by Jim Galford
It was early on the third day that they finally reached the foothills, with Finth and Yoska having taken turns guiding the horses. Linn had woken during the night, but said nothing, sitting in the corner wrapped in the blanket he was given. They had passed several small villages along the way, but every one of them had been still as they approached, prompting them to continue on without stopping, out of fear that the undead might still be lurking there, though it was far more likely that the residents were among the creatures attacking Lantonne.
At last, the wagon rattled into the first rises of the foothills. Far ahead, the mountains loomed, their peaks already covered with snow, even a little early in the season.
“The pack will be meeting us there,” Feanne told Finth, pointing at a pair of mountain peaks that were recognizable at quite a distance. “There are many good canyons and valleys to hide in at their bases. Ulra should be watching for travelers such as ourselves to guide them in.”
Finth leaned back, staring up into the heights she had indicated.
“Seriously, woman? That has got to be the most gods-forsaken ass-end of the world…”
“Where even the undead will not care to search,” she finished for him, smiling up at the peaks. “Lihuan took me there once as a kit. It’s a hard area to get into and looks like it should not support life. Once you get past the avalanches and a long section of wind, sun, and beetle-damaged trees, it’s rather nice. Streams, good soil, lots of wildlife. I had thought about running away to there when I got old enough to rebel against my father.”
“So…was at two years? Three? I do not understand your peoples’ aging,” noted Yoska, sipping from a small flask. “To me, you say you were young and I think twelve, but I do not think you are that old, even now.”
“I’ll agree with the gypsy for the first time ever,” croaked Linn, one of the first things he had managed to utter since waking. His voice was weak and scratchy. He raised his bloodshot eyes and looked over his companions from the corner he sat in. “My niece can’t even walk well yet and she’s almost two. Just crawls around.”
Finth, still staring up at the peaks, tossed in, “For my people, I’m hearing her say she was thirty or so…usual age the snot-noses start wanting to run away from their parents. Then again, those two rugrats in back are about as grown as our twenty year-olds.”
Feanne glowered at the two men, glancing back at Estin for some support. He just shrugged and gave Oria a playful shove.
“I am well past ten and the leader of my pack. My parents were in their late thirties when they passed beyond, having been quite old when they had me.”
Yoska gave her a surprised look, then leaned back into the wagon to look at Estin.
“And you?”
“A few months past eight, I think. Not real sure.”
Shaking his head, Yoska let out a low whistle.
“You all confuse me. I am fifty-some winters and feel an old man. I travel with two who are younger than some of my grandchildren, yet are long-since adults, plus one who would likely consider me the child. This is why the gypsies keep to themselves…no one else has the sense to age properly. You could drive a man to drink…I think I shall…”
Atall bounded up onto the front seat, landing between Finth and Yoska, staring at the gypsy intently.
“You’re old,” the boy said, studying Yoska’s face. “I don’t think I can even get that old.”
“My grandson told me the same, once. I will tell you what I tell him…keep calling your elders old and you will certainly not live to be an elder yourself. Is rude, especially to a gypsy. I am in my prime. Ask any of my wives.”
Feanne’s eyes went wide and she pulled Atall into the back of the wagon quickly.
“Wives?” she asked, holding the boy.
Estin glanced over at Oria, whose face was crinkled up in confusion. She looked back at him and mouthed, “What’s a wife?”
“Yes, of course,” the gypsy went on, gesturing to Finth to get the wagon moving again. “Let me tell you about all six of them. There are many stories of each, so this should get us well into mountains…”
As Estin explained to Oria the difference between human marriage and their peoples’ life-matings, Feanne listened with a look of horror on her face as Yoska described a series of women, most of whom he had won via contests of wit or drinking. By the time he had finished, Feanne appeared very nearly ready to run screaming into the woods that the wagon was making its way into, slowed by the uneven ground.
“…and that is how to properly bed a gypsy woman,” continued the man, leaning in his seat, but waving his arms as though explaining to an expansive group in front of him. “Is about being properly-dressed, show a little flair, then get her truly drunk. What woman can resist a gypsy man sober, let alone after both have been drinking?”
“Now, my fifth wife, she is what you call halfling. Very fine woman and can cook such wonderful food. That is how you bed a gypsy man…through stomach.”
Estin at this point realized that Feanne actually had her hands clamped over Atall’s ears.
“Why would any female put up with this, let alone that many?” she demanded, still not quite shaking the horrified expression. “I would kill a male that tried to bring in more females. I have heard a few breeds tolerate this, but not mine. The moment my mate brought home a second female, either her or my mate…or both…would be dying in the mountains somewhere.”
“Ah, is not such a big deal for the gypsy ladies either, yes? One of my cousins has three husbands. Is all about keeping the family strong.”
Feanne took her hands off Atall’s ears and held up her hands, saying, “Please…just please stop. You are making my head hurt.”
“Is not meant to offend,” Yoska told her politely, turning around to face her. “I do apologize. Is only meant to make you think.”
“Of what? That gypsies have no place in my pack?”
“No, that you may not have all the answers yet. A heart must be open to its options.”
Feanne appeared perplexed at that, shaking her head.
“I do not care to have answers like that when I have no questions that go with them. Just…just help Finth drive.”
Yoska obediently went back to talking with Finth, the two sharing the flask as the wagon wandered onwards and upwards.
“That man is insane,” Feanne told Estin, closing the flap of cloth between the wagon’s bench seat and the living area in back. “I need to be more careful about what he says around these two.”
“Oh, mom, they’re just different,” Oria told Feanne, looking up from scratching random drawings into the floorboards with her finger. “Not everyone’s the same breed…who cares how someone else finds their mate?”
“This is not exactly a conversation for you two to be having,” Feanne told the girl, eyeing Atall as well. “No one’s talking about or thinking about finding mates for at least two more years, if not a lot longer. Got it?”
The twins nodded vigorously, but remained mischievous-looking…though Estin realized that unless they were sad or scared, the two always looked that way. Something in the breed, he told himself.
It was at this point that Estin finally found himself yawning, having slept less than an hour each day during the trip. The few times he had managed to doze off, sudden shifts in the wagon as it hit rocks would jar him awake, thinking that the undead had caught them. He had always sat right up, usually finding Feanne lazily staring out the back of the wagon as she held the children, who seemed immune to any further anxiety about their predicament. Finth and Yoska were oblivious to it all, often managing to fall into a deep sleep while still in the front seat of the wagon. Linn drifted in and out of sleep continually, the poison’s effects still lingering.
This time, Estin curled up near the back of the wagon, flopping his tail over his face to shield himself from the sunlight. Almost immediately, both kits dove in alongside him.
Since the start of the trip, the kits had been quite willing
and able to sleep, mostly during the day as was their breed’s way, like Estin’s. What they would not do is sleep if someone else was not also bedding down. That meant that during the brief shifts with Estin or Feanne driving the wagon, the kits were climbing all over the adults and generally making the horses nervous.
When Feanne or he had been able to manage a few minutes of sleep, the kits always took the chance to “rest,” as they put it, usually falling deeply asleep against whichever adult they were using as a pillow. This time was no different, with Oria even going so far as to pick up Estin’s tail—surprising him as the sunlight suddenly hit him in the face—and wrapping it around herself and her brother like an oddly-shaped blanket.
Without his tail quite being able to reach his face again, Estin blinked and adjusted his position slightly to move his face out of the sunlight. In doing so, he saw Feanne watching the kits and him, smiling absently as she too fought to stay awake. When Estin looked at her though, she immediately closed her eyes and lay down to sleep.
Estin slept a long time that day, finally giving in after the short bouts of sleep he had managed to get since leaving the city. When he did wake, it was late in the afternoon and Feanne had moved up front to talk to Finth, while Yoska dozed in the back with Estin and the children.
He yawned and started to go back to sleep, but Oria flicked one of his whiskers to get his attention, leaning so that her nose was almost pressed into his ear.
“Shhh,” she said so quietly that he could barely hear her, even as close as she was. “Don’t wake Atall.”
Estin glanced past the girl and saw that Atall was still out cold, Estin’s tail clutched tightly across his chest. It was a singularly rare occurrence that one of the kits woke without the other.
“I know,” Oria said, still whispering. “Please don’t tell.”
Blinking and wondering if he had missed a conversation while asleep, Estin asked her, “You know what?”
Oria fidgeted, then winced when her brother moved. She waited until he settled again before saying anything else.
“I know about my dad.”
Estin wanted to hide any reaction, but knew his eyes were likely wide and his jaw was hanging.
“What do you think you know, Oria?”
“He’s dead,” she said softly as she puffed up her chest, as she often did when she was trying to be tough. “I kept Atall from seeing. Mom always told me I needed to be stronger than the males so they didn’t push me around. I needed to see what happened.”
The girl took a long shaky breath, then added, “Dad fell right in front of the place he hid us and I could see through the lock. If you hadn’t come, eventually Atall would have seen him. That’s why I made us stay in there, so he wouldn’t see. I saw what they did to him and I didn’t want Atall to have to, too.”
Oria quieted down as Atall sat up, blinking and licking his nose. He looked around tiredly, staring blankly, but clearly struggling to stay awake after seeing that his sister was already up.
“Your secret is safe with me,” Estin whispered in Oria’s ear as he gave her a hug.
A rumble in the distance caught Estin’s ear and he looked around, trying to find the direction it came from.
Opening the back flap of the wagon’s covering, Estin watched as a sheet of flame roared across the horizon from somewhere near Lantonne and extending miles to the south. A moment later, it was gone, the sky blackened by smoke.
“They’re getting bloody serious!” shouted Finth from the front of the wagon. “Never seen anything like that.”
The wagon rumbled on and for the rest of the afternoon, Estin and the children watched the horizon, but saw nothing else amiss. Eventually, they relaxed and settled in, the kits munching on dried meats and bread. It was hardly tasty or even overly filling, but it kept their stomachs filled. Estin, on the other hand, looked over the food and set his aside, still not quite hungry enough for more meat. The labor camp had served them everything from horse stew to oxen-tongue stew, trying to use up any resource they had available.
As the kits ate, Feanne came back from the front of the wagon, eyeing Estin’s uneaten food on the floor of the wagon. She held up her skirt and stepped nimbly over Yoska—who managed to sleep through most everything—and Linn, whose dazed expression did not really tell Estin if he was awake or not.
“I have a bit of a surprise for Estin,” Feanne said to the kits, smiling broadly as she unwrapped a knot in the side of the skirt that she had donned for their escape and just not bothered to change out of. Both kits hopped almost on top of her, trying to see what she was extracting from the folds in the garment. “You have put up with me and the kits long enough that I feel you earned it.”
“Feanne…”
“I insist. If you are going to be our guard, you can put up with me turning it around and catering to you once in a while.”
She finally got the last fold out and produced a massive orange.
“I bought this back in Lantonne,” Feanne told him, ignoring the gagging noises the kits made when they saw what it was. “We have no idea when we might find more, particularly this time of year, so I thought I would save it for you.”
Estin was speechless and hesitated to take the fruit from her. Then, his mouth watering and realizing that he was being a touch rude, he took it and held it close to his chest.
“Thank you, Feanne,” he murmured. “I haven’t exactly been the nicest person to deal with lately.”
“I never have been. Enjoy the fruit.”
Estin bit into the orange, not bothering to skin it. He had never understood the human fascination with getting rid of part of the fruit and not having had any fresh fruit in many months, he was not about to take the time. Happily, he sunk his teeth into the fruit, feeling pure joy as the juices ran down his jaw. Some instincts never quite fade, he thought to himself, chewing happily.
“In some cultures, you two are now married,” mumbled Yoska, rolling over in his sleep, opening his eyes only slightly. “Lady gives man food, he accept, they then have lots of cute pudgy children. Sometimes man must give different food back to lady to show he will care for her, too. Be very careful who you give food to, Estin. Is no room for more children in wagon.”
Feanne groaned and pointed angrily at the front of the wagon, sending Yoska up to the bench, as the kits giggled endlessly at her expense. The man grumbled the whole way until Feanne had closed the dividing cloth between the wagon insides and the front.
Estin just chuckled and ate the orange, not terribly concerned about the teasing of children over something as simple as fruit. He only barely noticed the jokingly nauseated faces they gave him, sputtering about how “gross” fruit was.
While he ate, Feanne sat down beside him, carefully picking at his fur, clearing away the matting and burs. At first, Estin froze, startled, but she chided him and continued her work, just as she had the night before with the kits. Though most wildlings would not groom someone they were not close to, it was not unheard of to care for a dear friend in that manner, so he had to convince himself to relax and let her brush out his fur.
By the time he had finished the orange and gotten as much of the juice as he could out of his fur, both kits were already distracted with trying to see if they could pounce a bug that had flown into the wagon without squishing it. Feanne meanwhile had finished most of her work, settling in to fuss with Estin’s tail. That made him even more uncomfortable, sitting there, having his tail cleaned and groomed by someone he was trying very hard not to show any feelings for. Just her concern alone made his heart beat more quickly, wishing he could stop pretending.
“Estin,” wheezed Linn several minutes later, surprising Estin. “Please come here.”
Feanne released Estin’s tail, shooing him away as she sat down with the kits and Estin shifted over by Linn, taking a seat at the human’s side.
“I owe you an apology,” the man said, his voice fading until he had to clear his throat to get it back. “My commander n
ever told me what we were starting back in that quarry. I owe you more than my life for what you did, even if the result was unpleasant.”
“No need for apologies. You couldn’t have known.”
Linn closed his eyes for a short time, as though mustering his strength to stay awake.
“Linn, were you with the others right to the end?”
The man opened his eyes again, nodding grimly.
“Most died in the hole. The rest of us barely had time to react when the crossbows unloaded on us from Lantonne’s soldiers.”
Estin thought through his question carefully.
“I don’t want to belittle the deaths of any of your people,” he said, fumbling for politeness, “but I need to know…”
“I ordered all of the volunteers to run when I found out what was happening,” Linn answered. “Only my soldiers were captured or executed, to the best of my knowledge. Most of your people got away from the quarry. Beyond that, I do not know. I am sorry.”
Estin thanked him softly, then checked his temperature and pulse, finding that the man’s condition had actually worsened since earlier in the day.
“Finth!” Estin called out. “What does your poison do?”
“Old dwarven party trick. Makes you deathly sick if you drink any alcohol. The stuff I gave him had dwarven moonshine mixed into it. In a dwarf, the mix wouldn’t do much…in a human, it immediately puts them into a sleep and then slowly kills their body.”
Estin winced at the morbidity of the toxin that Finth had so readily given an ally. He made a note never to accept anything from Finth again without sniffing it extensively. At that thought, he realized that he should have already been doing that.
Thinking on poisons, Estin wiped at Linn’s heavy sweat, then sniffed his finger. An acrid odor lingered even this long after the poisoning. It was exactly the type of scent that Estin would have avoided in the wilds.
“It’s not all out of him,” Estin said, diving into his baggage. He searched through his things quickly as Finth handed off the reigns to Yoska and came back to join him. “He’s still poisoned.”
