by J Seab
After stabling his horse, Everam pulled open the stout, oak door and entered Hevens Inn, weary after a long day of travel. Snow, a sleek, muscular dog of indeterminate breed with a short, wavy blue-black coat, accompanied him. She padded lithely beside him, nose twitching as she composed her own mental image of the room from the complex weave of scents from people, food, and building that drifted through the air.
It had been several years since Everam last visited Twine Farlow at Oak Cove, although he didn’t fully understand what had drawn him here now. It was only a vague sense of urgency that enticed him from his comfortable study at Spirit Hill where he’d been resting after spending months traveling throughout Ten Sees investigating reports of unusual incidents and missing people.
He paused at the entryway to survey the big common room. It was mostly empty, the lamps already lit for the evening. A dirty, tired-looking man smelling strongly of horses and hay sat near the wall, his legs splayed before him and a large mug cradled in his lap. His eyelids drooped as if he was dozing. Three more people sat in the back talking, the dishes from their meal stacked in the center of the table. The clatter coming from the kitchen was good evidence of where he would find Twine Farlow but he was more interested in getting off his feet and quaffing something cold and soothing. Twine would show up soon enough.
He walked to a table near the counter, dropped his travel pack onto the floor, and leaned his walking staff against the table. “You want anything, Snow?”
“Suth,” she yap-barked, licking her lips.
Snow’s voice was guttural and had been difficult to understand until he’d learned how to listen. At first, he hadn’t realized that it was speech. He’d thought she was just making peculiar noises. Once he realized that it was more than that it became easier to pick out her words, especially when he combined voice with all the other ways dogs communicate through posture, tail, and eyes. Sentient dogs were certainly not intellectual giants; their language skills were crude and their reasoning abilities limited. It was still debated whether such dogs should be labeled sentient but there was no dispute that they made excellent companions, assuming you could find them and assuming they would agree to join you. They were both rare and particular.
“Pea soup, right,” he said, scratching her fondly behind her ears. For reasons Everam had never figured out, Snow loved pea soup. Normally, she’d turn up her nose at anything that remotely smelled like vegetable. Raw meat and cooked grains were her usual fare although Everam depended on her to find most of her own food when they were on the road, which had been a lot lately, he sighed.
Puffing out a breath, thoughts of a cold drink put on hold, he headed for the kitchen door behind the counter. Calling over his shoulder he told Snow, “I’ll check.”
Snow sat, tongue drooping out the side of her mouth, ears pricked forward, and eyes bright.
Everam pushed through the swinging door and winced at a loud clang as Twine tossed a big pot into a bin near the stove. Twine, wiping his hands on the apron tied about his waist, stopped abruptly when he spotted Everam.
“You working on your reputation as the nosiest inn in Ten Sees or you just don’t like pots?” Everam asked, arching his brows.
“If your pot can’t take a little abuse, plant daisies in it,” Twine said, putting his hands on his hips. “And just why should I give any mind to what an old, wrinkled bag of stringy meat and bones has to say?”
Grinning, Everam surveyed Twine. “You look the same as always. Thin as a reed and all shiny clean and proper like one of Glen Powder’s new-made tunics. Why aren’t you round, sour, and food-stained like a real innkeeper? Especially since you wield the best ladle in Ten Sees.”
“Even a middling stew served in fine crockery is highly rated,” Twine responded with a twinkle. “Besides, I don’t have time to get round and sour, I’m too busy. I’ll do that later, when I’m old and spend most of the day rocking on the porch.” Twine jabbed a finger at Everam. “And what about you? You also look the same as always: all weary worn and smelling of cooking fires, road grime, and sweat.”
“I hope to rectify that with a hot meal and a hot bath.”
“Of course. We should still have plenty of solar heated hot water. I’ll have Safflower check while I warm some spice stew.” With that he walked over to the storage room door, pushed it open a crack, and called out instructions to Safflower. Upon hearing her muffled consent, he returned to Everam. “Go on out and sit. You look ready to topple and I have a few more pots to abuse. Most of my guests are gone for the evening so I’ll be able to join you shortly. You can update me on all your heroic deeds and exploits while Safflower readies your bath water.”
“I don’t expect you’ll find much heroism in my tale,” Everam said grimly, “but there is one thing that I would ask of you.”
Twine, pausing at Everam’s tone, looked deep into his eyes. Sounding concerned, he said, “You need only to name it.”
“I need a big bowl of pea soup.”
“Pea soup?”
“For my traveling companion. She’s partial to pea soup,” Everam said, now smiling.
“She? Certainly,” Twine agreed, recovering. “Stew and a big bowl of pea soup for your traveling companion. Anyone I know?”
“No, but I’m certain you’ll be fascinated.”
“Guess I’ll get to it then,” Twine said, again wiping his hands on his apron. “It’ll take only a few minutes to heat some stock. I look forward to being fascinated.”
Everam pushed through the kitchen door and returned to the common room. The man at the front didn’t appear to have budged from his earlier position. The three sitting at the back were deeply engrossed in their conversation. They seemed oblivious to anything else. He recognized the young man, Geldane, Twine’s son. And there was something about the girl that prickled at his senses but Everam was too weary to puzzle it out right now.
He stopped at the fridge, located midway down the counter, and poured himself a mug of honey-apple tea from the pitcher he found within it. He glanced at the man sitting by the wall, wondering if he should offer him a refill, but decided to leave him to his nap. Everam shuffled over to his table and dropped into a chair. Snow looked up expectantly, slurping her tongue. “Suth?”
“Soon.” With that, Snow plopped to the floor with a thud and put her head down, her eyes half closing. I hope to learn to do that someday, Everam thought jealously. Dogs, even sentient ones, had a talent for putting aside cares and concerns and accepting the inevitable as just another part of the way things were. She’d probably lie there for hours without complaint, waiting for her pea soup.
Everam took a large swallow of apple tea, savoring its cool smoothness as it washed the dryness from his throat. Then he settled back in his chair and closed his eyes, folding his hands in his lap. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wishing he could banish the turmoil with his thoughts as easily as Snow.
There was a disquiet stirring in the land, something that unsettled him. It wasn’t just the incidents in the northeast that weighed on his mind. Unusual disturbances had started more than a year ago, originally in southern West Warves but were now spreading through Ten Sees.
The latest reports were about overheard conversations in Stonybruk: farmers grumbling in the street about how much harder they worked to coax enough produce from the fields to meet the community’s needs or about how some of the Servitors living in the town’s central Doma had such a comfortable life, everything provided, a life of ease. And, more recently, he’d talked to a traveling distributor passing through Spirit Hill who described a small tavern, the Feathered Mule, that had opened near the docks in Stonybruk. It served ale and sponsored music and skits that leaned toward the rowdy—songs of lusty women who favored strong, adventurous men.
Everam had already decided that he was spending too much time cloistered within the halls of Spirit Hill, studying the past, and not enough time sorting the future. A new sense of urgency had pushed him into action. St
onybruk could wait. He needed to first visit Twine, hear what undercurrents the innkeeper had deciphered from the travelers passing through Oak Cove and decide how widespread the disruptions were.
“Soup’s on,” Twine announced as he entered the room with a laden tray. His step faltered when he spotted the big dog lying beside Everam and then he continued around the counter. Snow’s ears perked up as she followed Twine’s progress toward the table.
“Is this your traveling companion?” Twine asked, looking around, giving the dog a wide berth as he approached the table. He set a bowl of spice-veg stew and a round of fire-roasted flatbread before Everam while keeping one eye on the dog. Twine didn’t much like dogs. Dogs underfoot made for hairy stews, he’d claim. “Can’t she wait outside?”
“No,” Everam answered firmly, reaching over to scratch Snow’s head. A puff of dark hair drifted off into the room. “This is a sentient dog. We’ve been together for a couple of years now.”
“Um…” Twine said, grimacing at the drift of hair. “What’s her name?”
“Snow.”
“Snow, as in the white fluffy stuff that drifts down from the sky when it’s cold?” Twine asked as he examined her. She was huge and powerfully built, her short coat an unrelieved black.
“Yes.”
He sighed. “A sentient dog, you say. Well, I suppose this soup is for her. Does she eat at the table as well?”
“Here, I’ll take it,” Everam said, reaching for the bowl. He took it from the tray and set it on the floor in front of Snow. With a glance at Everam, Snow jumped to her feet and began eagerly lapping up the soup.
Twine moved around the table opposite to Everam and noted, while pulling out a chair, “And I see Murfy is doing what he does best: napping.” He sat, forearms resting on the table.
Everam, reaching for a spoon, asked, “The man against the wall?”
“Yes.” Twine frowned. “I expect you didn’t have any help stabling your horse. That’s one of the things Murfy is supposed to do but he isn’t fitting in very well. I expect I’ll ask him to move on shortly.”
Everam made no comment as he began scooping up his stew with as much enthusiasm as Snow. “Excellent,” he mumbled around a mouthful. “What do you make this with, anyway?”
“Um...spice, vegetables.”
“Yes, of course, that explains it.”
Twine, eyes back on the dog, continued, “And where did you come across a sentient dog? I’ve only heard about a couple others and they are smaller, much smaller—cuddly, you could almost say.”
Everam, talking through mouthfuls, said, “Found her in the mountains, not too far from Spirit Hill. She was the only pup alive in a small litter, all of them white except her. The pups were half buried in snow. Her black color was the only reason I spotted her. Nursed her back to health. We’ve been together since.”
“Ah...Snow, then,” Twine said. The conversation ebbed, Twine waiting quietly while Everam finished his food.
Everam sighed a few minutes later, dropped his spoon into the now empty bowl and brushed at a few lingering bread crumbs. “Excellent.”
“Would you like more?”
“No, thank you. I’m on full.” Everam looked at Snow. “More?”
Snow barked a no, then stood and stretched, her tail swishing briefly. “Thoty?”
“Sure.” As Everam stood he explained to Twine, “Snow needs to go out.” Snow followed at Everam’s heels as he made his way to the front door. He glanced over at the group in the back as he went, his eyes again drawn to the woman. They locked eyes briefly. She smiled a greeting, her gaze straying to the big dog, and then returned to her conversation. Everam waved a reply and got a hesitant nod of recognition from Geldane. He let Snow out and returned to his table. He slid into his chair and placed both hands flat on the table, his fingers beating a gentle rhythm. “Do I know that young lady back there?” he asked, inclining his head in her direction.
“I think you may have met her a few years ago on one of your stopovers. Her name is Willow. She’s now serving with Med Servitor Arla to complete her med apprenticeship. She’s grown a lot in those years, from a gawky sapling into a fine young woman.”
“Isn’t she an orphan?”
“Yes, she was found in a reed boat washed ashore when she was very young. We don’t know exactly when she was born or where. Nobody knows anything about her family or the circumstances that led to her abandonment. An older couple found her, took care of her long enough for her to regain her health. They were independents. They had built a house in a small valley to the northwest but decided they were too old to care for her much longer, so they brought her here.” Twine paused a moment, turning briefly to examine Willow. He looked as if he was going to add something else but, shrugging, continued, “The short of it is, Servitor Arla took an instant liking to her, so she took her in. She has been caring for her since.”
Everam studied Willow. There was still something plucking at the fringes of his mind, something he should recognize but he couldn’t pull it free. “And that young lad there is your son, Geldane?”
“Yes, he’s sprouted a few additional centimeters, too.”
“Is he still poking his head into as much mischief as he can find?”
“Not so much anymore. He joined the home Patrol as a deputy to further his life-vision. I think that’s tempered his recklessness. The Patrol won’t advance him, otherwise,” Twine said, winking.
“How’s that going?” Everam asked, returning a smile.
“Very well,” Twine said. “Actually, much better than I had expected, although he’s still somewhat impulsive at times—idealistic, one might say.” Twine waved a hand. “Nonetheless, his commander has, on more than one occasion, expressed his satisfaction with his progress, even recently stated that he thinks he is ready to advance in responsibility.”
“And the third?”
“That’s Mel. He lives out by Salty Flats. Fishes and crabs. I get most of my seafood from him. He’s the one who found the stranded dolfina.”
“Dolfina?”
“Yes, sad tale, that. She died shortly after we got her into the pond. Willow tried her best to save her but she was too weak from exposure and a terrible gash on her side, from a shark, Arla thinks. The dolfina kept saying she was a Watcher. She had quite a story to tell before she died, I hear, but I don’t know the details. Something to do with a cylindrical oddment.”
“What?” Everam exclaimed, jerking upright. A tingle suffused his body. “An oddment? Brought by a Watcher bearing a message?”
“Is this what you came for?” Twine asked, cocking his head. “But how would you know?” he amended, after a moment’s hesitation. “It just happened this morning.”
“I don’t know why I came, not yet. I thought to talk to you about Stonybruk but perhaps not. Nonetheless, I’d like to find out.” He pushed to his feet, his fatigue forgotten. “Will you accompany me?”
Twine stood, and together they walked to the back table. The conversation at the table died as the three swung around to face Twine and Everam’s approach.