The next morning I’m feeling more content, more at peace than I have ever felt before. I’m in this wonderful fantasy world that, yeah, almost killed me, but it’s got goddesses that talk to you, healers that help you and love you, and my wife is here.

The house is rustic and simple, yes, but it could be home. I think about bringing this up with Wendy. I know she likes it here too. I know our initial plan was to go out and wander the world righting wrongs but there have got to be local wrongs too. Or within a day’s travel or two? We could use this as a base of operations.

I’m thinking all this over at breakfast while the others talk. I’m half listening. I’m not a morning person and it takes me a bit before my cognition winds up to full speed, even with coffee. They’ve got some here, and it’s pretty good, though I don’t really drink it for the taste.

“Mark,” says Wendy. She nods toward Hypa who’s looking at me expectantly. I think she must’ve been asking me something that I didn’t hear and even though there’s little chance it could be anything about last night, that’s where my thoughts go. To Hypa riding me to orgasm.

I blush.

Hypa clears her throat and says, “I asked if you might agree to accompany Caedi to town for supplies. We’re out of some herbs, low on coffee and bread. That kind of thing. She has a list. Normally one of us goes by ourselves but the King’s Paladins are active in the area more than usual.”

I say, “They’re probably looking for us.”

“No, not you, exactly,” says Hypa. “We can assume they’re aware that they’ve lost some people in the area but not how or who was involved.”

Wendy says, “They could’ve found the bodies.”

“Unlikely,” says Hypa. “These woods are filled with predators and scavengers. The bodies are long gone.”

“Some of the horses got away,” I say.

“They make poor witnesses,” says Hypa, smiling. “But you’re right. I’m sure they expect their men have been killed but you should be safe taking Caedi to the market in Bull’s Tavern.”

“Bull’s Tavern?” says Wendy. “That’s the town?”

Hypa smiles. “Yes. Named after its first permanent structure. We are pretty close to the frontier here and Bull’s Tavern is the last town between here and the Unclaimed Territories.”

“And what are those?” I ask.

“The frontier,” says Hypa. “On this continent, a little less than half its eastern portion is civilized. The rest is wild, filled with monsters and the ruins of older nations. Adventurers go there and sometimes they come back with wonders to sell. Sometimes they come all the way back to Bull’s Tavern or even to one of the capitols.”

Wendy grins. “Capitols?”

“Ah,” says Hypa. She and Caedi share a smile. “We’ve been remiss in your education. Very well. Almost ten years ago, this was all one kingdom called Elmfast. The eastern coast, where people first settled here, is filled with elm trees that turn gold in the fall. It’s so lovely.”

“Um, what season is it now?” asks Wendy.

“It’s late Spring, dear,” says Hypa. “When Leland the Second died, he could not decide upon a single heir. To avoid any chance at civil war, he divided the country into four roughly equal parts named after their biggest cities. We live in Truhaven, the westernmost. To the North there’s Wheatfield, and the other two are in the south — Blackstocking and Linden Springs.”

I ask, “How’d that work out?”

“What do you mean?” asks Hypa.

“Was there a civil war?” I say. “Is there one going on right now?”

“There’s certainly a rivalry,” says Hypa. “The former princes do not appreciate what their father tried to do by all accounts. Things have… fallen short of war. There are skirmishes and incidents, yes. Many believe that the King’s Paladins, for example, are supported by Wheatfield’s King Radimust. They are little more than bandits harassing the commonfolk, especially the Pollies.”

“The Pollies?” Wendy says.

“One of the worst things to happen once the kingdom was divided was a trade war between all four countries,” says Hypa. “The prices of basic goods and services skyrocketed and few peasants, even the ones firmly into the merchant class, can afford to live on a single income. Elmfast was traditionally very patriarchal where a husband was expected to support his family. Today, it generally takes two salaries and increasingly… more than that.”

“You’re saying that group marriage is a thing here?” says Wendy. "'Pollies' is short for polygamists? Polyamorists?" 

Hypa nods and sighs. “If the managers of a nation’s economy expect to support more traditional types of marriages, they’d do well to make that affordable. Increasingly it is not and so people adapt. Group marriage is only legal in Blackstocking, however, and there are many who oppose the practice. The King’s Paladins do it violently.”

“Fuck the patriarchy,” says Wendy.

I grin.

Hypa and Caedi laugh.

The healer stands and says, “That should be sufficient to see you to Bull’s Tavern and back.” She gives us all a warm smile and points to each of us in turn. “You each stay out of trouble,” she says.

We promise.

 

 

The trip to Bull’s Tavern is uneventful. Wendy and Caedi chatter away. Caedi’s always been shy towards us, but Wendy can talk to anybody about anything. I am so not like that and I envy that about her.

Caedi has a staff with her. It’s about six feet long, almost as thick as my forearm and tipped with steel on both ends. A thin ridge circles each metal tip. I think I’m looking at one mean-looking quarterstaff, but she’s treating it more like a walking stick.

Bull’s Tavern is tiny compared to what Wendy and I are used to but Caedi tells us it’s one of the larger towns on the border of the frontier. The palisade is wooden, but in good repair, with towers, ramparts, and crenellations. The gatehouse we walk through has a portcullis on both ends and murder holes above.

Wendy doesn’t quite believe me that they’re actually called murder holes but Caedi backs me up.

Wendy sticks her tongue out at me.

I waggle my eyebrows at her.

She rolls her eyes.

If Caedi sees any of our byplay, she gives no sign.

The general store is on the main drag which turns out to be a wide muddy road, rutted by wagon wheels, pitted by the hooves of horses and draft animals, replete with suspicious lumps at random intervals. The sewer is an open-air affair, running alongside the street, and the whole place stinks something awful.

Wendy and I make faces but keep quiet about it. Caedi seems proud to show us the place and we don’t want to hurt her feelings.

To be fair, it is the largest town we’ve seen in this world. And the nicest. And the only one we've seen, so there's that. Still, it’s clear that people are taking care of the place. There’s little in the way of garbage laying around, most of the buildings lining the street have at least two stories. The tavern from which the town gets its name has four.

Caedi tells us that the service industries are one street over. This one is for shopping, eating, or sleeping. If you need a blacksmith, a potter, or a tailor, that’s one street over to the east. To the west are the stables, the barracks, and the tanneries. Civic buildings like the baths and the mayor’s office are in the center.

Caedi points at the general storefront to show us that we’re nearly there when a plaintive sound comes from the street we’re crossing. It’s narrower than most, almost an alleyway.

The healer frowns and turns. We follow.

There behind the buildings, a small group of boys are tormenting a dog. The poor animal is mangy and starving. Whimpering as the little fuckers shove it around. Blood mats its fur along its flank.

Caedi brings her staff down on the hardened mud of the street like Gandalf on the bridge. The structures on either side of us make the sound of the steel hitting dirt echo enough to be impressive. “Stop that at once!” Caedi demands.

The boys stare at her.

Caedi is lovely, honestly. She’s curvy, though her robes do much to disguise the fact. Her smile has always struck me as a little awkward, but genuine. Honest. Some clueless men back home would think maybe she’s fat, but a lot of men back home are stupid.

My point is that, out of the four boys there, I’m pretty sure three of them are in love with her already. The fourth, though, is something else.

He sneers at us as his friends’ faces drain of color. “Why should I?” he says.

Instantly, I understand why it’s a bad idea to arm school teachers on a level I hadn’t before.

Caedi approaches. “Why?” she says. Her tone is gentle. She offers her hand to the dog, who, after it cowers for a moment, summons the courage to give her a sniffing. “Because if you treat an animal well, especially a dog….” Here she pauses to scratch the mutt between the ears. Her other hand reaches out to cradle its head. She murmurs some words and the dog calms. I can see the wound gouged into its side close as Caedi heals it. “You’ll have a friend for life,” says Caedi. She stands, smiling.

The little dog gives a happy yip.

I dig into my pack for a little jerky we brought along for our lunch.

The sneering kid says, “I got all the friends I need, lady.” He drags a knife across the little dog’s throat.

We all cry out in horror.

Wendy grabs me by the arm.

I realize I was about to put the kid through the nearest wall.

Caedi’s eyes flash golden. She extends her arm and levels an accusing finger at the little bastard. “BE ALONE!” she intones and the sound reverberates through the walls around us.

Something about our tween murderer changes then. The dirt on his face reflects a personal preference instead of just being his age. His face is repulsive, his expression loathsome. His friends recoil. One of them looks like he’s going to be sick.

Caedi blinks and her eyes return to normal. She looks shaken but determined. “That wasn’t me,” she says. “You’ve angered Love herself, young man. You are cursed until you genuinely feel compassion for someone other than yourself and do something useful about it.”

The boys all look at her, aghast.

“Just him,” says Caedi. “You others would do to remember this.”

The boys look at us.

Wendy rolls her eyes. “That was a hint that you should all fuck off now. Go find someone who loves you, if you can. Except for you.” She knocks the little dog-murderer over with her foot. "You fucking won't."

He goes sprawling into the road. He drops his knife.

I pick it up and throw it up onto the roof as the kids all scamper off.

Caedi wraps the corpse of the dog in a cloth we brought, thinking to have a picnic on the way back. There are tears in her eyes.

Mine too.

Wendy is crying.

I pull her into my arms.

“Why would that little shit do that?” she says.

“I knew a boy or two like that growing up,” I say. “Lots of men don’t do well when they don’t have any power. I think that’s why some are abusive. Like, if they can’t control what’s going on in their life they can at least control their wives, right? Well, boys have even less agency but I think it affects them the same way. Torturing an animal or killing one can give them that feeling. ‘At least I’m not this dog’ or ‘I may not be able to do much but I can do this,’ or something equally psychopathic. Sometimes I think that way too many males survive to adulthood.”

“This world can be cruel,” says Caedi. “But I hope it’s not so dark as that.”

“I did say ‘sometimes,’ right?” I say. “Most people, I think, are good or want to be. Twelve-year-old boys might be a different case.”