"Thank you."
"You're welcome, dear."
Tyressa wiped away tears. "Do you ever feel the need for someone to say that sort of thing about you?"
"I have seven sons, a daughter, and a husband. I live in a compound with all of them, plus uncles, aunts, cousins, and a few strays that might or might not be distantly related to someone. There are times when I start to mutter in Osiriani, and everyone knows to stay out of my way. Then, when this happens or that, and only I can fix it, I learn everything about me that I told you about you."
"If you ever need a friendly ear..."
"Thank you, dear." Moll hooked their arms together and steered them back toward the food tables. "I think it's about time for me to make my first visit to Silverlake. I'll need to consult concerning the harvest feast. Your invitation was generous. You do know there are nearly half as many Murdoons as you have in Silverlake?"
"There wouldn't be any Silverlake without Murdoon help, so all are invited."
"This invitation may be something you come to regret, Tyressa." Moll freed her arm and scooped up the tankards, returning Tyressa's to her. "But with the Murdoons present, I guarantee, this feast is something you'll never forget."
paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Broken Men
Jerrad glanced back over his shoulder at Nelsa as they traipsed through the wood. "Anyway, thank you for not laughing."
"Called you Wisewing, a sprite did?"
"Yes, and I wasn't, you know, using magic to translate. He spoke in our tongue." He stepped over a tree which had fallen across the game path. "I didn't have any mud in my ears, so I'm sure that's what he said."
"Do know that I hain't never heard of such a thing. Now, there was Osric Slopebrow over to Thornkeep said he seen sprites in one of their circles, but that was after a big rock bounced off his skull and left quite a dent."
"I didn't hit my head."
"This time."
"Nelsa!"
"Tell me it ain't true. Now, I ain't saying you don't recollect about the sprites right, just that some of what you say tallies with at least one other story." She caught up and grabbed his left arm, tugging. "We go up and over here."
"Okay." Jerrad nodded, happy she was content to leave her hand hooked inside his arm. "You believe me, right?"
"Well, I might take it as a tall tale, but you hain't been tripping nearly as much as in the past. The squirrels ain't chittering at you, and you're steering clear of mud." She cocked her head to the side. "Take me for a fool, but I'm thinking the sprites ain't picking on you like they was before."
"I'd never take you for a fool." He laughed a little. "I'm glad you're learning sorcery. I have to say, I never noticed magic around you."
"I don't know near as much as you do, and never thought to work it around you. Then that goblin started his dancing, and I wanted to see, so I start seeking out the magic and its coming off you like you was on fire."
"I would have told you, but my mother said I shouldn't tell anybody."
"Ain't the thing just anybody should know." With an empty wicker basket hanging from her hand, she pointed toward the right. "There, in the shade on that hill."
Jerrad smiled. "So, that's the secret."
Nelsa's smile lit up her whole face. "Finest blackberry bushes in the whole of the wood, right there. My aunt will make up some tarts that are the best in all the River Kingdoms."
"We get to eat while we pick, right?"
"Got to make sure they taste right."
"Let's go."
They climbed up along the hill's crest and came down beside the thicket. They both shrugged off the baskets they'd worn on their backs and used their heels to carve a flat spot on the hill to set them up. Nelsa then scouted down the hill a bit and returned.
"I don't see no bear sign. Iffen a bear does come along, we'll hear the crashing. Grab the baskets, head up to them rocks over there. If it gives chase, we leave the berries."
"Got it." Jerrad nodded, then moved upslope and started picking. He pulled up the bottom of his tunic to make a pouch, securing the hem in his teeth. That freed both of his hands to pluck plump berries from amid leaves and thorns. He did his best not to crush them, but quickly enough blue juice stained his fingers.
He returned to the basket and unloaded his tunic. Berry juice stained it. He sucked on his fingers, enjoying the tart taste, then returned to harvesting. He looked down, intending to ask Nelsa how she was doing. As he turned toward her, a ripe berry hit him square on the cheek. He expected to hear squirrel chatter, but instead only caught her laughter.
He blushed and swiped at the stain. He plucked a berry some bird had half eaten and flung it down toward Nelsa. He missed and she didn't even have to dodge.
"You're needing to work on your berry-flinging skills, Jerrad."
He shrugged. "I don't think I've ever thrown a berry before."
That brought Nelsa's head up. "Ain't your first time picking berries, this?"
He shook his head and began harvesting one-handed, holding the hem of his shirt up with his left hand. "I would go picking on the family estate. I went alone, or sometimes the scullery maids would help. They ate plenty of berries, but didn't throw any."
"Ain't nothing else for to do with the half-bit ones. Mulish says it spreads the seeds around, so it ain't a waste. Ma always makes us wear the raggediest clothes we have. Said it was so the thorns wouldn't have much to pick at. Still and all, the best stains made their way into quilt squares."
"You're not looking raggedy today."
"You, neither." Nelsa dumped her small basket into the larger, then walked over to him. "Them there scullery maids, did they ever do this?"
Jerrad looked at her as she brought her hand up and fed him a berry. For a heartbeat he froze, then chewed. "Um, no, thank you, they never did."
"Then they never would have gone and done this." Nelsa leaned in and kissed him on the lips. Warm and light, the kiss sent a jolt through him. She rested her hands on his shoulders, holding him still, letting the kiss linger. She pulled back, then licked her lips.
"Nelsa."
She shook her head. "You don't need to say nothing, Jerrad. I been wanting to try that out. I reckon it leaves something to be desired."
"No!" He reached out and took her face in both hands. "It was wonderful." He kissed her again, closing his eyes. He hoped he matched her warmth, but kissed more heavily. His stomach tightened, thinking he'd gotten it wrong, but she didn't pull back, or push him away.
Finally, he broke the kiss. Then he remembered to breathe. "Was that okay?"
She nodded, brushing a hand over her lips. "That weren't bad at all." Her eyes flicked up. "You dropped your load."
"What?"
"Your berries.»
Jerrad looked down at the carpet of berries around his feet. He squatted immediately and she did as well, so they almost butted heads. He brought his tunic up into a pouch again and started filling it.
Nelsa helped. "If them maids didn't kiss you, where did you learn that?"
"I haven't kissed anybody else, if that's what you're asking." He shrugged. "I saw Ranall kissing my sister. Kind of hard to miss. They're stealing kisses all the time, seems like. It wasn't like I stared or anything, but it seems pretty simple."
"Not according to my aunts. They say you can tell a man by how he kisses."
He looked up. "Really?"
"Not sure what you can tell. Might take some more kissing."
The berries all gathered from the ground, Jerrad stood and started picking from the bush. "Um, if you wanted, you could kiss me some more."
Nelsa joined him. "Only if you wanted to kiss me some more."
"Yes."
"Good. Don't think I know anyone else needs kissing."
"Me, neither."
"Good."
"Good." Jerrad smiled, but wouldn't do more than glance sideways at Nelsa. His insides were fl
uttering, kind of the way they did when he was afraid, but this was different—not mousy at all. Fear made his chest tight and heart heavy. Now he was afraid his heart was just going to sprout wings and fly on out of his chest.
They kept picking, not saying a word. Jerrad didn't want to spoil the moment. His lips still tingled with their kisses. He wanted to kiss her again, but feared she'd changed her mind and wouldn't want anything to do with him. He wanted to believe that was nonsense, but he feared making a mistake that would drive her away.
But what if she wants me to kiss her again and I don't? His breath caught in his chest. Then he snorted. This is Nelsa. If she wants another kiss, she'll let me know.
"What is it?"
"I had a silly thought." He turned past her and unloaded his tunic into the basket. "It wasn't anything, really."
She smiled at him as she emptied her basket. "Were you thinking another kiss should be in the offing?"
Jerrad blushed. "I was, and if..."
She clapped a hand over his mouth and crouched. He grabbed her wrist, but before he could pull her hand away, he heard voice. Men's voices. He gave her a nod. They gathered up their baskets, retreated to the rocks and hunkered down behind them.
Four men—Broken Men, unkempt and emaciated—came around the base of the hill and worked their way up. Two of them were bare-chested. Ribs stood out, as did patches of snow-skin and scars. Some were clearly from burns, and others blades. The scars Jerrad most easily recognized wrapped around their bodies. They've been whipped.
The man in the lead pointed at the berry bushes. "Told you I saw them."
The two men with tunics pulled them off and spread them out. The men began picking blackberries and relaying them by the handful to the tunics. Though the men were wolfishly lean, they picked without eating.
Jerrad started to stand, but Nelsa pulled him down. "Don't."
"But the near tunic, it's purple and red—Ustalavic colors. He's from my home."
"Ain't proof of anything but what he took that off one of your countrymen." She shook her head. "There's camps of Broken Men all down the Crusader Road. Whole men go amarching north, and pieces of 'em come limping south. Take another look. Ain't a one of 'em wouldn't gut you to get your shirt or shoes."
Jerrad again peered out through the space between the rocks. The men did look well used. The man who had found the bushes and the largest, the one with a rag looped around his shaved head to hide a missing eye, moved as close to normal as any of them. The other two picked berries slowly, like they were moving underwater. Their eyes didn't focus on much. They didn't notice when berries bounced to the ground. They just dumped handfuls on the tunic every couple of minutes, whether they had one berry or dozens.
He reached out and found Nelsa's hand. "I look at them and I think my father might have known them. They could have been his men."
"If they was, I'd wager they'd give their lives so he wouldn't be dead." She squeezed his hand. "Those that come here to the wood, they're the ones not ready for polite company. May never be. And ain't a good idea for us to see how close to polite they are."
"We'll at least tell our parents that they're out here, yes?"
"We'll mark where they're camping, figure out how many there are and all. Hain't never had much trouble with them. I don't reckon Silverlake should."
Jerrad nodded. Even though he wasn't very big, he felt pretty certain he could subdue any of them using his sticks. He wouldn't attack them, any more than he'd beat a starving dog. It struck him that this is exactly how he was seeing those men. They may look like dogs, but they are men. Broken Men.
"Can we leave them food?"
"Not a good idea." She gave him a hopeful smile. "Might could be we give 'em tracks to follow to sweet water and an old orchard. But not now."
"No, not until we've reported back."
Below, the men laughed. They gathered the corners of the tunics and started back downhill with their bounty. Not all of the twisted scars decorating their backs looked old.
Nelsa glanced in their baskets. "I reckon we have our fill. Should be enough left for them to come back."
"Thank you."
"Just the neighborly thing to do." She kissed him again, too quickly, and smiled. "And since we're going back early, we'll be having us some free time. I'm thinking we can work out a way to best spend it."
paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Visions of the Future
As the days wound down to the harvest feast, Jerrad found his role in Silverlake's society shifting. While he'd never really been seen as an authority figure, people had treated him as if he was Tyressa's heir. With Ranall and Serrana getting closer, that honor had shifted to the two of them. He knew lots of folks were hoping and wishing they would wed, since that gave them leadership in waiting in case anything happened to his mother.
Though he'd not expected it, Serrana rose to the challenge. She'd gone from never wanting to be in Silverlake to acting as if there had been no life before the settlement. When he'd told his mother of the returning crusaders, Serrana was even more vehement in expressing distrust for the Broken Men than Nelsa had been. She stressed Silverlake's need for self-reliance, and plenty of citizens were happy to follow her example. As a result, their efforts to help the Murdoons harvest berries and nuts produced a crop twice what the clan had ever gathered by itself.
Jerrad didn't so much get forgotten as relieved of responsibilities he'd never really realized he'd been given. Silverlakers didn't needle him about spending time with Nelsa. At most they mentioned that they thought she was a nice girl, or they'd give him something they'd made and suggested she might like it. Women tended to do that a lot with soap they'd scented with flowers and herbs. He didn't really understand, and Nelsa might sniff and smile, but Moll Murdoon seemed very pleased and asked for thanks to be passed along.
In a quiet moment it occurred to him that his life had returned to how it had been in Ustalav. No one was expecting anything of him. The difference was that in Ustalav they dismissed him because he was just a child. Here they seemed to believe that if there was anything amiss, he'd handle it or let everyone know what was going on. He'd gone from being a mouse to something else. But what is that something else?
That confident trust left a mark on him. He might still wander the wood as he had done before, but he didn't allow himself to daydream. He looked out for things, like signs of Broken Men or goblins or ogres. Absent finding anything like that, he gathered food, marked out hardwood stands, and located lots where windfalls or spring floods had deposited firewood.
One thing had changed significantly for him. Wandering south of Silverlake, in the shadow of a hill, he found a small patch of land covered in mushrooms. None had grown too big, or had odd colors. He spotted three varieties—two good for eating, and one that could be brewed up into an earthy tea that settled the stomach no matter how sick the person was.
He bowed in the general direction of the mushrooms. "Thank you." Then he dropped to a knee and harvested two thirds of the plants. The rest he left for the sprites. He imagined they'd eat some, or other creatures would; but some of the remaining ones would be used to populate new patches.
He reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a handful of dried berries. These he piled in the middle of the area he'd cleared. This time it was berries. Other times he'd left some bread or cheese or roasted chestnuts. The sprites didn't seem to care for cheese much, but everything else vanished without any tracks being left behind.
He tucked the bag of mushrooms into his knapsack and slung it over his back again. Pushing on, he came to one of the sprite bogs. With autumn coming on, and the leaves becoming a blazing canopy of red, gold, and brown, the bog looked even less inviting than it had before. The leaves that had gently drifted down to the surface floated limply. Holes had opened in their surfaces as they slowly dissolved. Even though he approached the bog from upwind, h
e couldn't miss the stink.
He'd been to this bog before. With Nelsa's help, he'd filled a clay brewer's jar with mud and lugged it back to Silverlake. The settlers had long since been taught about the dangers of roast-weed and avoided it, but having a supply of the mud available wouldn't hurt. Besides, if it soothed roast-weed, Jerrad wondered if it might not also be good for treating frostbite.
As he got thinking about that, he thought about another affliction: snow-skin. It had nothing to do with snow, or even the cold, but earned its name because patches of skin became numb, then flaked off in white bits resembling the large, feathery snowflakes that fell in the dead of winter. The only treatment came through mixing animal fat—the more rancid the better—with ashes and fermented tea leaves. It didn't seem to cure the disease, but just paste the flakes on the flesh so they weren't falling all over the place.
He eased himself halfway down toward the bog, planting his right foot firmly about a yard above a huge roast-weed plant. He shucked off his backpack and pulled another bag from it. He opened that bag wide and placed it on the ground.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he mentally assembled the colorful mosaic he associated with the spell he'd most recently learned. Fog formed around his hands, starting as a cloud, then tightening down into gloves. He was fairly certain that unless someone could recognize magic, they wouldn't see a thing. The ghostly gloves slipped forward and off his hands. He brought them down to a roast-weed plant and quickly stripped it of leaves. He stuffed them into the bag and returned to harvest more. The stem bled a milky white liquid. The leaves did likewise, but not enough to soak through the bag.
He collected about a pound of leaves, dunked the ghost hands into the bog, then used them to pull the bag's drawstrings up and tight. He knotted them, then dispelled the hands. He pulled another bag from his pack, turned it inside out, scooped the bag of leaves into it, then knotted it securely closed. He stuffed the bag into a separate compartment in his pack, to separate it from the mushrooms.
Pathfinder Tales: The Crusader Road Page 23