Ch 3.5 Sweet Dreams

“This is a fine instrument young man, it would be a shame to leave it behind. Though I suppose you could just steal another...” The old bastard cooed from beneath a tree.

Enraged beyond reasoning, Gary snarled. “I made that, you greasy cunt! Shove it up your ass sideways and play a concert for all I care. Try and touch me and I’ll gut you, bury your bones in my garden and shit on your grave every morning till doomsday. Fucker.”

 

As he stalked away, Gary heard the old man again “Traveler, you must go your own way, though you will find life on the road difficult, you have a place in the orphanage in Wheatford my son.”

 

He whirled, producing his short spear. “I buried that little shit proper and he set me up. Fuck Wheatford, fuck you, and fuck your orphanage, if you wanna put me back in prison I’m gonna make you bleed for it first.” He shouted.

 

“What if I guarantee you will not be confined, restrained or balked in any way, except in the interest of public safety?” The geezer called, as his recorder came arcing lazily to him.

 

Gary caught it, making it disappear immediately. “What if I say no?” He called back, curious now. 

“If you say no, nothing happens, you wander off, and probably get eaten by a monster before the month is out.”

 

Waving off in Gary’s direction he shouted, “It's two hundred miles to the next town of any size down this road.”

 

The old man sat down on a fallen log by the side of the road and sighed wearily. “I feel like this is mostly my fault, catching you up like that was a poor choice, I regret and I apologize for that. This morning I underestimated you and I regret that too, but now we need to work things out.” He deflated a little more and motioned to a stump across the road. “Please sit, let's talk.”

 

Warily, he vanished his spear and sat, watching the priest closely, he produced his recorder. Holding it up he asked; “You played this?”

 

“I must confess I did, sensing it was magical in some way I needed to assure the children’s safety, it is a splendid instrument if a bit strange to my ear.” He said.

 

Gary tossed the flute back to the old man, whose spidery hands grabbed it deftly. “Show me.” He demanded curtly.

 

A little nonplussed, the priest put the instrument to his lips and began a slow melody in a-minor that built quickly into something that felt hopeful and cheering. He finished on a skirl of gracenotes that felt a little showy but made his point.

 

“Ok Otto, we can talk, but no funny business.” 

The old man winced, “It's Otho, head priest Otho of Lady Joy’s sanctified temple in Wheatford. And you are?...”

 

Gary let that hang there for a while as he considered a fake name but, who cared here? “Gary Ward, apprentice luthier and last surviving board member of Ward Instrument Company, pleased to meet you Otho.” He seemed to chafe a little at Gary's informal attitude, but let it slide.

 

“So what do you want? Why are you chasing me?” He demanded. “I don’t have anything you would want, and I don’t owe anyone anything. If that kiddie fiddler I stabbed wants to press charges, tell him where I'm headed, he can come for me himself. I have room in the garden.”

 

“My son, That attitude will not carry you far, despite what talents you might hold. No man stands alone, at least not for long.” He intoned with the air of a proverb often repeated. “What I want is that.” He pointed to the recorder idly twirling in Gary’s fingers. 

Without hesitation Gary tossed it to him, “Have it, I'll make another tonight.”

 

As he reached to catch the flying instrument, a dumbfounded look crossed the old priest’s face. Allowing the flute to thump into his chest, before tumbling to the dirt. “Tonight, you'll make one tonight you say?”

 

Wary of revealing too much he hesitated, “Well so what? Is it a holiday? You guys have a sabbath or something?” 

 

Otho brushed that aside, “Never mind that son, tell me about this house of yours, is it a Contract? A Contract item perhaps? Did you find one out there in the wilds wherever you came from?”

 

Realizing that Gary was about to bolt again, Otho slowed himself down. “I should answer your question first I suppose.” With a sigh, he continued.

 

“The art of crafting magical items with etheric energy is all but lost, the gods may remember how, but will not or cannot tell. If you truly crafted this flute, and your aura tells me you did indeed, then you possess those secrets. That is what we need.” Otho waited expectantly.

 

“So you want me to teach you how to make a recorder? I think any decent carpenter could figure that out for you. Keep it and make all you want.”

 

Otho glared at him in shock and confusion for a long moment. “Is your mind defective?” he asked, “My boy, the abbess at the temple of Dana, Blessed Life Bringer, will set you right… Ohh, apologies, I am doing it again.” Gary paused mid scamper, ready to bolt.

 

 The old man looked sheepish, shifting on his stump uncomfortably. “At a certain point people just stopped questioning me, that was about a hundred years ago.” He shrugged. “I am in the habit of being obeyed. I will try and remember that going forward.”

 

Mollified, Gary sat back down on his log. “There’s nothing wrong with my brain, I'm just new in town. Why is my flute so important? What's the deal?”

 

The priest rocked back on his stump and spoke. “I am an enchanter as well my boy, I have been dabbling in it since probably before your grandparents were born. 

If I were to attempt that enchantment, I would be drained of etheric energy in moments and left debilitated for months. It would require four years of my life to create that tiny instrument. Furthermore, I cannot even discern the nature of the spell on it, only that it is Iron Rank in potential. Now do you understand?”

 

Gary scratched his head, looking down on his flute. “It's not enchanted yet,” he said “I don't know any spells to put on it. It does show Iron Rank though.”

 

Otho pawed at his face in frustration. “What is it you are looking for my boy, wealth? Comfort? Security? Or is it something more?”

 

Otho reached into a pocket and produced a fine looking instrument of his own, it was some form of banjo, it had gut strings and twenty frets made of bone. Its long neck was familiar but the body seemed to be half of some enormous spiral shell, skinned with a translucent hide. 

The bridge was a fanciful sculpture of a koi fish in yellow bone, curving in a delicate half moon and the tailpiece repeated the motif in silver.

 

“I think you are searching for a place to belong, I heard that in the melody that my children so enjoyed.” Otho strummed a percussive and resonant chord and began a plucky fingerstyle arrangement that brought to mind the best of clawhammer banjo and eastern melodies.

 

“I gather,” He continued, chanting his words in time to the music. “that you have been in an orphanage before. I will not deny your lived experience, but I was raised from infancy in the very place, of which I speak and I am one of its directors.” 

He smiled in a way that reminded Gary slightly of his Grandfather. “Walk with me, play with me my son, bring Joy into the world, if only today.”

 

Instinctively, he raised his flute and joined in on the next bar. They both stood and began walking back down the road, together they filled the journey with music on the way back to Wheatford.

 

Gary let his Entrainment gift off the leash a little and collected a chorus of woodland creatures, to Otho’s obvious delight. Nearing town, a crowd began to gather and he let the animals slip away unnoticed.

 

The goon squad was waiting at the market gate when the two strolled up as though on parade. The biggest shiny metal man strode up and saluted curtly. “High priest Otho, this is highly irregular, a crime was reported and injuries sustained, this is a matter for Lady Healer and Lord Order, the temple of Joy was only included as a courtesy…”

 

The priest smiled and changed his tune, simplifying it into a shuffle beat that reminded Gary of the rude couplets the children had been singing the day before.

 

Justiciar Dunham, you are quite correct,

This young boy was yours to collect…

 

Otho sang in a catchy lilting way that the children in the crowd picked up on immediately. The children began to chant in rhythm, memorizing the lines in a way that sounded creepy as hell,

 

The justiciar knight made a very precise salute, and loudly proclaimed; “My apologies Head priest Otho, Blessed Lady Joy is a valued and wise member of the pantheon and well within her rights and discretion in this matter. Please consider this issue resolved.” He finished with another crisp salute and hot footed it away as soon as Otho nodded sagely.

 

Gary began to suspect he was missing a lot of context here, but the kids seemed to like singing rude songs about adults that fell out of Otho’s favor, they also seemed to hang on his every word. 

Thinking back, none of the cavorting children had shown any fear or deference to Otho at all, Just the opposite, from what little he had seen they treated the old coot like a favorite grandfather. 

That was probably what had let Otho slip in and collar him like that, Gary reflected.

 

His reverie was broken when the remaining goons and goonettes fell in with their procession, but no one made any moves and Gary wanted to see where this was going.

 

Passing the gates, their parade quickly bogged down in the crowded streets. Rather than letting them pass, the people began crowding in and the procession grew with every street.

 

As Otho Kept on playing, Gary let his gift settle onto the crowd. Subtly at first, they began to move together, each person joining in on the beat, soon the whole group was doing the hustle, following the two musicians. The swirling mob separated them from the goonsquad’s remaining members and the pair slipped through the dancers, finding the front of the crowd.

 

At a signal from Otho they both stopped playing and walked on, leaving gentle chaos in their wake. As Gary let his gift drop, dancers collided, stepped on toes or just lost the beat entirely. Confused noises followed them for nearly a block as the pair vanished in the crowd.

 

“That was good fun!” Otho enthused. “If nothing else you will improve the quality of our festival dances, with only a few exceptions, they have been abysmal for a while now.”

 

There were taverns or pubs scattered here and there, yet Gary detected none of the telltale scent of urine, booze and boozeurine that bars back home exuded.

 

Orderly, that was the word for this place, it was orderly, clean and prosperous. Yet Z’s notebook had entreated him to “do some good in this sad world” suggesting that perhaps not all was tranquility and order.

 

Shops lined the streets, looking prosperous and clean, with upper floors serving as living quarters. No trash or filth on the main streets, he peeked into the alleys and found them clean as well. The first district inside the gate seemed to be mixed residential and commercial, workshops and stores were mainly bakers, tailors and the like. The quiet unobtrusive crafts. 

Off to the southwest he saw smoke and heard distant hammering, so he assumed that was the industrial quarter.

 

Gary drank in the city as they passed through, high stone buildings with slate or tile roofs, most glazed in bright primary colors.

To his chagrin, no brown roofs were to be seen. A small river cut the town in half, dividing the industrial and commercial sections, as well as most of the more common residential areas from the higher class areas.

Class distinctions overall seemed less intense than Gary was accustomed to, beyond the very obvious differences in dress.

Looking back, even at the market and in the fields most people, especially the children, seemed well fed, dressed, and happy.

 

There were exceptions in view, scruffy, dirty and generally looking rough around the edges, but few. Even the tradesmen heading (presumably) home from their work looked as though a bath and change of clothes would set them right.

 

They walked gradually uphill as the city climbed the valley wall in stages, they passed a district of temples, all very somber and serene, in their understated majesty.

 

“Temple of War over there, best avoided if you ask me, and Order right there,” He indicated a cluster of large and imposing temples, each one different but clearly sharing a no nonsense aesthetic.

 

Otho pointed out his own, tucked against the hillside with a level plaza in front. The temple of Joy was a gingerbread fancy cut in stone and painted, dyed or stained a myriad of colors. “No point stopping there now, nobody home!” He chirped.

 

Pointing across the plaza, he carried on. “That's Dana the Healer across the way, nice people, get to know them when you can.” He gave Gary a broad wink. “Mostly young ladies about your age.”

 

As they left the temple district, the buildings became more utilitarian and radiated a sense of self importance and no nonsense bureaucracy. Even in a new world some things were constant; wind blew, sun shone and government offices were universal, apparently.

 

“Where are we headed, Otho?” Gary asked, growing concerned again as the magic of Otho’s playing was dispelled by the gloomy environment. 

“The Adventurer’s guild orphanage, it's just inside the Adventurer’s guild compound, right there.”

 

An imposing wall of cut limestone enclosed a smooth paved courtyard. A number of large rectangular stone buildings occupied much of the remaining space. No gate filled the square gap in the wall, just a set of rusty chains and hinges showed there had been one in the past. Whatever this place was once, it was now a mostly empty compound of utilitarian stone buildings with a few grassy spaces.

 

A few pensioners sat in rocking chairs on the porch of one building, while a small cluster of young children chased a huge dog around the courtyard. 

 

When they spotted Otho, his distinctive robe set the whole crew, pensioners, kids and dog, in motion. They all came to greet him with friendly cries and greetings.

 

Most of the city seemed willing to follow Otho anywhere or do anything at his lightest suggestion. Even the knight the old fart had browbeat and threatened like a lyrical gangster, had never been angry or pushy with the priest.

 

Watching Otho glad-hand the elders and ask about their grandchildren by name while the kids gleefully searched his pockets for candy was revealing.

 

Each kid somehow only found one brightly wrapped treat and then fled. The elders finished their hugs and handshakes quickly and resumed supervising the children and the dog, who had traded chases, kids now running in comical fear from the shaggy beast.

 

The whole interplay had taken three minutes tops, and everyone went away feeling like they had a special moment with the old man… this guy was scary good with people, Gary would have to keep an eye on him.

 

“You have a gift like mine, don’t you?” Gary asked abruptly, as the gears in his brain slowly meshed. “Like my Entrainment power, right?” 

Otho put his entire face into a theatrical wink. “Whatever do you mean, my boy?” 

Gary rounded on the priest. “That's how you got me to follow you here!”

 

Still smiling, Otho nodded. “At first, you were very resistant, still are, but I am patient, stubborn and experienced, so I tend to get what I want regardless.”

 

“And you want me in this dismal orphanage? Why?” Otho huffed, a little offended, continuing to gripe as they walked. 

“Dismal indeed, certainly a bit of landscaping and some paint might help, but budgets are cruel to the soul of an aesthete…”

As they walked he pointed out where he had planned a magnificent sculpture garden. It would have transformed the vast parade ground courtyard into a civic park. “An oasis for all, in honor of notable city founders, whose descendants hold positions of high status even today.”

 

That plan had been voted on the year prior; “Rejected, by our city council, not an appropriate use of city funds they said, even after I promised to make it tasteful and properly decorus…”

 

Gary stopped and held up a hand, while mentaly rewinding the geezerly rambling in his mind. “You said NUDE sculpture garden, of the city founders?”

 

“..and those statues were to be of the greatest skill and accuracy, the sculptor spent months planning and drawing, capturing every nuance of feature and posture, and every mole, wrinkle and bulge.” He admitted with yet another wink.

Gary eyeballed the gangly man in his flashy robes and considered “I think I see you now, Otho. you're Weird Al Yankovic, you’re Liberace and Ziggy Stardust! A muckraking, shit disturbing pain in people’s asses, like pretty much all the time right?”

 

Otho huffed. “I am not a pain in all the people’s asses, just the ones that get a bit too comfortable.” He gave another wink that could be seen from space “My Blessed Lady Joy considers that to be among Her clergy’s primary duties and I live to serve Her will” He pronounced devoutly.

 

“Are those people you mentioned priests or mages in your home town?” He asked, deeply curious as to where this boy had come from.

 

“I guess you could say that.” He answered cagily, wary of telling too much. 

“I will make inquiry of my Lady.” Otho intoned as they neared the main building.

 

“I would have expected the last apprentice of Zygnos Matteus to be better informed on political matters. While we were not good friends, he took particular interest in many of my projects. We worked closely together quite often.”

 

Gary stopped cold “I never mentioned Zygnos, old man.” Gary was gripping Wanderer’s Legacy in its baton form and standing stock still while Otho carried on. 

“Ohh, lady Joy informed me, you really should mention that when you introduce yourself he was widely respected…”

 

Slowly Otho realized Gary had stopped following him and turned around.

 

Seeing Gary’s posture, the old man held up his palms as though soothing a fretful horse. “Lady Joy said only that you were the last apprentice of Zygnos, She seemed curious about you and asked that I take an interest in you. Knowing full well that I already had I'm sure.”

 

Still nervous, Gary followed on. As they spoke, the pair entered a building of unremarkable gray stone and were greeted by a muscular young man with a crew cut you could hear in his voice.

 

“Master Otho, has Lady Joy answered my prayers?” He asked with a salute fit for any parade ground, eyes gleaming in some forlorn hope, not even noticing Gary. 

“Peace, Liam,” The old man soothed, “My lady has not yet answered your prayer, neither yea nor nay. She awaits further developments, but this is not the time. I bring you a new charge, a new lamb for your flock… though this one is more of a sheepdog I think, careful, he bites!”

 

Gary made a rude gesture at the priest that seemed to be universal.

 

A wave of indignation washed over the younger man making his hair seem to bristle even more fiercely, but a chuckle and passive wave from Otho calmed him almost instantly.

 

“Gary is new in the region and is my very special friend, I shall be his legal guardian until his majority. I think you should receive the paperwork from Order shortly.” he said with a smile.

 

“Gary Ward, this is Liam Kinnis, aspirant to Lady Healer’s clergy. Liam, this is Gary Ward, apprentice luthier and some such.” He said, hand waving away any trifling details he had not mentioned.

 

Gary looked the other man up and down as they shook hands. He was around eighteen, average height, muscular and fit with a bristling shock of wiry black hair that made his tanned, faintly asiatic face and hard jaw intimidating. He gave off an almost physical sense of energy and movement even when standing still.

 

“What is a loothieer?” Liam asked Gary when their handshake ended. 

“I make musical instruments, mainly strings.” 

 

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “We don't have one of those in town, I will get to work finding you a new apprenticeship. No baggage?” When Gary shook his head the young dynamo bustled off on his own mysterious tasks leaving the old priest alone with him again.

 

“You said I was Z’s last apprentice, that's not true. I never met him, I just buried him behind his house. Gary pulled the scroll from his Pockets! and handed it over.

Gobsmacked, the old man sat in a chair nearby and read the brief scroll.

 

“You have this manuscript?” He asked greedily. When Gary nodded he continued. “And you will deliver it to Amicus Fawn, soon?” 

Again Gary nodded. “All is not lost then. I should have brought Zygnos into my circle years ago, and now it is too late. He once mentioned in passing a mighty working of magic and a unique prank, one that only he could execute, but only after his death. Knowing him, and his proclivities, we may have a number of surprises in store.”

 

Otho stood, clapped his hands softly once and whispered a short, inaudible prayer before turning to Gary again. 

 

“I shall leave you in Liam’s capable hands. He will see you settled in and take care of the paperwork. I am assuming that you are literate in the common tongue?” Gary nodded again, a bit apprehensively.

 

“Zygnos was indeed fortunate to encounter that rarest creature, a literate young man lost in the wilds.” Otho declaimed boldly, and then more softly so only Gary could hear; “Or was it fortune? We shall see. Trust in master Liam, he was raised in this very orphanage from his early days. You may find kinship with him, or perhaps even more than that I think.”

 

On that note Otho breezed out of the door and into the early afternoon sunshine like a serene monk from some martial arts movie, foreshadowing his own mysterious plots.

 

Gary was still working through exactly how he had decided to follow that old coot into the precise situation he had been struggling to avoid for the last few years. “That dude is dangerous.” Gary mumbled to himself, just as Liam returned, laden with clothes and bedding.

 

Gary assumed he had been overheard by the sharp edged glance he received as the things were thrust into his arms.

 

“Master Otho is only dangerous to those who have reason to fear him. Give the courtesy that he has earned, or you will find that I am dangerous too.” Liam waved curtly and led Gary down a hall and up a wide flight of stairs. They emerged on a hall of doors, identical save for a painted shape in a different color on each door.

 

“Dormitory one, all the others are closed and empty. I have assigned you green circle, eight doors down on the left.

 

This is a mixed dormitory, I will tolerate no harassment of any of my children, for any reason. If you don’t like younger kids, tough. If you ask a girl to dance and she says no, tough. If you ask a boy to dance, same deal. If a boy shows interest in you and you say no, that's rough on him, that's ALL that will be rough on him. Are we clear?” Gary nodded, and Liam went on.

 

“Curfew is eighth bell, all children must be in the dorm by the last sound of eighth bell.” He glanced pointedly at Gary. “By tradition that rule is no longer enforced after your first Contract, but don't rub the younger ones noses in it, they have enough to deal with.”

 

Gary took the pause to ask; “What is your Contract with?”

 

Liam almost stumbled over his feet at the question, turning to Gary in offense. “It is considered the height of rudeness to ask that question, Gary. Master Otho said you were from far away, so I will let it go, but that is a topic discussed between family, friends, comrades and lovers.”

 

Abashed, Gary stammered out an apology. “Sorry man, I didn't mean to get in your grill like that.” 

 

Liam scratched his head, risking a poked finger on that spiky scalp. “You are from far away, ‘In my grill’ indeed.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Meals are served morning and night, at second and eighth bell respectively” 

 

Gary assayed another question; “So, on the topic of timekeeping, I assume the bells will be audible in town?”

 

With another curious look Liam explained; “First bell is the moment of dawn on midsummer's day, one bell rings every hour until eighth, which is at the moment of sunset on midsummer's day.”

 

“At night?” Gary asked, receiving a shocked look. 

 

“Bells in the night? Not unless there is an emergency, the very idea of disturbing the peace in the hours of darkness is strange.”

 

Gary considered the implications of an eight hour day based on the longest day of the year and quickly decided to just be open to the experience.

 

“Ok, you said that after my first Contract the curfew ends, what does that mean?” When Liam looked puzzled, Gary went on. “What stops me from walking out the gate and never coming back?” 

 

Liam seemed even more confused. “Why would you? Why would I stop you? You have a Contract, the rest is between you and your god.”

 

Liam was clearly confused now and showing it, Gary half expected to see sparks jumping from the tips of his hair.

 

“So why did Otho drag me here if I can just leave?” They had reached the room with a green circle and Liam swung the door open, revealing a small but comfortable room. He pulled a chair from a desk nearby and sat, motioning Gary to sit on the bed.

 

“By law, all foundlings, orphans or otherwise unguided children are to be placed in the care of the Adventurer’s guild, to be guided and trained in their gifts and become productive members of society, this has been the law since time long forgotten.” He tossed that out as if it were something everyone knew, probably it was.

 

“Once an orphan has their first divine contract they are considered to be guided by that god and so are free to come and go at age fifteen, regardless of having reached majority under the law. This puts you and I in a gray area. A person reaches legal adulthood when they receive their full suite of contracts, or reach twenty years of age.”

 

Gary found some obvious holes in that legal logic but kept that to himself. Liam, went on. “Most young people gain their contracts slowly over childhood, and are between seventeen and eighteen when they finish the last ritual and become a legal adult.”

 

“So what happens if I head out to make my own way?” Gary asked.

 

“You will not be legally able to make any contracts without a guardian’s consent, also you cannot complete your Contract suite until you are twenty years old, nor can you sign an apprenticeship or join a craft association. You would not be legal to employ for any labor or craft, nor could you rent or lease space in the market or agricultural lands.”

 

Now Gary felt that familiar collar and leash tighten around his neck. “I see, a prison so large it can’t be escaped. Otho thinks I’m dancing in his palm, a slave to his goddess. We will see about that.”

 

He got up from his seat and headed for the door, Liam even more confused, followed after him. “Do you know where the College Arcanum is, Liam?” Gary asked over his shoulder. 

 

“Past the temple district and uphill, look for the tall towers with ivy growing on them. They won't let you in, only priests and nobles are allowed.”

 

“I’m sure Otho will be waiting for me at the gate or whatever, but now I'm two moves ahead.” Gary replied with a smug grin.

 

Liam’s concern evaporated, leaving amusement in its place. He waved at the oldest girl in the courtyard, who quickly straightened herself up and pretended that she had not been chasing the dog a moment ago.

 

She was not quite short, and not quite slender, about his age, with caramel skin and a short blonde pixie cut, her eyes were a shocking blue that scanned everything with interest, except Gary, her eyes barely flickered as she looked at, and then past him. “I have an errand at the College, You are in charge.” She nodded crisply and returned to chasing the dog. 

Gary was briefly annoyed by her lack of reaction and then remembered his gift; it was active, making him vaguely familiar and uninteresting to anyone he was not directly interacting with.

 

Out the gate and up the road, Gary left and Liam followed. After he turned uphill he stopped and confronted Liam. “Are you trying to stop me or something?” 

 

“No, I just want to see how this play turns out.” He leaned closer and whispered in a conspiratorial way; “I think it's a comedy!”