Journey's Middle

by B. K. Parent

  “Being in the leather business, I have made sheaths for many a knife and Pedersen’s are known far and wide for their beauty and the sharp edge they hold. I have seen a number of them,” Shueller replied.

  He knew that sticking to the truth was his best choice at this moment, not knowing where this conversation was heading. Hoping to end this meeting as soon as possible, Shueller tried to think up a quick solution that would not look suspicious and call any more attention to him than leaving early would.

  “Your sheath will indeed part ways with your knife sooner rather than later. I may have a solution for you, unless you are looking for something fancy.”

  “Fancy has never been my style, and I would be thankful for any help you can give me as long as it is within the realm of what I can afford,” the forester replied.

  “You will have to give me a moment while I check in my cart, but I think I might have something that would work for your knife,” Shueller suggested and opened the back of his cart.

  The cart had a narrow isle down the middle of it and was lined with shelves and drawers along both sides. As short as Shueller was, he did not even have to stoop as he climbed in and walked halfway back, pulling out a drawer here and a drawer there, looking like he had all the time in the world. Mumbling quietly to himself, he checked a few more drawers, and then finally pulled out what he was looking for.

  “Here it is. Nice to know my memory isn’t failing me. Year or so back, a gent dropped this sheath off to be repaired and never came back for it. I heard later he had met an untimely death. Never knew where that phrase came from, untimely death. Would seem to me that any death would be untimely.” Realizing he might appear as if he were babbling, Shueller stepped out of the cart, but not before he noticed the forester seemed to be taking a great deal of interest in the interior of his cart. “Let’s try this one,” Shueller said, as he drew the knife from the old worn sheath and slid it home in the new one. “Not an exact fit, but certainly much better than the one you have now.”

  Shueller and the forester haggled over the price, and once that was settled on, the shoemaker got some oil out of his cart and waterproofed the sheath.

  “A good coating of oil every so often will keep the leather supple, and the sheath will last longer. Also helps the knife. Now is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Thank you, no. This looks to be a fine sheath, and I appreciate you taking the time to help me. I will spread the word to other foresters that they should look for you at the fairs. Your craftsmanship is very fine,” the forester said.

  “Always appreciate the business,” Shueller replied, as he once again closed up his cart, checked the homewagon and horses before he climbed up into the driver’s seat, and began wending his way out of the fair and out of Snoddleton.

  Jonzee took the package from Master Rollag, walked casually out to the lane, and headed further into town. He did not feel the least bit casual as he tried to keep an even pace heading towards a rendezvous that could very likely get him, at the very least, hanged, if all did not go well. So very much could go so very wrong. So very much depended on what happened in the next hour. Now it was just a matter of luck and timing. Pulling his cloak tighter around himself, he set off at a brisk pace towards the royal manor, checking frequently to make sure there was no one following him. It was a pretty simple matter of moving to avoid the puddles left on the lane and taking a quick glance over his shoulder. The intermittent rain showers had been happening off and on all morning, but it did not seem to have kept anyone inside. Folks were going about their business as normal, which was better for Thorval and what he needed to do next, since he would not stand out as a lone figure walking up the lane. He knew he could not get too close to the royal manor, nor could he linger near it without drawing unwanted attention to himself, but he hoped he could get close enough that he could connect with the Princess without causing suspicion. He was just about as far as he dared go when the skies opened up, and the rain came down in torrents, what his mother-in-law would have called a gully washer. With the rain pounding down, visibility grew limited, and Thorval pulled into a doorway so he would not get soaked to the bone, bumping into someone hidden in the shadows.

  Holding the bread baskets in front of her like a shield, Princess Esmeralda saw the outline of a man slip into the opening with her, as the thunder boomed overhead. This was not good, Princess Esmeralda thought. I am trapped here in a dark doorway with a stranger who is blocking the way. Why did I even think leaving what I thought of as the safety of the royal manor was a good idea? I cannot just announce I am the royal heir and think that whoever is blocking my way will automatically show me deference. I have no weapons on me, and I do not think beating the man who is blocking the way with bread baskets is going to be very effective.

  Lightening flashed again, followed by another window-rattling thunder boom, but in that light she saw a guild crest on the man’s cloak. Could this man be the one she was supposed to meet, she wondered? Taking a chance that it was, and the man standing in front of her was the right man, she spoke.

  “I see I am not the only soul who is out in this frog strangler of a rain,” Princess Esmeralda said, hoping her voice held steady.

  After all she was a Princess and had faced down, well, not much of anything, come to think of it.

  “A true gully washer if I ever saw one,” Thorval answered, not believing his luck that he had pulled into an opening with a young woman carrying bread baskets, if he were not mistaken. Could this be the one he had been sent to find? “Were you on your way back to the fair?”

  “Ah, actually I was on an errand and trying to find a vendor who carries pilcher cream. Do you know of anyone?”

  “Why yes, you can find it at Mistress Ruezakee’s shop. Do you know the way?”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Looking up to see each one of the openings of the standing stones blocked by someone was disconcerting to say the least. One minute Master Clarisse, Beezle, Carz, and I had been in the clearing by ourselves, and the next minute we were surrounded by a group of folk the likes of which I had never seen before. They were not tall, and they were uniformly brown: brown hair, brown eyes, and darkly tanned skin, wearing clothing in varying shades of brown and green. It is no wonder we had not seen them, but we should have heard them. How had any of us, including Carz who has very sharp hearing, not have heard that many folks come out of the surrounding woods? Instinctively, the four of us formed a circle, back-to-back facing outward, not knowing if the folk we faced meant us harm. They did not look particularly threatening. They all appeared to be holding long staffs, but no obvious weapons were visible such as swords, long knives, bows and arrows, or other sharp implements.

  We stood silent for what seemed like hours, but probably was only a few minutes, when Master Clarisse stepped out of our circle with her hands open and in front of her and said, “We meant no disrespect or harm by entering the circle, and we apologize if we have trespassed.”

  At the sound of her voice, one of their number stepped forward and was immediately flanked by four others. He was significantly older than the rest and wore a carved wooden medallion on his chest. He and his entourage moved to within five feet of us and halted. Master Clarisse had whispered to us that we should stand and face them, our arms in front of us with our empty hands showing. Carz moved to sit directly in front of me, looking alert but relaxed, which I took as a favorable sign since he has very good instincts when it comes to threats or danger.

  The tableau of two parties standing in the middle of the standing stones, as silent and still as the stones themselves, went on for quite some time before the man who seemed to be the leader, or the spokesman, of those who surrounded us spoke in a surprisingly deep voice. “Icondish, yon verick yaman.”

  Carz immediately stood up and walked over to the man who had spoken. To my surprise, the man inclined his head in a
slight bow, and Carz did also.

  “Which of you does this one choose to travel with?” the man asked.

  Hoping my voice did not betray me by quivering or going an octave or two higher than normal, I answered, “He travels with me.”

  “We were told you would come by the one who is ours but chooses to travel a different path from us for a time.” Suddenly the man who had spoken stilled and tilted his head as if listening. “Quick, you must get to your wagons and move. Danger approaches. I will ride with you, rover, to show you the way. Tryg, Elrick, take two groups and blur the trail. Make sure no one follows us.”

  Before any of us could speak or ask any questions, we were being herded back to our wagons like reluctant sheep and being urged to take up the reins and move out. Seated beside me in my homewagon, the man urged me to move it forward.

  “Neebing blessed, I know you do not know if you should trust us, but the one you call Shueller could not stay to meet you and asked that we keep you safe.”

  That he knew we were to meet Shueller here was a point in his favor, and was both reassuring and disturbing at the same time. If he were telling the truth, then going with him and the others was the right thing to do. If he had come by the information by some other means, one of which was by harming Shueller, then we were riding into danger. The fact that he had addressed me as Neebing blessed, and that Carz had seemed to respond to him favorably, was swaying me towards feeling that I should not push him out of my homewagon and make a mad dash for it. As if that would have been at all reasonable, with the trail we had come up on being as narrow as it was and not knowing what the trail ahead was likely to be like, not to mention that a mad dash under those conditions would have been slower than a man running. For now, it seemed best to follow his directions.

  We traveled a very short way south beyond the standing stones along the narrow track. The forest thinned a bit here, and the track was lined on the east side with hedge plants. There had been a farmstead here at one time, and from the looks of the age of the trees and the hedge, it was a very long time ago. The man riding with me, who had finally introduced himself as Torger, had me halt the homewagon.

  “Please hold here a moment,” he indicated, as he leapt down and moved behind the homewagon, reappearing on my side and walking about twenty feet in front of the horses.

  I am not sure how he did it exactly, but as I watched, he moved a section of the hedge back to reveal an opening just wide enough for the wagons to move through. He made an arm gesture motioning me forward, and I turned the homewagon in through the gap in the hedge. As I passed him, Torger clambered back up onto the front seat of my homewagon. Master Clarisse and Beezle followed my homewagon, and Torger asked me to halt once again as he went back and closed the gap in the hedge. After traveling several hundred yards through what looked to be new growth forest, the land opened up rather unexpectedly. We could now move more swiftly across and down a narrow meadow until we entered a much older woods where the land began to slant upwards once again. I heard what sounded suspiciously like a sigh of relief from Torger once we entered the forest again, and a little way in we encountered a crossroad. Torger indicated that I should continue east, or straight ahead, and I did so. After climbing another small rise, the track leveled out, but the way was still slow going.

  When I opened my mouth to finally begin to ask some questions, Torger must have anticipated and held up his hand as if to halt my speech. “Soon,” was all he said, and so I had to content myself with waiting. Just as I was beginning to wonder how far we would be traveling, I could see a bend coming up in the track which would turn us south once again. As we made the turn, I saw to my left a wall of stone rising up higher than I could see through the trees. We continued to travel in silence, except for the soft thud of hooves upon the grassy track and an occasional rustle in the woods. Unexpectedly, a man dressed similar to Torger slipped out of the woods just ahead of the horses, and they might have shied had he not grabbed Flick’s halter. Soon there were others ahead of us, and when I peered to both my left and right, I could see more men, and now women, dressed in green and brown, holding still on the edge of the track.

  Torger stepped down out of the homewagon and walked to the man holding Flick, saying something to him in a voice so low that I could not hear what was being said. Then he returned and climbed back aboard.

  “We will be turning into a narrow passage just up ahead. Do not be alarmed when the passage takes you into a cavern. The homewagon and horses will fit down the passage. It has been some time since a rover homewagon has come this way, but I know there is clearance. Your companion’s wagon is a bit narrower and shorter than yours, so there should be no trouble with it either. I apologize for the silent ride, but I needed to stay alert and not become distracted. We are close to our destination, and once there, I will be happy to try to answer all of your questions. I know you have been holding your tongue for the duration of this ride.”

  While Torger had been speaking, the folk who had appeared just as silently disappeared, as if they had never been there. I almost questioned if I had really seen them. I directed the horses to turn where Torger had indicated and hoped the horses would not become spooked as the stone of the hills formed a narrow pass and rose up high above us. All too soon in my opinion, we entered a cave mouth and I instinctively ducked, as if that would have helped had the cave been too low to accommodate the top of the homewagon. I was pleased that my horses did not seem to panic as the light began to dim to near darkness when we passed through the cave opening. As my eyes began to adjust from the brightness of outside light to the inside darkness, I realized that something on the cave walls was giving off a soft glow, lighting the way. The passage soon opened up into a large cavern that was lit by sunlight streaming in from openings high up near the roof. Torger directed me to keep to the edge of the cavern and drive the homewagon almost full circle, until we were facing the passage we had just come through.

  “This is as far as the homewagon and the team of horses can go. Your cart and a single horse could make it the rest of the way, but I don’t think that will be necessary. My folk will tend to your teams if you and your friends will please follow me. You will be safe here, and no harm will come to you. I give you my word,” Torger said, lifting his medallion over his head and holding it out to me.

  I did not know what I was supposed to do but without thinking, I reached out for the medallion and the ring on my finger that the Huntress had made for me flared and an arc of light from the medallion passed to it, warming my hand slightly.

  “Like always calls to like, Neebing blessed. Please, we must hurry now,” Torger said, as he turned and began to walk quickly towards the back of the cavern.

  Master Clarisse had gotten down off her wagon, and Beezle had dismounted and joined us. “When there is a moment, we need to talk,” Master Clarisse said, and Beezle nodded in agreement. “But for now, I suggest we catch up with that man.”

  “Torger, his name is Torger,” I explained, feeling a bit uneasy with the serious expressions that had been on Master Clarisse’s and Beezle’s faces when she had said we needed to talk.

  “Torger, then, we need to follow Torger. I, for one, do not want to get lost in this cave and following him seems the best option,” Master Clarisse indicated, nodding her head over her shoulder.

  I glanced back to see that at least a dozen of Torger’s folk had entered the cavern behind us, were tending to the horses, and also were effectively blocking our way out of the cavern. While winding, the passage we took out of the cavern was not long. Soon we came into another cavern, which was about the same size as the one we had just left but had over a dozen exit tunnels of varying sizes leading off of it. The number of ways out gave me extra incentive not to lose sight of Torger. I got the shudders just thinking about taking the wrong exit, getting lost somewhere in the maze of passages that I imagined might be running through the r
ock we were traversing through, and ending up a long forgotten skeleton. Torger indicated we needed to pick up the pace, grabbed a torch from a pile next to the opening he was waiting by, lit it off a nearby lantern, and plunged ahead. Again the passage twisted and turned, rose and fell, and there were side passages branching off at irregular intervals. I began to doubt the wisdom of following Torger, for if he dashed off, we would never find our way back. Even as I thought that, I detected the faint scent of pine, and not just pine but other green growing thing smells, and then felt a faint breeze brush my cheek.

  Beezle, who had been following me, tapped my shoulder and whispered, “Look ahead, it is lighter.”

  He was right. I had been so busy concentrating on keeping my footing by both feel and sight on the rough gravel that lined the passage floor that I had not looked up and noticed that it was indeed lighter ahead. We soon came to the passage opening, and I halted so abruptly that Beezle ran into me, and Master Clarisse ran into Beezle.

  “Oof” was all I could say while trying to keep my balance, for spread before me was a small valley ringed entirely by high stone cliffs. It looked as if some giant hand had scooped out a large hole in a plateau. Across the way, a waterfall fell from a great height, and everywhere I looked there were openings in the cliff wall, but not cave mouth openings, but what looked like windows and doors. It dawned on me that the folk who lived here were literally cliff dwellers, and I had never heard of such. I heard Master Clarisse draw in a breath and turned to look at her.

  “The Günnary,” she said in almost reverent tones.

  “You know of us then,” Torger said, raising an eyebrow to emphasize his remark.