I didn’t appreciate where the small talk was heading and I didn’t understand why we were making up an elaborate story to explain ourselves to the guard of a muddy trail. It was none of his business.
“We’re rock-hounding mainly,” I told him straight out, “and a rock-hound doesn’t just give away his best turf.”
“I hear you,” he returned, satisfied. “Now here’s something you need to hear, so listen up. Word is there’s been some trouble on the Outland Trail that we don’t need here.” He looked to Holly, concerned. “So, if you happen to be going that way, be careful.”
Holly smiled shyly and then turned her eyes slightly downward.
The guard addressed the group. “And if you come back this way late, you will be given a mandatory escort. You may even have to wait for one to arrive. This is by order of the lord mayor and, well, he is covering our fee, so it won’t even cost none to ya… but gratuities are more than welcome, of course!” He grinned as though he was joking, but anyone could see the obvious pitch in it for a little extra take.
I caught Holly feeling outside her pocket for a coin.
“Thank you sir,” I told him, “but I don’t think we’ll be needing an escort. We’ll get along just fine.”
“It’s mandatory,” he repeated.
Holly smiled at the guard, nodded, and then turned to me. “Ya Nud, it’s mandatory… do you know what that means?”
I tried to ignore the jab and addressed the guard directly. “We both know that such orders are never strictly enforced. Besides, no one that I know of has ever needed an escort before. That sort of thing is reserved for important diplomats or wary merchants, and is mostly just for posterity.”
“Yep, that may well be true… but those are my orders and I plan on carrying them out,” replied the guard, with a coy smile and a wink to the Flipside girl.
Bobbin, acting like a complete fool, started dancing about and singing.
“Let’s go catch some sparkly fish,
Shiny, sparkly glowy fish.
We’ll serve them in a crystal dish,
Snuff the spark and make a wish!”
That earned him a big shove from Holly that sent him flying. The guard broke out laughing.
“I think your big sister has heard enough,” he said to Bobbin. The Pip looked confused for a moment, but chose not to correct him.
On that note, we bade farewell to the guard and veered off the main trail east to Deepweald, leaving behind the mire and the “Stick’n Twine Outpost,” as Gariff aptly named it. Few travelers ventured that way, ever since a freezing over of relations with Fort Abandon – Gan’s main ally and trading partner. The Elderkin, of late, mostly kept to themselves, and did not take kindly to uninvited visitors. I don’t know exactly how Paplov and Fyorn became such good friends under such circumstances, but the old Pip seemed to be the exception to the rule, being a diplomat and all.
After a good hour-long hike, the wind rose up with a cruel bite to it. We quickened our pace and soon crossed into the cool shade of Deepweald, welcoming us with its sheltering trees. I kept to the middle of the trail, steering clear of suspicious looking branches and tree hollows – a habit I had gotten into. Trodding deeper into the forest, the woodland trail seemed more confining than ever, overgrown and in dire need of clearing. Drooping branches loomed above our heads and many trees leaned heavily into the trail or had fallen across it over the years. Twisting roots curled out of the ground and threatened to trip us up, but at least they remained still.
By mid-morning, we climbed a long, rocky hill that brought us into the woodsman’s territory. An unseen crow sawed out a warning and announced our arrival.
CHAPTER XIV
A long overdue visit
Uncle Fyorn had hands as rough as pine bark and a grip like roots that could crush bare rock into rubble. He always extended that gnarly right hand of his to me first when I visited with Paplov, and my hand always hurt when he shook it.
I caught a whiff of smoke on the wind from his potbelly stove as me and my friends rounded the final bend of the woodland trail to his log cabin, secluded in the wild. With crossed arms and a stoic stance, tough old Uncle Fyorn was ready and waiting, as usual, garbed in his bushiest bush clothes. At first glance, he appeared exactly the way I remembered him – the unshaven lumberjack. But there was something different about my uncle that day. He was still long and spindly, with knurled limbs and a slim, solid trunk. Yet, as we marched over, he did not seem to tower over me quite as much as he used to. And his wild dark hair had grown lighter and longer over the years; now tied back and fully tamed, away from his face. And his face, inquisitive and kind, was the same as always, except maybe thinner, more tanned, and showing a bit of weather. Fyorn’s eyes shone the same hazel-grey that always seemed to blend in so well with Deepweald, a gentle shade of the sentient forest. But one question lurked behind those all-knowing eyes. At last, I would have to own up to what I had taken so many years ago, and give him his long awaited answer. Well, a partial answer anyway.
As we neared, the woodsman acknowledged me with a quick nod, then addressed the group with a smile and a general “welcome” before greeting each of us individually. His thick, outstretched hands reached for Holly first. He held her hands in his with the grace of a duke and spared her the iron grip. Next was Kabor. A quizzical look came across the woodsman’s face as he tried to make sense of the Stout’s sideways glances, but he said nothing of it. He gripped Kabor’s hand with unbridled enthusiasm until he saw the Stout’s knees begin to buckle. Next was Gariff.
“Brothers?” Fyorn asked, looking back to Kabor and then to Gariff again.
“Practically,” I said.
“Cousins,” corrected Gariff. The burly Stout held his own against the woodsman’s crushing grasp.
When it came to Bobbin’s turn, the young Pip did not want to give up his hand.
“Hmm.” The woodsman exchanged glances with Holly and Bobbin, rubbing his square chin. “Brother and sister?” he said.
“Practically,” said Kabor, still massaging his hands.
“No!” said Holly. But she could not ignore the wanting expression that spread across Bobbin’s little round face. “Well… all right. Sort of.”
Bobbin chimed in. “It’s complicated.”
Fyorn extended his hand to Bobbin. “Put’er there,” he said. “I promise I’ll go easy on you.”
Reluctantly, Bobbin obliged. Fyorn grinned widely as he gave him just a bit of a squeeze.
I was the last. Fyorn addressed me in his usual way. “Glad to see you, Sir Nud.”
“Glad to see you too, Uncle Fyorn.” I was no sir and he was no uncle, so I guess that made us even. I extended my right hand and braced myself.
“Sorry about… you know,” I said.
He engulfed my hand in his and, while I winced and prepared for the worst, he simply shook it… on the firm side but otherwise normal, just like he would Paplov’s. But when the handshake should have been over, Fyorn did not let go. A serious look came over him, and he raised his eyebrows at me.
“I… uh… got your message,” I said.
“Then you must have something for me,” he replied.
“I have your arrows.”
“Is that everything?”
“You mean…”
“You know what I mean.”
Holly was standing next to me. She whispered into my ear. “Nud, what does he mean?”
I shook my head. “Nothing,” I replied, and waved her off.
“No,” I said to Fyorn. “I don’t know where it went after… it got away… I couldn’t get it back.”
Fyorn nodded his head slowly in understanding, then breathed in deep and exhaled with a giant sigh. “A most unpredictable thing, it is. Impetuous. Deft,” he said, and left the matter at that. Satisfied, he released his grip on my hand.
That wasn’t so bad, I thought.
“Paplov’s under the weather,” I told him, “so he mentioned to bring some compan
y along for the trip… and I did. He said you wouldn’t mind…”
“I don’t mind one bit,” he said to everyone. “The more the merrier.” He turned his attention back to me. “I really hope your grandfather is back on his feet soon – all this rain lately is to blame, no doubt.” My uncle shook his head and then made one of his many unique gestures. He pressed his top teeth to his bottom lip and made a sound somewhere in between a whistle and a loud whisper.
“Fvit-fwit,” he said, gesturing towards the cabin with a double backwards flick of his thumb. “I was just finishing up an early lunch. Come on in and take a load off – the table is set. Cider’s chillin’ in the cellar and I just smoked a batch of specs this morning. That’ll set you straight.” Uncle Fyorn winked at me. “And there’s maple candy, of course.”
The woodsman stepped back and beckoned us to follow. Holly wedged in her first question. “How did you know we were coming?” she asked.
My uncle was quick to reply. “Well, that’s easy,” he said, walking beside her. “It was the wind that told me, and the birds that cry out and take flight, and the insects that scatter, and the chipmunks that run up the tree trunks. These woods are like old friends that take in everything that happens, and I happen to know these old friends very well.”
Bobbin fanned the air in front of his face. “I know the sensation,” he said. “The wind tells all when Gariff is coming too…”
The offended Stout shot the young Pip a scornful look.
“Just keep your own wind outdoors,” said Kabor. “It’s a small cabin.” He looked to Fyorn, “No offense.”
Fyorn acknowledged the comment with a humbled smile.
Gariff chuckled. “One who is constantly eating is constantly—”
Holly interrupted in her strict, motherly voice. “Boys!” she said, then shook her head. I could not tell if she was embarrassed or simply put-off by their behavior. She shrugged Fyorn an apology on their behalf.
The moment my uncle opened the cabin door a warm waft of dry air invited us in. We stepped inside. The space felt a bit more closed in than I remembered, and no less hot with its sturdy woodstove on a low burn.
We had entered the kitchen, which was also the bedroom, the dining room, and the living room all in one. Behind the door, we hung our cloaks on wooden pegs, next to an assortment of gear and outerwear also hanging there. Gariff and I set our packs down on the floor, next to my uncle’s masterwork longbow tucked away in the corner. Bobbin shrugged off his own backpack as well. It already looked considerably less stuffed than when we departed from the Flipside.
“Nice place ya gots here, sir,” said Gariff, sizing up the structure. “Simple, but practical… and solid built.” He walked over to the kitchen table and gave it a knock. “And this here table, well, it will just about last forever.” The slab of wood was heavily marred with stains and nicks. Five covered plates and five goblets were set on the table, along with utensils, one dirty plate, and one goblet half-filled with cider – all made of wood.
Kabor headed straight for the table while I scooped water from the woodstove’s reservoir and poured it into the washbasin. All three Pips used it to clean up. Over the washbasin, a small window overlooked the path to the cabin. The late morning sun shone through the dusty glass, diffuse and skittery.
“Sit where you will,” said Fyorn. “They’re all the same.”
Holly sat across from Fyorn’s abandoned spot and I squeezed in beside her. We enjoyed fish with cider and maple candy. The specs melted in my mouth and the candy was sweet and fresh. Time and again, Fyorn made his rounds as we ate, walking the length of the table with a jug and topping up our cups with cider as we chewed.
Holly only picked at her food while the boys kept busy on their forks. As soon as my uncle sat down, she had a question for him. “Hope you don’t mind me asking, but how old are you?” she said with a coy smile, as if charm could excuse such an off-the-cuff question.
Fyorn popped his last piece of fish into his mouth as he contemplated his reply. When he was done chewing, he asked her something: “How old are you?” he said, “if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Seventeen,” she answered.
“Sishteen,” said Bobbin. A piece of fish slid out of his mouth and stuck to the bottom of his lip.
“Well, I’m almost seventeen,” she said.
“Can I have some more fish, please, Uncle Fyorn?” said Bobbin. “This stuff is great! Tastes like meaty candy. We could serve it at the Flipside. Can I have the recipe too?” He looked to Holly. “Sixteen.”
“You can have more fish,” said Fyorn. “As for the recipe… it’s a bit of an experiment every time.”
Holly, slightly annoyed by the interruption, waited for Fyorn to continue – to get to her question. She studied him patiently, nibbling at the remnants on her plate. When it seemed as though my uncle might skip the topic altogether, she made sure to keep it alive.
“I hear that the Elderkin never die,” she said.
“You are relentless, aren’t you?” replied Fyorn, wearing a kind grin on his face.
She nodded, gazing up at him with sparkling eyes, her hair tousled from the wind. It fell onto her shoulders in waves of rich, reddish-brown.
“Mr. Numbit says I’m really good at finding people out,” she boasted. “He says I make them feel comfortable, like someone they know, and for that they open up to me… and maybe leave a fair gratuity,” she said.
“Well, Holly,” said Fyorn, “I think your talent works quite well out here too – I feel quite comfortable and at ease.” He snickered momentarily. “And you certainly are getting the scoop on things, with that attitude.”
Holly smiled at the compliment. Fully captivated by the Elderkin’s presence and the attention he gave her, even her eyes seemed to grin. She arched her back and leaned forward against the table, resting her elbows on it and cupping her chin within her palms. Her shirt rode up her back a little, revealing a lean torso splotched with dabs of muted green.
“As for your question,” he continued, “unfortunately, we are all trapped in these decaying bodies. The Elderkin do not live forever. In fact, I’ve seen them lose their lives by the hundreds in the Outland Wars.”
Fyorn lifted his goblet, took a swig of cider, and set it down again with a knock. “I’m afraid, Holly, that Elderkin are just like everyone else,” he said, “except they found a way to rejuvenate – to renew their lives again and again, and live long.”
Kabor interrupted. His knowledge of history impressed even me. “The Elderkin weren’t the only ones to make such a discovery,” he said. “The very same Men of Fortune Bay who banished the Elderkin for dabbling in such arts ended up doing exactly the same thing, didn’t they?”
“Almost true,” said Fyorn. “Sorry, what was your name again?”
“Kabor,” said the Stout.
The woodsman sighed and rubbed his day-old stubbles. His look was ever rugged and wild, but when he spoke, his voice took on an air of sophistication.
“To give you a sense,” he began again, “after the Grey Revolt, those who were exiled from Fortune Bay entered Deepweald and founded the Hidden City. With only simple, natural means at their disposal, they continued their outlawed studies and invented a way to pass longevity to their unborn children, although they themselves went to their graves just as their fathers did before them. As Kabor mentioned, others also learned how to cheat death to some degree, but it was for themselves and not their offspring, and at great cost. That, however, is another story.”
Uncle Fyorn glanced to the small window above the washbasin before continuing. A narrow beam of sunlight slipped between the curtains to catch his eyes. In that brief moment, a bright amber ring burned around his pupils. He turned his attention to the Flipside serving girl sitting across from him.
“I hate to disappoint you, Holly,” he said, “but rejuvenation does not apply to me. You see, I am only half-Elderkin. The full-blooded Elderkin, the High Elderkin who live in Gan, ca
ll my ilk Wild Elderkin. Most of us live in Deepweald. I am afraid that I am nearly as old as I look.”
“You basically look like someone from Abandon Bay, in his middle years,” said Holly.
“Interesting you should say that,” replied Fyorn. “My father was from the bay area.”
Holly seemed to be in danger of finding out more about my uncle and the Elderkin in one day than I had learned over the last ten years. It’s not that I wasn’t interested, or attentive… I just never thought to ask such things. Paplov usually did all the talking.
The woodsman leaned forward, placing his own elbows on the table and folding his hands together. Streaks of earthy brown and dark green stained the sleeves of his shirt. Heavy leather patches covered his elbows. He whispered to Holly, but we could all hear his words.
“One-hundred and two,” he said, then pulled away with an apologetic grin. With gaping mouths, we all looked my uncle up and down, trying to see the age in him. He didn’t look much older than Gariff’s dad to me who, strong as he was, always seemed tired and overworked, with big black bags under his eyes. And he looked far younger than Paplov ever did – rougher maybe and certainly more weathered, especially now, but definitely not older.
“You really are an old coot then, aren’t you?” I said, “just like Paplov says.” We all laughed and shook our heads in disbelief. Fyorn offered a humble nod.
Bobbin and the cousins finished off the last bits of maple candy and slurped up the final drops of backwash remaining in their cups. I slipped some maple candy into my pocket for the trail home and then requested a few minutes alone with my uncle to discuss the business of the day. The boys were eager to do some exploring. Bobbin walked over to where Fyorn sat and thanked him for his courtesies. Kabor and Gariff thanked him as well on their way out the door. Holly lingered behind.
“Fyorn and I have some private matters to discuss,” I told Holly, “town business.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” she said.
“I know that,” I replied, “but those are the rules. You don’t want to get us in trouble, do you?”
SPARX Incarnation: Mark of the Green Dragon (SPARX Series I Book 1) Page 11
