by Guy Antibes
Whit was awarded the message tube by the referee and now had no competitors who could touch him. Pin’s team still had to deliver the tube and there were three soldiers evading four scouts. He waited for a moment until it looked like the last battle might be a tie. The scouts flew to join Whit.
“What do we do now?” one of them said.
Whit went through the various scenarios, “Let’s change positions.”
They called to the coach to have him switch Whit to a scout. Once the announcement had been made Whit nodded to the others. They flew around exchanging the message back and forth across their side of midfield where the soldiers couldn’t go.
The other coach declared all three of his soldiers scouts in a move that surprised Whit. The evasion strategy wouldn’t work any longer, but Whit flew to the edge of the field, and withstanding a blast of wind and a tongue of flame, he grabbed the message tube and sped to the home tube, leaving all the other players trying to catch up to him, until Whit easily dropped the tube into the home, and the match was over. Pin’s team won ten to nine again.
The coaches and other players joined surviving scouts and soldiers in the middle of the field to celebrate the win.
Whit and Razz stood with Pin’s coach as the spectators began to come on the field.
“I thought we would surprise you,” the losing coach said to Whit. “I didn’t appreciate how fast you can fly.”
“It’s always a good idea to save up some energy for the very end,” Whit said, although that was to cover up his intentionally slower play. “I hadn’t expected magic to be allowed. It isn’t in Ayce.”
“Every league has its own rules,” Pin’s coach said.
“No out of bounds in Ayce,” Razz said. “Everyone pretty much sticks to the field of play.”
“I don’t know if I like that,” the other coach said. “That takes away a dimension of the game.”
“It doesn’t matter as long as everyone uses the same rules,” Pin said, beaming as he joined them on the field.
“I had expected the old man to come out,” the other coach said.
“The old man gave way to the sky elves from Herringbone. Now you have a taste of what it is to play scout with other folk,” Pin’s coach said.
“A bad taste, if they all play like you two,” the other coach said. He laughed. “It was good experience, and it gave a little more spice to those putting money down on the match.”
“It did indeed,” Pin said, the grin still sticking to his face.
~
“Here are your winnings,” Pin said, plopping down two fat purses on the table at the inn.
“I’m not a professional,” Whit said.
“You are for one day. I can’t say I’ve enjoyed betting on a match more,” Pin said. “All the money is in Perisian currency. Consider it spending money in a new country.”
“I’m already in a new country,” Whit said to Pin.
The older man shrugged. “Then in a newer country.”
Whit peeked inside the purse. “You won all that on the game?”
“I rode you all the way to the end. The final betting when the score was tied in the third battle, was frenetic,” Yetti said. “I put a bit of money on Pin’s team and came out ahead.” She leaned over and peeked in Razz’s purse. “Not as well as you, but it is found money as far as I’m concerned.”
Pin treated them to a better dinner than they expected, and everyone listened to Razz and Whit describe the match for those who hadn’t gone while Pin gave them a running commentary on the odds.
Whit returned to his room and reclined on his bed, finally feeling exhausted from the day’s activities. He grinned to himself. Everyone was happy and looking forward to leaving in two days for Garri.
The good feelings carried over to the next day until a few hours after lunch when a dark shadow crossed the door to the inn’s common room. Whit looked up from eating a few snacks along with an ale and put the snack down on the table. His pleasant feelings vanished when he looked into the eyes of an enraged Greeb Deechie.
~
“You owe me a great deal of money. I couldn’t leave that damned jail until I paid an outrageous bribe.”
“We left all your funds at the inn with your clothes. We thought you might think the better of it and return to Herringbone.”
“Not possible. I’m the advisor, and I must continue until you are successful or your team makes a decision to quit,” Deechie said.
“We aren’t quitting, so it appears you won’t either,” Gambol said. “I expected you to catch up to us. We’d never be able to make the same time that you did.”
Deechie frowned. “I have been severely inconvenienced,” he said. “I expect compensation.”
“From whom?” Zarl said, walking up to the table. “When did you arrive in Barkle Town?”
“A few hours ago. I had to find you, but it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Your fame precedes you, Whit Varian,” Deechie said. “I hadn’t expected to be chasing a local hero.”
Whit didn’t take the comment to be a compliment, and it wasn’t. Deechie’s expression only got more thunderous.
“Have an ale,” Whit said, pulling out a chair for Deechie. “I’ll tell you what you missed.”
Deechie looked around at most of the team, now assembling around the table. Razz pulled another one closer before ordering a round of drinks. Pin walked into the common room.
“Who is he?” the pixie said, pointing to the human. “Your babysitter returned early?”
Deechie rose from his chair. “Babysitter! Is that what you think of me?” he said.
“Yes,” Fistian said. “Now sit down and catch up.” He gently pushed Deechie back into his seat while Whit told the advisor what he missed.
Deechie remained unhappy, but the anger was mollified when Argien reminded him that he had missed the staged fight in the village.
“So, what is your story?” Deechie said to Pin.
Pin explained why the team had brought him in to their expedition.
“A discredited courtier?” Deechie asked. “You aren’t serious, are you?” he said to Gambol.
“And you are experienced in the pixie king’s court?” Gambol asked. “Pin knows the players and understands Garri, a place where none of us have been.”
Deechie glared at Pin. “He can come as long as he refrains from calling me a babysitter.”
Pin grinned. “I’ll take that under consideration, human.” He asked Deechie for his arm, but the human wasn’t having any of that and moved farther from Pin.
“He can’t come with us!” Deechie said, his anger returning. He held his arms close to his body.
“Let’s see,” Razz said. “It’s either Pin, who has quickly become a friend to us all, or you, who is a disagreeable wretch. I’d say we leave you behind, again.”
Deechie stared at Razz, but Whit could see the human thinking. Deechie sighed. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll let him come.”
Everyone laughed. At the end of the table, Deechie stared at the mug of ale in front of him but said nothing.
“We leave tomorrow,” Whit said. “Don’t be late if you want to continue with us.”
Chapter Seven
~
P in insisted on riding in Deechie’s carriage. Whit put Yetti in the same coach. He decided to drive. Argien volunteered to keep Whit company as they took off for Perisia. The road was cobbled all the way to the hilly border where it turned into rutted dirt. The Festorian guards checked their papers, but there were no pixie guards. The shack looked derelict, although Whit and Gambol found a ledger inside for those wanting to document their entrance or exit.
“I don’t want us to appear to be sneaking into Perisia,” Whit said. “Not when we are going to ask to take out ancient artifacts.”
Gambol chuckled. “It’s hard to sneak out of a country riding in two carriages, but from what I can see, the pixies take a casual approach to national security.”
/> They stepped back out into their carriages and just as the carriage in front began to roll into Perisia, the carriages were surrounded by pixies.
“Stop!” a fancy-uniformed pixie stood with two uniformed guards on either side.
Whit did as the pixie asked.
“Did you know that Perisia is a closed country?” the officer said.
“I do,” Whit said. “We are visiting on University of Herringbone business.”
“You have proof of that?”
“I do,” Whit said. “Do you want to see it?”
“I do,” the pixie said with a smirk on his face.
Gambol climbed out of his carriage with the official paperwork that all teams carried and handed it to the officer.
“They have two pixies with them,” one of the guards told the officer after he had walked around the carriages.
“What does that mean?” Gambol asked.
“They are to report to the Garri city hall.”
“I know where it is,” Pin said, climbing down from the carriage. “I will take responsibility for everyone, including myself.” He handed the officer something.
The head guard’s eyebrows rose as he examined whatever it was Pin had given him.
“Go on ahead. The lady will have to register.”
“Don’t worry,” Pin said. He exercised his back. “Let’s get going.” Pin jumped up on the driver’s bench with Whit. “Time for additional information.”
Whit nodded to the guards as Gambol accepted their papers, and they left the border behind them. He waited for Pin to tell him something.
“Did you notice that the road is in terrible condition?” Pin asked.
“It rattles my teeth,” Whit said, although it wasn’t that bad.
“Garri nobles and the Magician’s Circle have absconded with the bricks that paved the road for new buildings. You’ll see the monstrosities in Garri. They have even stripped most of the building materials of the old capital.”
“This all happened since you’ve been gone?”
Pin shook his head. “It started long ago, a few centuries ago. It is easier to redress bricks and stones to reuse them. No one wanted to make bricks, so they began to use old ones. I tried to get them to stop when I was more influential, but by then stealing bricks was common practice. With my lost power, I couldn’t do a thing.”
“Your magic deserted you?”
Pin laughed and shook his head. “Political. I have kept up with my contacts, but without the king’s support, courtiers often look to others for influence. I refused to do that and found myself uncomfortably isolated. That is when I decided to leave. My influence is a bit spotty you might say, but you won’t be disappointed with the contacts I can use.”
“What can we expect? Will we be asked for our papers every time we enter a village?”
Pin shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been gone long enough, seven years, to be a bit unfamiliar with current practices, but as long as we are together, my token will get us through just about anything.”
“Can I see it?”
Pin handed over a palm-sized metal badge. Whit was impressed by the thickness and the etching work on the front. He couldn’t read the writing very well since it was the same script that they had to translate.
“Royal pass?” Whit asked Pin. “Perhaps that is a name,” he pointed to characters that didn’t make sense to him.
“You can read the ancient writing?” Pin asked in a surprised voice.
“I had to learn a bit of it to translate some documents in Herringbone,” Whit said.
“Any educated Perisian knows what this badge represents even if they can’t read as much as you. It can get me in the palace compound, but not into the king’s presence,” Pin said.
“You might be able to get an audience with this?” Whit asked, giving the token back to the pixie.
Pin nodded. “There are still rules to follow, but probably nothing too much different than the laws in Herringbone and Ayce.”
Whit realized that he had grown up gradually getting accustomed to the laws in Ayce. “Probably not,” he said without having to think too much more about it. “What about the closed aspects?”
“Closed countries are all a bit different. Here, you can’t stay for more than a year or own any property. You can take a job, but once your year is up, you can’t return for another year.”
“And what happens to those who violate their time of stay?”
“It used to be three months in prison and then banishment forever,” Pin said, but Whit could see a ghost of a smile on Pin’s face.
“You have something else to say?”
“There are lots of servants who change their names every year. I know a pixie in Barkle Town who makes a good living creating papers for the other folk.” The smile turned into a grin. “You won’t have to worry much if you stay for a bit, but I don’t recommend dawdling while you’re on your expedition.”
Whit expected a reply similar to that. “I admit I’m excited to see Garri. It is my first foreign capital to visit.”
Pin chuckled. “I’m sure it won’t be your last. Stay close until we are well situated in our inn. I know of a few that are built for you taller folk.”
“We would appreciate that,” Whit said.
~
Although the hills looked the same on both sides of the border, the villages and towns they passed through looked different. The scale was smaller like Barkle Town, but instead of being brick, the pixies used timber-framed construction with brightly colored plaster walls. Instead of tile and slate roofs, more than half the roofs were thatched or covered with thick wooden shingles.
Farms and orchards were less orderly than Festor.
Gambol looked out the window, now that Whit had relinquished his driving duties. Whit was in a different carriage with Deechie and Gambol. “Gnome agriculture would never look like that. Straight lines and uniform rows are the rule,” Gambol said.
Whit looked over at Deechie. “What about human farms?”
“How would I know? I grew up in Brind. It’s more like Ayce, but with more humans. I’d say Brind was more like Festor than Perisia,” Deechie said, looking out disinterestedly”
Finally, a rational statement from the human. Whit turned to Gambol, who sat next to him. “So, gnomes are more like humans?” Whit asked.
“I’d say so,” Gambol said.
“Elves. We are more like elves,” Deechie said.
Whit didn’t pursue that line of conversation. “What about crop yields?” Whit asked Gambol.
“Festor is by far the most productive followed by Junira on Aeria Island. Junira is mostly cultivated by humans and Festor agriculture has more gnomes involved,” Gambol said. “Pixies are said to be happier farmers, and there might be a correlation between happiness and a lack of discipline.”
Deechie grunted. “Can you talk about something else?”
“You fancy yourself as more elven?” Gambol asked.
“Of course. I’m in the College of Magic!” Deechie said, shifting his body and looking out the window.
“Where does Razz have us staying tonight?” Gambol asked.
“Saintsong, a town close to the old capital.”
Deechie sat up. “Do the pixies worship the saints? I thought no one did anymore.”
“Perisia was one of the last places. You’ll find a few monasteries and nunneries in the country, but most of those are more like magic academies or places of retreat,” Gambol said. “The old capital is not far to the northeast. We will still be going mostly south.”
“There are artifacts in Garri? None in the old capital?” Deechie asked.
“I don’t know,” Whit said. “Our sources say there are three or four parts in Perisia. I would guess they would be in a Garri museum. That is the first place to look.”
Deechie nodded and then folded his arms tightly around him as he snuggled up to a corner and closed his eyes.
Gambol looked at Whit and nod
ded. The documents didn’t say where the parts were, but it claimed they were found over the centuries and hidden together. The record didn’t indicate they were in a museum, but Whit guessed. He was sure Deechie would be sending a letter to the other team along the way telling them to go to Garri.
In an hour, they reached Saintsong. It was like the rest of Perisia but with higher towers. They arrived before dinner time. Some travelers wanted to sleep in their rooms and others decided to walk around the town.
Haphazard was the word that came to Whit’s mind as Argien and Zarl accompanied him. They walked past an ancient building with a tall spire. The stonework was a cacophony of shapes and patterns, and Whit noticed the ancient pixish characters saying something he couldn’t immediately interpret across the archway above four sets of doors. Argien wanted to step inside.
It was a church to a saint. No one worshipped, that Whit could see, but the place was kept in good enough shape for a building so old. Argien stopped a woman dressed in a dark blue filmy dress. Her hair was braided and coiled on top of her head.
“This was a church?” Argien asked.
“It still is. It is dedicated to Saint Varetta, patron saintess of the pixies.”
“What are the services like?” Argien asked.
“The liturgy has been long lost,” the woman said. “Now it is one of personal prayer and contemplation. We also supervise retreats to restore pixie magic and to restore one’s soul.”
“Varetta does that?” Zarl asked.
“No. Varetta ceased to do anything centuries ago when the rest of the saints left us. We use her legendary attributes as a personal focus. Prayer is to the Great All.”
The Great All was the ubiquitous Fortian deity and was so amorphous and worshipped in so many ways, that Whit thought it had become a sham to provide a profession to charlatans. Perhaps the pixies had a purer vision of the Great All, he thought.
“Are you interested in the saints, young man? You are an angel, aren’t you? We don’t get many of your kind in Perisia and in Saintsong,” the woman said and then turned to Zarl. “And ogres too. You’ve made my day memorable.”
