Day 98,
The mists are on the ground this morning. Still, need to get to the Village so I can be there tomorrow morning for the equinox festival.
Going to leave some towels and blankets out for Maiko in case she comes by for shelter. And leave a note explaining where I am.
Feels weird having a mist night on what would normally be a market day. I kept expecting Cass and family to ride up behind me on the road into town. I’m actually a little surprised Cass didn’t just go out on her own and show up at the library anyway. Would have been nice to have the company.
Would have been nice to have someone to practice telling this story in front of. I am so very not looking forward to this public performance tomorrow. Dreading it, one might even say.
Getting thoughts in order. Rough outline of the story to tell tomorrow (I’ll wing it and hope I don’t freeze up with additional details and specific character lines):
This story starts in a village, not too unlike this Village, but rather than being surrounded by water it lay nestled in a space between mountains. (Do I need to explain what mountains are? Might be worth taking a moment if the crowd seems confused by the idea. Same goes for seasons.) There were many other villages in this world, most of them similarly isolated. The roads between, over, and through the mountains were long, winding, and dangerous; haunted by wild animals, malevolent spirits, and ruthless bandits (maybe omit the bandits and replace them with spirits when they specifically come up?). But still, these roads were traveled despite the risks, mostly by merchants; people who brought goods and news from afar to trade for local crafts, foods, drinks, and gossip.
As I said, we begin our tale with one such merchant arriving in one such village in the springtime, when the trees bloomed with pink flowers and hid chirping newborn chicks among their branches. A time when everyone, their pets, and their livestock are all taking any excuse they can to be out and about in the new-returned warmth and sun after months of cold and dark. The time when everyone is happy to see a merchant after so long without word from beyond their village, for only fools travel in the winter, but when you are used to a thing it becomes strange to go without it and joyous to regain it.
As our merchant passed by the farms and rode into town on a rickety cart pulled by an aging steed, the locals smiled and called out to the young man they saw, and some even stopped their work to follow him to market. The first merchant to visit the village this season, and a new one at that. For this was the merchant’s first journey out on his own, and while these villagers had never seen this fresh-faced beardless young man before, neither had he seen the world beyond his home village until now, so he was excited as they. And a bit afraid although he tried not to show it.
And so the merchant arrived in the village square and there was a sort of music to it all; the babble of the crowd clamouring for the latest news, the calling out of requests for foreign items, the rattling of the cart, the huffing of the merchant’s steed, the clucking of chickens happy to be forgotten for the moment as they pecked at the ground. And behind it all, keeping the rhythm united, the steady beat of the blacksmith’s hammer.
It was toward the end of that first day when the merchant first caught sight of the blacksmith’s daughter, a beautiful young woman the merchant’s own age with snow-white hair despite her youth. (No one in your audience has ever seen snow. Should probably replace the reference. Clouds? Sand? Bone?) So distracted was the merchant by the sight of her that he did not notice the mischievous village children unhooking his cart from his steed, nor their unlocking its wheels, nor the steed wandering off. So it was then that when he went to lean upon the cart to try to look casual when he realized she was leaving her father’s workshop to approach him that the cart began to roll off on its own.
A spectacle of a chase after the cart ensued, ultimately ending with the merchant making a fool of himself and landing in a pigsty. Not the best first impression on the blacksmith’s daughter. Perhaps even worse was the complication cleaning this soiled state presented. For the merchant had a secret. The merchant was in fact not a young man but a young woman, and in this world, among these villages, it was not considered proper for a woman to be a merchant. There were many justifications and excuses for this idea, and regardless of the truth of any of them - or lack thereof - what mattered was that people believed them and if the young merchant’s true nature were to be discovered, her life and business would be that much harder.
And so the young merchant found herself gathering her goods, her cart, and her steed and fleeing before getting the chance to truly talk to the blacksmith’s daughter whom she was so smitten with. And while beauty alone may not be the best reason for attraction, it’s a common enough one, and besides the merchant felt a certain kinship for the white-haired young woman. By her apron and arms it appeared that she was training to take her father’s place and - while we know such an idea to be foolishness here - in that place blacksmith was not considered a “proper” occupation for a woman either.
As the spring passed into summer, and summer into autumn the merchant’s thoughts would often drift back to that white-haired maiden, and as she went from one village to the next she couldn’t stop comparing them to that first village she visited nor their inhabitants to the blacksmith’s daughter. She resolved that come next spring she would talk to her for real, and prayed that she was not with another by that time.
Likewise, the blacksmith’s daughter would often surprise herself when her own thoughts drifted back toward the smiling handsome stranger who somehow managed to laugh and joke even while chasing down his runaway cart or lying in mud. Such thoughts never lasted long as her father would tell her to get back to work and remind her that with no son nor wife he was counting on her to carry on his skills and legacy.
And as winter came the merchant hunkered down in the city and drew up two routes for the coming year, one for if talking to the blacksmith’s daughter went well, in which case she would loop around to visit the village multiple times, and one for if the conversation went poorly, in which case she would avoid that village in the future. Such planning was perhaps a bit much, but those who are young and infatuated often do many foolish things when they should know better.
Meanwhile back in the village the blacksmith and his daughter enjoyed an evening together under the stars while the townsfolk carried on their festival that was the one bright spot in that dark and cold season. Standing on a bridge leading to a pavilion in the center of a pond on the edge of the festival grounds, the father revealed that he was ill, and come this time next year - or if he was lucky the one after - he would be needing to pass all his work on to her. Which made it all the more important that she find and accept a husband so that she might continue the family line. True, she might not be able to smith while having a child, but a good husband could provide for her until she could again. And if it happened sooner rather than later, her father could continue helping as well.
This news soured the blacksmith’s daughter’s night in more ways than one.
Such were the affairs weighing on the minds of the merchant and the blacksmith’s daughter as spring returned, and with it, the merchant to that village.
This time, there were no mishaps with the cart and steed, and the two of them were able to talk. First about business and news of the wider world, but then about themselves. As luck or fate would have it, the two of them did actually enjoy one another’s company. The merchant’s tales of travel and easy-going demeanor allowed the blacksmith’s daughter to forget her troubles for a time. The blacksmith’s daughter and stories of village life were a pleasant reminder of the things the merchant had started to miss and grow homesick for after giving them up for a life on the road.
All too soon the time came when the merchant had to move on. As promises were being made to see one another next spring, if not sooner, the blacksmith’s daughter mentioned her father’s illness and its impact on her own responsibilities. As she rode away, on to the next village, the merchant thought about the blacksmith’s plight and the symptoms that were mentioned, and she remembered a skilled doctor she had met on last year’s route. Letting her steed lead the cart on its own she consulted her map and her planned routes and began to make adjustments. How soon could she get to that doctor’s village and return to this one? Could she make enough money to pay the doctor for a cure to bring back before getting there? Could such a route work out before winter? And wintering in that village was no good, for if a merchant is to do well the next year it was said they must winter in the city where trade never stops, only slows.
Days she spent, revising her route, calculating profits and expenses, time and food. By the time she reached the second village on her route, she believed she could do it. There would be little profit in it and far too much time on the road, but it could be done. Even if it meant a poor bed and lean food that winter in the city.
And so it came to pass that it was only early autumn, when the flowers were gone and the farmers made their harvests among the falling orange leaves that the merchant and the blacksmith’s daughter met once again. To save the blacksmith’s pride the merchant charged for the medicine of course, but left out that it was far less than it had cost her to acquire. When asked why she had gone to such lengths, she said that a merchant’s job was not to make money, but to make sure people have the things they need but cannot get themselves, even the needs they didn’t ask for. She may not have fully believed it herself at the time, but that explanation marked the birth of what would one day become the policy that made her reputation as a merchant. At any rate, it sounded better than the real reason.
Alas, if the merchant were to keep herself and her steed fed and housed through the winter, they could not linger. And so the merchant and the blacksmith’s daughter parted ways again, hoping that by the spring the medicine would have done its work.
That winter, the merchant in the city chose to go hungrier than was perhaps wise while she searched for a gift to bring the blacksmith’s daughter. Not a practical one, but a flattering one. Meanwhile the blacksmith’s daughter thought of the merchant only to curse him as the medicine seemed at first to do nothing, or even make her father worse. And then when her father joined her outside on the night of the winter festival, surprising her after being bedridden for weeks they both praised the doctor who’d made the medicine and the merchant who delivered it.
And so that next spring, happy to see one another again, their friendship began to bloom in full.
…
And it’s way too late for me to finish this if I’m going to be able to get any sleep tonight and be functional tomorrow evening to tell it for real. Especially with the usual Catacomb nightmares sure to come. At least I brought that good soft blanket with me this morning (sorry Maiko). I’ll write down the other half some other time.
