“Oh, why don’t you two kiss already?” Dahlia grumbled, startling Geneva and Mogame as they glanced back at her.
They nervously laughed and turned back to each other, gazing into the other’s eyes, until finally they did just that, stopping to clutch at and hug each other, kissing with all of their might and yearning. Geneva and Mogame parted for a moment, smacking their lips and grinning at each other before they kissed again.
Zeldos was isolated from everybody now with none of the Corricans wanting to speak to him after his attempt to denounce them to the people of Bahealfisaba. Even Wilama, who’d once embrace him like Geneva and Mogame were doing just now, wouldn’t even look at him anymore.
Zeldos tried to tell himself that this sequestering was worth it, that he’d tried his best to prevent them from regaining and abusing their clout, but he was still cut off from everybody. Not even the locals were willing to talk to him, still thinking of him as an outsider, and not a fellow advocate.
If it wasn’t for him, they wouldn’t be aware of the dangers that the Corricans posed, yet here he was, just as alone as he had been for most of his life. Zeldos wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him break down like this.
He’d find a way to stand out and make himself part of this new community. He wouldn’t be one of the Corricans anymore, but a citizen of Bahealfisaba, welcomed there like anyone else. He’d make this place his home, and find friends and family there that he’d support and who’d support him, no matter what.
At the same time, Lapida glanced over at the people of Bahealfisaba, studying them, and then her eyes widened. She tapped her little brother-in-law on the shoulder. “Corr, do you notice something different about these warriors?”
“Huh? What’re you talking about?” Corr asked, interrupted from his reverie on Kiki as he turned to his sister-in-law.
“Their armor, most of them aren’t wearing any, only leather padding or bronze pieces and shields.” Lapida scanned them again. “Their weapons are bronze too. Not a hint of iron, and certainly not steel, amongst them.”
“What does that mean?” Corr asked.
“I don’t think they know how to smelt iron ore or create steel.” Lapida smiled. “We might have an advantage on them that we could use to better our position in their society.”
“Are you going to charge them an exorbitant rate to make iron and steel for them?” Corr asked.
“You better believe it.” She said.
Dahlia, holding onto Jomo, found herself walking alongside Buzzbo. They didn’t say anything to each other for a few moments, wanting to avoid any topics that might lead to a feud, until finally Dahlia sighed.
“Why don’t we come to an arrangement? Alternate between Marko on certain nights.” She said.
Buzzbo stared at her. “I thought you wanted him to yourself.”
“In an ideal world, yes, I’d want a husband who wished to spend all of his time with me and our son. But as we live in a flawed reality, I must cope with the situation I’ve been given and deal equitably with you and my husband.”
Buzzbo frowned. “If you’re going to act like you’re a martyr here, I’d rather go back to hashing it out.”
“It’s an agreement! The sort of arrangement we had back in Corrica. Why wouldn’t you want to go back to that?”
“I don’t want to go back to that, with the guesthouse and everything.” Buzzbo groaned. “I’m tired of that. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m not talking about the guesthouse. We’re not going to have that anymore.” Dahlia grimaced. “I’m talking about something more fluid than that, I think. The arrangement doesn’t have to be completely separate. You said something about taking care of the baby while we were having the summit, and while you volunteered someone else for that, I think it’s not such a bad idea.”
“That isn’t quite what I said.” Buzzbo said.
“You can take care of Jomo when Marko and I are together. I trust you enough to do that now, especially since he’s older, though I need to advise you what to do and we should practice beforehand, get Jomo used to you.”
“I can take care of the baby easily enough. Marko could, too. Why don’t you let us hold him more often?” Buzzbo asked.
Dahlia stared at Buzzbo and suddenly handed Jomo over to him. Buzzbo carefully grasped and cradled the baby, and then Jomo started screaming. Buzzbo tried to calm and shush him down while Dahlia watched them together, nonchalant. A lot of people turned and stared, surprised when they hadn’t heard much of a peep from Jomo in all this time, and even Marko came over.
“What’s going on?” Marko asked over the crying and then he gaped at Jomo in Buzzbo’s arms. “You’re holding him? Dahlia, you let Buzzbo hold him before me?” He turned to his wife.
“It’s a demonstration. Jomo’s been like this a lot since the eruption.” Dahlia said. “Either he doesn’t want to be apart from me, or we’ve been so scared and close together all of this time, that he’s picked up on my anxiety, too.”
“What? Let me see him.” Marko said and Buzzbo handed Jomo over to Marko. The baby wouldn’t let up even when his father was holding him. “Dahlia, why didn’t you tell us this was an issue?” Marko asked.
“I thought it’d be better to try to wean him off of me after we got somewhere a little safer! Now that we’re almost at the village and our new home, you two can take charge of him more often! I need a break.” She murmured, wandering off as Marko and Buzzbo attempted to soothe Jomo.
“Uh, wait, Dahlia, could we have a little help?” Buzzbo turned after her. “Just a suggestion on what we should do now.”
“Let her go for a minute, Buzzbo. We can handle this. We’ll figure something out here.” Marko said, trying to take command of the situation.
“All right, but we’re going to need some advice eventually.” Buzzbo remarked, turning back to Marko and the baby.
Not far from them, Wilama and Anya walked together while Wintha wandered off, examining their surroundings. “We haven’t spoken much in the past few days.” Anya commented to Wilama.
“We’ve been busy and had to contend with our own problems.” Wilama glanced away from her. She hadn’t wanted to deal with Anya or anyone else, and certainly didn’t want to continue her trysts with Zeldos, as she wrestled with her own burgeoning abilities.
“That’s true. When we went through that mist…” Anya hesitated and turned to Wilama. “I saw something I didn’t understand and I don’t have a grasp on it, but if it’s true that there’s magic in this land and people can possess such capabilities we’ve never seen before, then maybe it’s possible we’ve been affected as well?”
“You mean that we have sorcery as well?” Wilama said, trying to act unaware, as if she hadn’t already felt the metamorphosis taking place inside her, and wasn’t trying to hide it.
“I’m not saying that, or at least not yet.” Anya frowned. “There’s so much we don’t know about this place, about what we might be capable of, if we did have this magic. We could be sorcerers, for all we know, and what about the other people? What’re they capable of as well?”
“I’m sure we’ll figure it out eventually.” Wilama patted Anya on the back. “You should relax, and ease yourself gently into this world and new experience.”
“I can’t, I have to find out everything. We could be so far behind everyone here that it’s not funny. Who knows what we might face?”
Wilama frowned, contemplating that possibility, while Wintha returned and faced them. “We could go see the seer they have near the village.” Wintha remarked. “Maybe she’ll help us out and give us the knowledge we need to learn more about magic.”
“That’s a splendid idea! Let’s go see her.” Wilama said.
“Okay. At least it’d be better than nothing before we ask the other villagers for help.” Anya said.
Meanwhile, the villagers of Bahealfisaba, walking alongside their wagon that Kozu was driving, observed the Corricans and mutt
ered amongst themselves, trying to determine who these people were and what they were like. They had different groups and families amongst them, different allegiances and alliances amongst each other, and their behaviors could indicate the smallest change or shift amongst them.
“These Corricans could be affable, although there are a few that could threaten us, and they don’t have any skill or familiarity with magic?” Rowena shook her head. “That could be a deterrent for us, if they’re jealous and resent our faculties, or if we have to introduce them to an entirely different concept and viewpoint than they’re used to.”
“We’ll have to accommodate them, though, or they’ll never become part of our community.” Demetrius said. “We have to incorporate them as much as possible, or they’ll be left out and further alienated from us.”
“But how do we do that?” Oran asked. “How can we possibly help them adjust to this strange new environ for them?”
“We’ll have to try. Perhaps a few of us might befriend the Corricans, one at a time, and see if we can’t make some headway there?” Cassandra said, glancing over at Zeldos walking alone in the distance, downhearted and dejected.
“You’re right, that’s an excellent idea.” Kalino nodded. “We should extend our hands, as much as we’re able to, and give them some leeway as we assist them.”
“It’s hopeless.” Kozu muttered, shaking his head as he minded the oxen pulling the wagon. “We’ll never make them like us at all.”
“I think we could.” Kiki nodded. “Father and the rest are correct. The Corricans deserve a chance, and I believe we should partner up with them, if that’s the right word.”
The others stared at Kiki, but Rowena said, “That’s right enough. I’ll partner up with that Mogame the scholar. He seemed intelligent or at least curious. Perhaps he might be able to grasp things quickly enough.” The others agreed, and decided who’d assist whom, once they were back at the village.
Chapter Ten:
Traces of Magic
Heading back to the village of Bahealfisaba, they cut away from the distributary near the outpost and trooped through the forest. The next day, they reached the banks of the larger main river, known as the Danueva to the villagers. It flowed from east to west north of the village, but then turned south at a bend and ran past the farmland and village that the people claimed.
From there, the Danueva would eventually enter the land claimed by the people of Anjia, to the west and south of Bahealfisaba, and stream into the ocean. The Corricans stared at their new home, the farms and homesteads grouped along either side of the cleared banks beside the river, and farther south, the main village on the eastern side of the river, a collection of longhouses and roundhouses.
They wandered along the western bank of the river, and crossed at a bridge, the farmers and villagers looking up along the way to greet their neighbors and friends returning, but found themselves gazing upon strangers amongst them. Word spread throughout the surrounding area, and by the time the troupe reached the main village, they were flocked by dozens of people, gaping at the Corricans and remarking upon their odd adornment.
The Corricans were nervous, but managed to compose themselves, as Kalino and his companions took them to meet their assembly. After everyone received the translation spell, and heard the Corricans’ story, it was decided the Corricans would be allowed to settle uncleared forest east of the village, along a stretch close to the riverside.
Zeldos requested a smaller allotment separate from the others, and he was granted a small patch close to a large boulder and a strand of birch trees that no one had wanted. Zeldos gladly accepted such a gift, promising he’d make a fine home there. So the Corricans were permitted to start clearing land there, and they were invited to stay at other people’s homes while preparations were underway.
Demetrius took in Marko and his family, Kalino took in Hasbas’s family, Oran welcomed Geneva and members of her family to stay with him, while Cassandra invited Zeldos to share her family’s home and Rowena asked Mogame if he’d like to stay with her. The Corricans were divided up amongst the villagers, including the rest of the company that Porran and Huette brought back with them from the coast.
Soon they were all relatively settled, and the Corricans looked forward to having their own homes again, though it might be several months before everything was ready. The Corricans and some of the villagers worked together, felling trees, digging up and clearing out stumps, as they surveyed the uncovered terrain and marked out where the different homes and farms would be located.
Zeldos went off as soon as he could to look over the patch of land he’d call his home, gazing upon the trees and the boulder at the center of a clearing. “These birches should probably go. They’ll make nice wood for furniture.” He said to himself, admiring them.
“Are you sure? Those birches are lovely. They deserve a better fate than to wind up as somebody’s table.” Zeldos heard a voice say, and turned around to face Cassandra, walking into the clearing.
“What’re you doing here?” He asked her. “Shouldn’t you be back at your workshop, carving wood from such trees? I thought a carpenter like you would appreciate the bark of these fine birches.”
“Yes, which is why you shouldn’t cut them down, but let them remain standing and growing. They’re also supposed to be sacred trees.” Cassandra said. “That’s one of the reasons why no one wanted to settle this land, because they were concerned that they might disturb the Fay spirits who claim these trees as their homes.”
“Ridiculous. What’re these Fay spirits that everyone’s worried about?”
“The Fay live on the far side of the world, on a magical island in the ocean, but sometimes they come to visit the mainland, spreading their fortune, good luck, and magic everywhere. Other times, however, they come to die on this side of the world, as their land’s a timeless place where death’s not allowed. So they come to birch groves like this one where they wallow in pain and misery before they die, but their spirits don’t pass on. They remain hidden inside the trees, protecting the forest and all who dwell in it. Some say that those who cut the birch trees down are cursed, and will wallow in such pain and misery, like the Fay did.”
Zeldos stared at her. “That’s a good story. Are you sure you’re not a rhapsode?”
“What’s a rhapsode?”
“A singer or storyteller. I was one once, though I was forced to take on such a role by my masters.” He grimaced. “It soured me a little on the prospect, though I can sing well enough and my storytelling abilities are adequate.”
“That’s a shame. No one should be forced to do what they don’t want to do, especially if it ruins something that might otherwise give them pleasure and pride.”
“That’s what I think, too.” Zeldos glanced at her. “All right, I won’t cut down the birch trees. But I still want to build my house near here, or at least a little hut. Someplace I can call home.”
“I won’t stop you from doing that. I just gave you a fair warning.” She looked around. “This is a nice place. I can imagine it being a good homestead for you.”
“Yes, but the boulder’s annoying, too.” Zeldos stared at the rock, right near the center of the clearing. “It’s just sitting there, taking up prime space. I could build my house there, but the boulder takes up too much room.”
“No, this would be a good area for dancing or meeting people.” Cassandra circled around the rock. “I could just picture it now, a bonfire lit up over there, people cavorting around the place, and even a few who might be bold or brave enough to climb and stand up on top of the rock, cheering at the crowd.”
Zeldos guffawed. “What would they say, once they’d climbed up on top of the rock?”
“They’d ask someone to marry them, of course.” Cassandra smiled at him. “Wouldn’t you want to propose to a pretty girl from up there?”
“No, I’d be scared stiff.”
Cassandra laughed at him and then they danced around the boulder, which
she declared would be called Lovers’ Rock.
ℜℜℜ
Hasbas examined the land he claimed, surprised that everything had worked out so well for them after the trauma they’d been through. He’d never imagined, as a soldier with a small stipend who could barely afford the apartment he, Lapida, and Corr lived in, that he’d one day have his own farmland, after losing almost everything else.
It was mind-boggling to him and he was so relieved that they were safe and happy here when so many others had lost their lives. He was grateful for the opportunities that came his way that led them here, yet he also regretted that he couldn’t have done more to save other people.
He’d live with that guilt the rest of his life, he knew, when he was a soldier and protector at heart. He might be a farmer someday soon, but he’d keep his sword and the memories close with him, too. Right now, though, he was planning on how he’d set up his farm, where the buildings would be located, what sort of crops they might plant, or the animals they might raise.
He’d make this a home, a place to be proud of for his wife and the children they’d have, and where his little brother Corr could grow up into a man. This was a good terrain, after all.
Meanwhile, Lapida visited the village’s forges and confirmed her suspicions that they didn’t have the means to process iron. She showed off a piece of her husband’s armor to the metalworkers and informed them that she could create similar pieces, weapons, and tools if they paid her, and she could train them in the process for a higher fee.
They accepted both of her offers, and she began to rework their smithies, improving their ovens to reach the higher temperature necessary for forging steel. They went out, searching for iron ore deposits, and once they mined it, Lapida began to refine it, crafting the metal into finer bits suitable for their work.
In time, Lapida was manufacturing a few swords, other weapons, and tools they needed for farming. The forgers marveled at her work and they began to copy her as much as they were able to, learning the method through some trial and error.
Survivors of Corrica Page 10
