Game of Destiny, Book I: Willow

by J Seab

  The trip to Meldon wasn’t that bad, even though Fillip’s head was fuzzy and his stomach rocked more than the boat did all the way to Stonybruk. At least the seas had been moderately calm. There was enough wind to push them along at a good clip without creating big waves. Not that he saw much of the sea. He spent most of his time in his bunk, resting. After all, what was there to see? Nothing but water, no matter where he looked. Boring. He didn’t know, nor much care, what Marcus did, as long as he stayed out of Fillip’s hair. Marcus was getting too far above his station, always suggesting this or that like Fillip was some dumb-bunny who couldn’t figure out anything for himself.

  They hadn’t stayed long in Stonybruk either. Fillip had Marcus pick up a couple of horses and some additional supplies while he had an ale at the Feathered Mule, only one, to ease the ache in his body and the pounding in his head. He wasn’t like those other sloshes who didn’t seem to know when to stop.

  He’d finished his ale and was thinking about another to pass the time while he waited when Marcus showed up at the door. Irritated, Fillip got to his feet and pushed past Marcus into the street. Two horses, laden with supplies, were tethered there. He grabbed the reins of the nearest and swung into the saddle. He jerked the horse around and spurred it into a canter, not bothering to see if Marcus was following.

  He took the main road south through Stonybruk, surreptitiously glancing around to see if anybody noticed him, the famous son returned. Nobody paid much attention. Probably didn’t recognize him bundled in his traveling cloak even though he’d left the hood down. Then he thought about Gordon. No way he wanted to deal with him. Gordon had been livid when he sneaked off to join Russel. It didn’t matter how famous he was now; Gordon would start raging at him all over again, and that little rat-faced weasel, Jeremy, would be hiding behind Gordon, snickering. He pulled his hood over his head. No matter. He didn’t want to waste any time with the local yokels anyway. He had more important things to do.

  He felt fuzzy and strung out for the first few hours as he bounced along on the back of the old nag they called a horse. Maybe he should have seen to the horses himself instead of relying on Marcus. Can’t trust anybody to do anything right, he thought, kicking at his mare, trying to hurry the lazy beast along.

  The mare ignored him, kept clopping along at its own pace.

  It would be nice to have another of those happy-smokes, Fillip thought sullenly. Wished he’d brought along an extra one. He imagined lighting one, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs, holding it there, feeling that little thrill that would bloom in his body. It would be nice, help pass the time. All this boring bouncing along in the middle of nowhere. Maybe he’d buy a couple, just to have. After all, he had plenty of dols.

  The weather was tolerable most of the way. It drizzled off and on for a couple of days but otherwise the skies were partly cloudy and the fall chill rather mild. None of that nasty weather they’d been experiencing. They passed a few other travelers, some driving wagons filled with goods for distribution. He didn’t pay them any attention, even the couple who raised a hand in greeting. They were all just part of the masses, nobody he needed to bother with. He had other things on his mind, like the flies picking at his nag’s head and how its ears would flick and turn to scare them off. Didn’t ever do any good; the flies always came back. So what was the point? Why didn’t the horse grow some sharp little needle hairs that would whip around and kill the flies? That was the only way it’d get rid of them.

  Stupid nag.

  They stopped for a while at the village of Brendon’s Cross so Fillip could ask around about the incident involving the missing people. He didn’t find out much, only the usual rumors about some beast sulking in the forest or a lightning bolt that fried the family leaving no traces of their bodies. Nobody knew much about the Servitor who was said to be heading out that way to nose about, only that someone said he was a called Servitor and that he was the same Servitor involved with that oddment affair. Curious. Maybe the two were related. Maybe this oddment affair was only part of something much bigger? On top of that, Fillip mused, how did Russel’s treasure map tie into things? Did this Meldon family stick their noses into something they shouldn’t have and this so-called called Servitor was rushing out to cover up the truth? But what? He tried bouncing that theory off Marcus but he wasn’t much help, seemed almost evasive, like he didn’t want to talk about it. Probably more than he could handle.

  Marcus took off as soon as they left Brendon’s Cross. Said he’d go on ahead, scout around some. That was fine with him. Fillip was no longer some dirt-stained, stinking farmer slaving in the fields every day. He had to be more careful with whom he associated. Now Russel, on the other hand, was something else. When he got back with another ground breaking story, she’d likely get all oozy and soft and clingy. Maybe he’d share a happy-smoke with her. Who knew what might happen next?

  Fillip’s thoughts fell deeper into his imaginary world, his breath becoming quick and raspy. His horse dutifully followed the road, its ears flicking at the pesky flies.

  A few days later, he rode into Meldon. It was the first time he’d been here. There wasn’t much interesting to see. It was your typical Etus village, although there was that big, open building surrounded by a series of fences next to the Doma. The Doma appeared to be only a single room, an arch built from heavy timber, nothing as fancy as he’d seen in the bigger towns. It was, of course, small, probably wouldn’t hold more than a hundred people.

  A ways behind that was a river with a waterfall tumbling off a sheer drop that looked to be a good fifteen or twenty meters tall. A series of concrete buildings flanked it and thick wires ran overhead to the Doma. Probably running one of those fancy water turbines the Warves had introduced a few years back. Must be fairly new, Fillip thought, wondering how a little rat’s nest like Meldon rated the new turbines. It even looked like a wire ran across to that big shelter. Must be more of those unfair Servitor rules, he decided.

  He reined his nag to a stop before the inn and dismounted. A boy rushed out.

  “You staying for the night?” the boy asked in a high, squeaky voice.

  “Yeah,” Fillip answered absently, tossing over the reins. “Any empty rooms?”

  “I think there’s one left,” he said, stroking the horse’s muzzle. “Nice horse. What’s her name?”

  “Name? What name? It’s just a horse. Old Nag, call her that if you must have a name,” he said dismissively, turning toward the door. “Take my stuff up to my room.”

  Fillip entered the inn, closing the door behind him. It was relatively dark, only a few narrow windows opened into the common room and only one lectric lamp was on. It sat on a short counter to the left. A short, round-faced man with a few straggles of closely cropped gray hair hustled from the room beyond.

  “What can I do for you, traveler?”

  Fillip walked up to the counter. “You can assign me a room for a couple of nights.”

  “Certainly. There’s a young man passing through to Greenberg staying just one night. You want to share for tonight?”

  “No, no sharing,” Fillip said, wincing. “Give me an unoccupied room.”

  The innkeeper hesitated a moment, then opened his journal. “Very well, I do have one unoccupied room, room two, up the stairs at the end of the hall.” Taking up his pencil, he asked, “And the name?”

  “Brent, Fillip Brent. Senior correspondent, Greely’s Gazette,” he said proudly.

  The innkeeper wrote this information into his journal. “And the reason for your visit?”

  “I’m a correspondent,” Fillip answered, hands flat on the counter, leaning forward. “That means I report on things. Why do I need to explain this?”

  The innkeeper blinked several times, standing back. “Ah, very well, here to report on the disappearances and fire, then?”

  Fillip feigned a smile. You had to be careful how you treated these country idiots, he cautioned himself. If you feed them some honey, their mouths opened
right up. “Exactly. You’re a prominent member of this community. I expect you know a lot about what happened?”

  “I’ve heard some things,” he said, cautiously. “But I don’t know anything. Nobody does. It’s still a mystery, what happened.”

  “But you have a theory?” Fillip pressed.

  “I don’t know, just speculating. I thought it might have been a pack of rabid wolves.”

  “Wolves? Ate them up and burned down the house to cover their tracks?”

  “Like I said,” the innkeeper continued defensively, “nobody really knows. Wolves could have gotten into the house, knocked over an oil lamp, causing the fire. They then dragged the bodies out into the woods. There are enough wolves and other animals in these forests to consume most of the remains and scatter the bones. Similar things have happened before.”

  “Happened before?”

  “Not here. Farther north, though. A year or so back, an older couple went missing, sheep ranchers. I don’t recall there was a fire, though,” he said, scratching at the straggle of hair over one ear. “Their bodies were never found either,” he added.

  “Ah, wolves, then. Sounds like a good theory, reasonable, fits the facts,” Fillip said, pouring on the honey. “Where is this farm, exactly?”

  “It’s to the north,” the innkeeper said, pointing. “About three kilometers. Just follow the road.”

  “Were they sheep ranchers too?”

  “No, they didn’t have any sheep, alpacas. Grew a couple hectares of potatoes too. Lots of folk ’round Meldon are bringing in alpacas,” the innkeeper continued, warming to the topic. “That’s what people are asking for now, alpacas. Prefer their wool: softer, warmer, lighter, sheds water better, doesn’t shrink. That’s mostly what we do here, in Meldon, process alpaca wool. That’s what the open shelter is for that you saw when you came in. That’s where we clip the alpacas, clean and spin their wool, and weave it into the finest yardage you’ll find in Etus. It’s rapidly becoming our primary service-product. We—”

  Fillip was about to interrupt him, he wasn’t looking for a history lesson, when there was a clatter from the front door. The boy entered, lugging Fillip’s stuff. “Where to?” he asked.

  “Room two,” the innkeeper said.

  The boy struggled up the stairs with his load.

  Fillip followed the boy before the innkeeper could get started again but turned back and said, “Well, thanks for the information about Meldon. Fascinating.” Then, casually, he asked, “I hear there’s a Servitor here looking into this?”

  “He’s not here yet; expecting him soon, in a day or so. He’s coming to investigate the Lamont deaths further.”

  “Um, know his name?”

  “No,” the innkeeper said simply.

  “Humph, thanks anyway,” Fillip said, then added, “Sounds like you’re on the right track about those missing people. Probably won’t be much for this Servitor to do when he gets here. Just verify your theory. Can I talk to you more later? It’s been a long trip and I think I’m going to turn in early.”

  “Sure, I’m here most of the time. Bathhouse is through that rear door and there’s always plenty of hot water,” he said, gesturing. “I serve a hot breakfast from six to eight. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Will do. Thanks.” Fillip dodged the boy coming down the stairs, walked to the end of the hall, and entered his room. It was small, somewhat crude, but that’s what was available in the wilderness. There was a lectric lamp on a table between two beds but there was still enough late-evening light coming through the narrow window to illuminate the room. He plopped down on one of the two beds, pulled his boots off and swung his legs around, laying back. The bed was reasonably comfortable and smelled clean. He fluffed the pillow behind his head and closed his eyes. I’ll rest for a moment, he thought, unpack and change later, maybe get a bite to eat.

  It had been a long, tiring trip, too many nights making camp and sleeping on the ground. He wondered briefly where Marcus was. Forgot to ask about him. Didn’t much matter, he’d show up eventually. Knowing him, he probably got lost somewhere along the way.

  Fillip fell into a deep sleep.