed away. The butcher looked perplexed but said nothing in protest as he pocketed the three coins.
“You drive an unbeatable bargain, Fin!” Papa teased, plopping the backpack on to the butcher’s chewed-up block. The butcher looked distraught as he wiped off a smudge from the block.
“She used to watch me when I was a wee tot. Spanked me every day. Dreadful woman.”
“What say I make your day a little more enjoyable?” Papa said, removing some of the wrapped meat. The butcher inspected the hunt with the eye of a jeweler. Paige always laughed at how meticulous Fin was with his business for only being a butcher in a small village market. A small table in the middle of the tent held a beautiful assortment of gleaming, polished knives bereft of a single stain or nick in the edge. His petite wife stood on the other side of the shop, wrapping some smaller orders for other customers. Even with such a mousy disposition, Paige was willing to bet there wasn’t a man in the Wild who could hold a candle to Harla Hideborrow’s ability with a butcher knife. She was downright terrifying with serrated steel clutched in that tiny, balled-up fist of hers.
“These cuts are quite good, Alaire,” the butcher said, pinching a ham between his pudgy fingers. “You’re getting better.”
“I learn from the best.”
The butcher scrutinized a flank steak in the streaming sunlight.
“Well, you’ll have to come back for another lesson one afternoon and I’ll teach you how to butterfly steaks better; these are a sorry sight compared to your hams.”
“I guess we all have our flaws.” Papa chuckled.
“I’ll give you fifteen Cops for it,” the butcher offered, sizing up Paige’s papa with a stern look.
“My wife might whip me if I come home with anything less than twenty-five!” Papa laughed.
“A fine hunter you may be, Chief, but your meat isn’t speckled with gold dust.”
“I could go twenty-three.”
“Eighteen.”
“Twenty. And,” Alaire said, taking the deer’s head and slapping it on the block, “I’ll give you the hide to sell to the tanners for a profit.”
The butcher thought for a moment, then spat in his hand and extended it for Papa to shake. The chief shook it heartily. Fin laughed and took out a handkerchief to wipe his red, round nose as he summoned his wife over to begin displaying the meat for the customers. Paige’s father unloaded the remainder of the venison from his pack and collected the copper coins in return. He handed three to Paige before pocketing the rest, winking at her with his soft hazel eyes.
“What is this for?” Paige asked, staring down at the three Cops. The chief chuckled, slinging the empty pack over one shoulder.
“I thought you might want to get something for the feast tomorrow. You know, to accent those lovely dresses your mother has been working on,” Papa said, admiring a rack of scarves as they passed by a nomadic milliner’s shop.
Paige thought hard about what she might get. She’d never really put much stock in the frills and brightly colored fabrics her older sister, Olivian, did. She gazed at several shops as they walked through the northern side of market, mulling over in her mind what it was she could wear to the festival.
“Wait here and do a little shopping around,” her father encouraged as they came to a cluster of traders showing off various forms of jewelry and sashes woven in brightly colored patterns. “I need to double check with Xandla on the water tanks for tomorrow night.”
Paige would have much rather gone with Papa but realized he probably had some official business to discuss with the Keeper of the Water.
The Waterhouse that stood tall above Paige now was a large building built directly above the main village well. Paige was so caught up in gazing at the waterworks she failed to watch where she meandered. As she turned, she was promptly knocked off her feet with a thud.
“Hey!” she spat, rolling up and shaking the leaves out of her braid for the second time today. “Watch where you’re going!”
She was addressing two large men clad in crimson cloaks. They were both two heads taller than Paige, with heavy boots tramping through the thin layer of early autumn leaves. They wore what appeared to be brigandine. These covered their torsos beneath the red cloaks, and they wore dirks strapped to their thighs. Ivory scarves wound around their heads and necks. Their waists were covered by baggy, black pants tucked into well-crafted boots. One of them turned and gave her a nasty look. He had a scar on the left side of his lips that cut a jagged pattern down his chin and into a wiry, crow-colored beard.
Paige felt an odd prickly feeling at the base of her spine. She straightened her back up but the uneasy feeling didn’t dissipate as she watched the strangers advance towards the edge of the marketplace. While it was common to see strangers from all over the Wild come to the market, these men did not look like the native people of the wilderness villages. They had fair skin and black hair while most people in the Wild had more ruddy complexions with shades of brown hair. She scowled and fell into step behind them, taking care to dip and slide behind carts and various booths as she did so.
Paige followed the strangers till she came to the edge of the marketplace. The cloaked men stopped by one of the last standing Elder trees surrounding Kapernaum, looking it over and placing their large gloved hands on the trunk.
Paige shrugged and turned to head back for the market. It wasn’t uncommon for some of the traders and travelers to come from the south and pay homage to the Elder trees by praying to them. Many of the eastern tribes worshipped many gods rather than just the Creator and often came to pray in what was left of the ancient places. That explained why they had been so rude—the southern pagans had often been less than agreeable to her people when they came through town.
Yet this explanation for some reason did not sit well with her. In fact, the tingling didn’t go away until she’d headed well beyond the sight of the strangers and back to the pump house. But after a few moments of idly looking into vendors’ tents, she quickly pushed it from her mind and found herself bored as she awaited her Papa’s return.
“Paige?”
Paige turned around to see a young man with stunning green eyes approach her from around the corner of one of the shops across the way. He was tall and well built with long, straight brown locks tied back into a ponytail, with bangs outlining his thin face. A thin, dark chinstrap of facial hair graced his strong jawline. Paige recognized him as one of the Fauxbre boys from Oak’s Bough, a village to the north. He wore a shirt the color of a summer sunrise that bore ornate embroidery around the collar and cuffs. His tunic was tucked into a wide brown belt studded with brass tacks, on which hung a dirk. His boots came up to his knee, with a deep cuff that was embossed with oak leaf designs, the tight green pants accenting well-built legs accustomed to running through the hills of the Wild.
“Paige, daughter of Chief Alaire?” he asked again. She nodded, looking him up and down several times.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?” He laughed.
Paige laughed uneasily.
“I’m sorry, I do, I just cannot for the life of me remember your name,” she replied honestly. The young man snickered, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear.
“Derak, m’lady,” he said with a bow, never taking his eyes off her. “We met last year at the Solstice feast.”
“Ah, yes. I do remember now. You didn’t have a beard then!”
“Correct!” He smiled, stroking his chin. “Glad you noticed!”
“Father brought some carts of gourds for the Harvest Moon Dance tomorrow night, so we’ll be at the market all day and then stay for the party tomorrow. I suppose you will be in attendance?”
“Naturally.” Paige smiled as sweetly as she could muster.
“Then might I be so bold as to ask the daughter of a chief for a dance this far in advance?”
Paige felt her cheeks flush red. She laughed awkwardly for a moment.
“Um, I don’t see why not!” she stammered, unconsciously fidgeting with the end of her braid. Derak smiled, nodding his head in a slight bow.
“I look forward to it then, Princess,” the merchant’s son said, slowly backing up and finally turning and jogging around the corner of the street where he disappeared.
“He seems nice.”
Paige whirled around to see her father standing with a tall, dusky man who wore baggy pants and a simple leather vest over his bulging muscular frame. His piercing hazel eyes were unwavering, and his chiseled jawline looked as if it had never held a smile.
“Oh, stop,” Paige scolded, adjusting her quiver and bow as she walked over to them. Her father’s face spelled mischief, but he didn’t press the matter further. He clapped the darker man on the shoulder goodnaturedly. The man didn’t smile.
“Alright, well, my little princess, let’s get old, grumpy Xandla Up Top. Can’t keep the Burgesses waiting!”
“This is not my idea of a good time,” the man spoke in his rich, deep accent. “A bunch of men arguing and chattering in a room. Like squirrels.”
“Then maybe it needs to be our job to throw a couple nuts into the muck, eh?” Paige’s father chuckled, ushering them both to the eastern edge of the village market.
Past the bakers’ tents they came to the second great accomplishment of Alaire’s rule as chief. Gone were the days of relying on huge rickety stairs to get Up Top. A series of lifts sat on the easternmost edge of the village in place of stairs and old rope ladders. Each lift took eight people to operate. With the exception of the single old staircase at the northwest corner of the village—not far from Paige’s own home, and fondly called “Old Widow Wickets”—the Lifthouse was the main way to get to and from Up Top from the market.
Paige, Alaire, and Xandla all boarded the right-most lift. Paige leaned against the rail as her father, Xandla, and several other burly males insisted on raising the platform to let the women on board sit back. Normally Paige would have protested such a thing, but she was beginning to feel the long hike in her legs and was happy for the reprieve.
It only took them a few moments to winch their way Up Top, which towered five stories above the market. As soon as they lined up with the loading platform, several lift attendants locked the lift in place with large iron poles and forged latches. Paige hopped down onto the loading platform with the help of her father’s outstretched hand. They quickly moved along as a group of down-travelers loaded the deck to descend.
“Ala, darling, why don’t you head on back to the house? Xandla and I have to meet before the Burgesses to discuss some fixes to the water system,” Alaire said, handing his empty pack to Paige. “Tell your mother I’ll be along shortly.”
“So, by that you mean you have no idea when you’ll be back home?” Paige smirked.
Xandla snorted. It was about as close to a laugh as she’d ever heard from him.
“Pretty much,” her father sighed. He chuckled, pulled Paige by the back of her head into a warm embrace, kissing her gently on the forehead. “Thanks for keeping me company this morning. I won’t be long… I hope!”
“Alright, love you, Papa,” she said, squeezing him back before letting go. “Goodbye, Xandla. Enjoy your meeting!”
She heard the man grunt and her papa laughed. As they began to walk away, Papa tapped two fingers to his temples and then saluted her with a grin. She returned the motion, a private parting gesture they had shared since she was young, before turning on her heel and heading home.
Each house in Kapernaum had a deck surrounding it wide enough for two people to walk abreast. Each deck was connected by an assortment of rope or timber bridges as well as stairs to get to lower levels. All of these pathways allowed people to take multiple routes to get to the same destination, making for a less crowded walk across town.
Paige made her way around several houses heading towards the northwest side of Kapernaum. The second-to-last of the larger platforms before her house was a square deck about twenty paces along each side. Several groups of men stood about beginning to prep oil lanterns to place on the walkways to the Great Hall for the next evening’s festivities. Other groups of ladies gathered about, sewing everything from tablecloths to buntings while a few small children splashed in the public fountain in the center of the platform.
The gaggle sitting right beside the bridge caught her attention—a covey of ladies just a few years older than Paige herself, twittering like schoolgirls, even though Paige knew several of them were already married off. In fact, two were with child. Some of these young women spent time with her older sister, but Paige typically did her best to avoid this particular batch of girls.
The girl at the center of the roost was a slightly plump young lady three or four years older than Paige, who had rosy red cheeks and bright teal eyes accented by her dark lashes and locks. A spattering of freckles adorned her nose like the belt of stars that surrounded the night sky on the clearest evening, and her prim mouth held a twisted smile that looked as if it had permanently soured ever so slightly.
“Oh, Paige!” she exclaimed as she looked up from her sewing, making eye contact with the chieftain’s daughter. “Dearie, how are you!”
“I’m quite well Matildra, thank you,” Paige muttered, trying to brush straight past the group. The other girls looked up and and immediately began whispering to each other in hushed giggles. Matildra’s smile made Paige’s stomach turn. No matter the occasion, these girls always made it a point to make her feel self-conscious, whether that be a backhanded compliment about how manly her attire was or how the bloodstains and rabbit fur on her arms really kept her fair complexion from looking too pasty. Paige tried to ignore this bevy as often as possible when she was younger, caring more about being in the forest with her father than with Olivian and her friends perfecting needlework and cooking.
“Is your sister feeling better, Princess?” one of the other girls asked.
“She is. Luckily for her it was only allergies that kept her inside yesterday.”
“Dreadful this time of year!” Matildra said, clicking her tongue in sympathy. “All the leaves falling really does play havoc on my eyes. They itch like wool!”
“I’m sure the princess loves this time of year. Makes the deer easier to see, or so my brother tells me!” another added.
“He’s not wrong,” Paige said, hefting the pack to a better position on her arm, taking a couple small sliding steps past them to try and exit the conversation.
“Well, I’m glad Olivian will be able to make it to the dance tomorrow night,” Matildra said with a smile. “What about you, dear? What are you wearing this year? Have you saved enough of those hare skins to make a skirt?”
“She’d only need one of those pelts that hunter with the dreadful beard brings to the market!” one of the pregnant ladies chimed in.
“My mother has been making our dresses this year,” Paige snapped. “I’m not sure what else I’ll be wearing.”
“I just got an absolutely dazzling sash yesterday from a Frantish trader who came from Couldena,” another of the girls said.
“My husband bought me a woven shawl from a trader on the river!” the second of the pregnant girls bragged with a sly smile.
“Good, maybe it will hide how fat that baby is making you look!” another said with a laugh. The girls all acted appalled at the jab, followed by laughter that set Paige’s tapered ears on fire
with annoyance. She took a tentative step forward but apparently Matildra wasn’t finished with her quite yet.
“Paige, what about you? Surely you must have something to bait your hook for a young man tomorrow!” She laughed.
“It’s not too early to start thinking of marriage!” one of the married girls admonished. “I was only a year older than you when Hazek asked for my hand. And Gruetta only been married for six months!”
“I haven't given it much thought,” Paige said absently, rolling her eyes.
“Better get a start on quick!” Matildra encouraged, waving her slightly chubby hand. “We’d hate to see you wind up being an old maid!”
Paige would have ignored the entire rest of the conversation, but she couldn’t leave and ignore Matildra’s last comment.
“Is it really all that bad, Matildra?”