by Sean Heslin
Another wave on Yrinmet’s part and the trio were set down gently off to one side of the pit trap. He stepped back, rolled down his sleeves and took a bow. Then with a flourish, he disappeared off into the woods to do who knew what.
They watched him walk into the treeline, and as one, shrugged.
Terand bent over the old man to examine him while Pib.
Rancha offered the woman some food. “Don’t worry we’ll sort your friend out and let you get on your way. Are you heading into Poitia by any chance? We’re heading that way and would be happy to accompany you.”
“You…are very kind my lad,” warbled the lady who at second glance indeed did not seem as old or incapable as first impressions presented. In fact, if she were in a cleaner or better-fed condition she looked as though she could probably carry a family cross-country. “We would be grateful for any help…but Goe…”
“Is not as badly damaged as our friend Pib diagnosed,” finished Terand smoothly.
“Huh?” said Pib, hopping over and having another look. “Are you sure? I could have sworn his back was…oh, maybe not then.”
“If we wrap him up and keep him warm, he should wake up in a coupla hours,” said Terand, pulling a blanket from his bag.
“Set camp!” bellowed Perci.
“No need to shout we’re all here,” muttered Rancha.
---
A few hours later it was late evening and they were all huddled around a fairly good campfire just off the beaten track. Goe, whose full name was learned to be Goesephe Honeyfield, was well wrapped up in the second prime spot next to the fire; the first being occupied by Perci rubbing his hands together and scowling as if determined to gloom the whole world forever.
Pib was sat on a tree branch above the woman who liked to be known as Milspeth. Terand and Rancha were swapping battlefield banter and otherwise chatting happily. Yrinmet was sat nearby and listlessly paging through a book everyone swore he did not have earlier on.
“So,” said Pib, trying hard to sound casual and failing. “What are you two doing out here? On the way to Poitia? Eloping maybe?”
“We are in Poitia already,” said Terand. “Well, the outskirts anyway. 'bout half a mile back.”
“Thank you, Terand!” gleamed Pib. “Good point. So, what are you two handsome people doing passing through here? And what is your relationship with the guy if I may be so bold as to ask? Does he have a brother?”
Milspeth far from being annoyed at the relentless questioning, actually appeared pleased Pib was taking an interest. “We are simply wanderers, seeking our fortunes wheresoever we may find them. And our relationship is mostly professional and mutually beneficial. Anything else you want to know, my dear?”
Terand glanced up. “Aren't you both, well, a little…elderly to be random wanderers of fortune? That usually gets left t' youngest sons of rulers, and otherwise insignificant farmhands and that sort. Y'might be better classing yourself as free spirits of destiny, or maybe clandestine pathfinders. Less trouble on job applications for the 'previous occupation(s)' box I've found.”
“He's right, I've seen it,” commented Pib the consummate office worker, dangling by her ankles from her tree bound perch.
Milspeth appeared thoughtful. “So that’s how people around here work, is it? Accepting whatever you come across as the norm…ah well. Each to their own and everyone to themselves! Got any more of that broth left, young man?”
Rancha nodded and motioned to Perci to pass it over. Not breaking his disgusted scowl, or even direction of gaze for a moment, he did so.
There was silence for a few minutes, apart from the crackling fire and the slurp of Milspeth's bowl.
Yrinmet looked up sharply. Something had happened. He had suddenly got the feeling that something had ripped out a couple of pages of history, in the immediate vicinity, right then. He went over the conversation he had been half-listening to, and noticed a gap where there might have been somewhat more substance than he seemed to remember. It was as if time had skipped over a minute or two. Just after Pib had spoke...
“What's up fella?” said Terand, taking note of the movement with ingrained professionalism.
“I...” Yrinmet paused. Milspeth was looking at him intently. “I... am probably just being paranoid. Not enough sleep and recent events. Continue to be boring everyone, it is most restful to me.”
He shielded his confusion by going back to his book and Terand shrugged, attending to his weapons. Eventually one by one, the group settled down to sleep.
Apart from Rancha, who with a sigh figured somebody should probably be on watch and duly turned into an inkowl, whiling away the night hunting by tiny field rodents.
Chapter 36
“Consequences mean nothing without good shoes.”
- Failed marketing campaign of the Yaansian International Shoe Concern, 4127 C.M.
There was once an inconsequential man. He knew a great many things, some of them helpful, others were time-fixed trivia, old before they were worth knowing. Some things that he knew were deadly. Others, were beautiful.
This man was a mute. He had a palsy. He dressed in a half-hearted fashion, generally in items that only needed the simplest of motions to don or doff. He liked to walk as often as he could, taking a vaguely circular route through his home town of Jerriesburg and the large park it contained. He ate when he needed to eat, took his toilet when required and hardly ever had cause to interact with others. Occasionally, he would stand a little way outside the town gate and watch the skies for a time, the local constabulary long since having stopped giggling at him and simply let him get on with it, the joke of a grown man minding his own business and staring at the sky having worn very thin.
Sometimes, he would write things in his notebooks.
The man had a touch of sorceror about him. He could perform minor tricks of The Art, so he never needed to buy matches, or find a lightswitch. Ever since he was old enough to care, he had never needed to bathe, or do something as mundane as wash his clothes, for he willed the flux of the universe to do all that for him. He was painfully aware that due to his mutism, he would never be able to become more powerful, but then he never saw the reason why anyone would need to be.
He dabbled in painting, dallied with poetry and periodically tried to cook exotic cuisine. His house was clean, spacious and contained a little more than the bare essentials for living, items of comfort and utility here and there, labour saving devices of various provenance. He made money by moving a trolley back and forth and letting others do all the work around him. His co-workers ignored him, mostly, except to ask him to move his trolley and sometimes to add and take from it.
This man of little consequence had no notable purpose, but still one thing hinged upon him, a piece of usefulness that pertained in some small way to the fate of the world. Another person could have filled the function and indeed in the multiplicity of the many universes of eventuality, there were many who did. Here though, in this world at this time, he contributed.
He moved his trolley to one place to another at exactly the right time to prevent a particular door opening for a few seconds, which in turn stopped a man stepping through, which in turn meant the man missed having a particular conversation with a friend, which meant a woman made it in time for her train, which meant that a meeting in a faraway location took place, which meant that a particular schedule was cleared in advance, which meant that a day or so later a particular tower was empty when it very much needed to be.
The man of little consequence knew nothing of this other than the brief silent apology given to the man who had tried to step through the blocked door, who was gracious in his acceptance of the apology. In his entire life, the man had done little else as important as that simple action.
In the corner of the corridor where the man often pushed his trolley, there was a dusty device, barely regarded in itself, but essential in its own right. It stopped glowing and cooled down. The man had fulfilled his function and things wer
e exactly as they were meant to be.
Chapter 37
“If you want to help someone, first know how much effort it will take, second, itemise everything, third, always tell them it will take three times longer than it actually will, because they will always want it sooner.”
- Jones of Poitia, 4175 C.M.
On the outskirts of Poitia, adjacent near to the mountains of Sental, the group was rising wearily with the coming of the dawn, and the disappearance of various vicious night beasts. They had attempted to raid the camp while the party slept, but fortunately, Rancha had dealt with them with the minimum of fuss, though he did feel a little bloated now.
They took it in turns to relieve themselves behind the nearby foliage – Perci was extra noisy about it, revelling in his noisome rear. Terand stirred up the campfire and Milspeth fussed over Goe, who had woken up and was staring about, blearily trying to discern his situation.
“Goe, you old fool, you had me worried sick, falling like that! Honestly, I nearly had a seizure when you wouldn’t wake up, what did you have to go and do a silly thing like that for?”
“Wha…? Wah you talkin’ abou’ womn? Who…dese peple…” Goe responded with heavy eyelids. “G’way, need slp…”
Half an hour later, a combination of Milspeth's nagging and some thick gruel Pib served up restored Goe considerably, for he was on his feet and hobbling around the group shaking hands in thanks.
Pib first: “Ah, young iccle, the name was…mm…Pib wasn’t it? Might I enquire to the health of your Trabdld?”
Pib duly blushed a shade of orange “My Trabdld is quite fine, not many people are polite enough to ask these days, and would you like some more gruel?”
Then Terand: “Mm? A bounty hunter are you? Oh, temporary…mm…retirement. I see, that’s a shame. G’resf’dfds’posahbye tabemoiui’likslopin renatdadaifl’hei?”
Terand grinned a little and responded in kind. “Kir’s’wafrnt usamagh’t’humabra, aomanwo’yenx’ded’uan.” He chuckled at his own joke.
Goe laughed amiably and moved on to Perci who was watching this performance with an air of mystification. “So my lad, on a…mm…quest are you? Hmm, I’ve seen that…mm…armour before I think. House of Yansul if I’m not mistaken.”
Perci nodded. “Yes, sir! My father's before me!” He raised his bearing, looking proud for being recognised.
“Well, ancestral armour is so hard to come by. Look after yours and it will…mm…serve you well. Nice workmanship there. Might want to let out the greaves a bit though.” Perci assured him he would, and Goe moved to Rancha, who was currently in his human form and trying to understand the point of the little show.
Oddly, Goe took a few seconds before speaking. He stared at Rancha, focusing on a point a way past Rancha's eyes. Rancha started to shift uncomfortably.
“Um..” he began. Goe exclaimed suddenly:
“Hah! Thought so!” Goe suddenly exclaimed. “An urglon! Where would the world be without you fellows? Down the tubes, I would have thought. Before you people came along the world was really…mm…interesting. Helped clean the place up to which everyone should be eternally grateful. My boy, of behalf of all living creatures everywhere I sincerely salute you for being what you are and from where you came from. And so should everyone else too.”
Rancha started to burble then simply sat in stunned silence. Pib even gave him a tiny salute, not even ironically.
Yrinmet emerged from the trees – he had finished his morning ablutions, and had been attracted by the noise wanting to get the measure of the new companions.
Goe pounced. “Ah! A sorceror of sorts. Tell me my lad can you do a ‘whoomph’?”
“A whoomph?” enquired Yrinmet, bemusement and mild derision in the set of his shoulders.
“Yes, you know, point your hands and whoomph!”
“Sure,” nodded Yrinmet. “I'm game.” He made a couple of gestures and spread his hands before him, as if they were an opening flower. From between the palms came a short blast of light that made a ‘shwoop’ sound.
Goe smiled, openly impressed. “Not bad, not bad. But I had something in mind more like…”
He spread his arms wide and directed his palms away from the group. There was a definite “Whoomph!” of air, and opposite, a tree uprooted and shot vertically up into the air landing with a crash in the distance. The group watched it go and simultaneously clenched their bottoms.
“There you see,” said a triumphantly grinning Goe. “Nothing to it…ow! What’d you do that for?”
Milspeth had just clipped him round the back of the head and launched into a tirade about ‘showing off!’ and ‘see what you have done!’ Goe honestly could not see what he had done wrong and why what he had done was so bad that he needed to be shouted at for, much in the manner of a small child having just buttered the family pet and a mother who has just found greasy paw prints everywhere. As with many such dressing downs, the effect, despite the high volume delivery, was to make sure the child knew its place, or in this case, prevent the elderly wizard from having as much fun as he thought he wanted.
“That's what's know as growing up, that,” stage whispered Terand to Perci.
“It's an accursed bane on our existence,” grinned Rancha on his other side. “I see why you avoid it Perci.”
“Fnugrallocks,” stated Perci, proceeding to ignore the pair of them.
Milspeth was winding up, finishing with a “…never see that again!” Goe hung his aged head in shame. The group felt a certain sympathetic pang; those who had possessed mothers at some point felt ancient shame rising within them.
Rancha decided that it would come to pass that Goe and Milspeth would officially became part of the 'World Saviours Deluxe Programme', a name Rancha had thought up last night whilst in a very dark mood and was in two minds whether to actually tell anybody about.
With the shouting over, they broke camp and set out on their merry way to the district known as Central Poitia, a trip much enlightened by a catchy marching song started by an unrepentant Goe, conveniently having forgotten the morning's events almost immediately. Milspeth deigned to allow it, because it was singing after all.
“Travelling, moving, ever on,
We hope you can sing this happy song,
Looking forward along our path,
Checking behind to save our ass.”
The song continued, being made up as it went, with an appropriate level of crudity and the occasional drangl swearword thrown in for good measure.
Perci took the opportunity to have a quiet word with Rancha under the cover of moderate raucousness. “How many more people do we need to complete this noble quest, my valuable guide?” said Perci, picking something from under his fingernails.
“What do you mean? Also, valuable?” said Rancha.
“Well, we seem to be attracting fresh fodder like flies.”
“I’m sure that’s the other... oh, never mind. I know what you mean.” He frowned. “Let’s see. Well, seven is traditional I suppose. We can safely count our latest acquisitions as one unit.”
“Who now?”
“Goe and Milspeth. Really? Is your helmet pressing down on something it ought not to press on?”
“I meet a lot of people, does it matter if I know their names, if they know who I am? Anyway that's only five.” Perci kicked a pebble.
“Pib, is in fact a person, as you well know.”
“As you say. Still only six though.”
“Hmm, good point. Okay, what do we have so far? We have the troubled leader, a noble birth, the comic relief, the strong, the steady, the powerful, the old, the wise, the ‘mother’, the self-centred bastard, the cute, the ugly, the guide, the rich, the poor, both sorts of fool, the unsuspecting hero and of course the huntsman. The only groups I can think of offhand, that aren’t represented, are the beauty, the warrior or 'living angst’. Which one do you reckon we will get?’
Perci was counting on his fingers. “Knowing our luck, all three.”
“Hmm.”
Chapter 38
“Purpose isn't bad. Purpose passes for reason most of the time.”
- Femwick Gadson doing the 2 am shift, guarding the Jaansian Shoe Depository, 4153 C.M.
The undefeated traveller strode boldly forth apace, across the plains to the infamous and bleak Chasm of the Damned, progress far swifter than whence they had last passed this way. There were no attacks, no vicious creatures from the netherworld, no bloodthirsty wretches from beyond the void. There was a column of dust far off to the left, indicating direhorses, but it was not heading this way, which was gladdening in its own right.
No sand weevils launched up through the earth to swallow the incautious whole, no giant spiders waited to accost the unwary. No hungry tooth'ed plants or madly proportioned insects came to feast upon the travellers marrow.
The traveller quickened the pace impossibly, for they already hurtled along at an impressive rate for a human. The goal was set, an unwavering aim in sight. They knew precisely what was required and where, and when.
Anything that would dare to stand before this flight was to be pitied; Woe betide anything that chose to do so, for they would be struck down as quickly as they arose.
There was no pain or terrors waiting on these plains.
They had been slaughtered on the trip here.
Chapter 39
“Get enough people in one place and it is an earthquake waiting to happen”
- Grand Philosopher Fesnir III, 2613 C.M. a few days before the Froob Event.
“Stop singing,” ordered Perci.
“...with a massive pair of melons and one for the road!” Goe and Terand continued in fine warble.
“Stop singing!”
“'Whoops!' said the maiden, taking up her skirts... 'Mercy!' said the knight forgetting how to flirt...”
“Stop singing.”