*just editing and tidying up*
Ch: 3.25
A vast community garden and orchard seemed to make a wide ring around the city, dividing it from the fields and pastures.
Mostly children (younger than Gary anyway) were tending the gardens and orchards, hoeing, digging and otherwise getting dirty. They looked happy and well fed, even more interestingly the trees were full of small animals, who seemed to be harvesting fruits and nuts and passing them to the kids.
Squirrels, raccoons and even monkeys scampered about in the boughs, while on the ground assorted poultry were being shepherded by a pack of dogs, each one happily tending his own flocks without guidance.
Gary had spent some time with the migrant community in the central valley of california, he knew what agriculture looked like and this was something far more. The kids seemed to mostly be playing and chatting with each other while vaguely guiding the animals, mostly with gestures and soft words.
This whole deal looked more like a dog park on Saturday than work. He tried dialing his “don’t notice me” power up to the maximum and wandered closer to a group of kids nearer his age to listen in. They seemed oblivious, continuing their conversation.
“... so Trelawney caught Jakob kissing Gunnar behind the planting shed and threw a fit, Jakob started shouting about how he liked girls, hes not gay and it was all Gunnar’s fault.” said a tall blonde girl with an upturned nose that wrinkled as she grinned.
“No!” gasped a pretty almond eyed girl with gleaming jet black hair.
“Gunnar punched him out right there and told Trelawney that she should ask out his brother Thad, because ‘Jakob needs to work on himself for a while’ and left, just like that.”
“Gunnar is so dreamy… He makes me wish I was a guy” Quipped another girl, followed with a dramatic and graceful swoon, making the others giggle.
From the edge of the group, a slender, dark skinned girl with a tight cap of ebon curls called out “Trelawney is out of luck, Thad asked me to the festival this weekend.”
Several tutted in commiseration while the tall blond shooed a monkey off her shoulder and back into the tree to once again begin picking fruit.
While not informative, it was interesting. Gary eavesdropped on a few more groups, talk of Gunnar, Jakob and Trelawney’s love triangle was abundant.
The general consensus being that Jakob was an ass, Gunnar was hot and Trelawney could do much, much better. The upcoming festival was a hot topic, though he gleaned no clue what they would be celebrating or how.
No talk of war, famine or pestilence, No evil dark lord or demon king on the horizon, just small town gossip.
The animals though, they were definitely under the control of the kids, performing tasks and treated as beloved pets. It had to be magical, but now was not the time to investigate them.
Just ahead the garden ended at a wide field, studded with tents, carts and awnings. Clearly it was a market, on an open field with the walls of the town looming behind. Gary slipped into the crowd, looking over the booths and stalls, watching people trade and deal.
Lots of iron triangular coins were changing hands and occasionally a small copper. He had no iron triangles and only a few big fat coppers floated to the top of the bag when he jiggled it.
Mostly he had larger bronze and gold coins in abundance. He counted out five large coppers and stashed the bag away.
Clothing was his first need here, Z had been tiny and nothing really fit Gary’s frame except the sandals, he felt like a kid wearing clothes he had outgrown. An all too familiar feeling he would like to stop feeling now please.
He searched for a while before coming on a stall selling second hand wares, quickly Gary collected a good pile of items.
He found a suit of finely stitched linen that was just his size, but an ice-cream white suit coat with a flamboyant silk lining and abalone buttons was a bold statement. Adding in the pants, embroidered with exotic corals around the cuffs and pockets, made a niche look at best.
He bought it of course, along with several pairs of common linen pants and a number of short sleeved collarless, wraparound shirts that many people seemed to wear.
There was a wide variety of styles on display, from the common working person, in attire like he had purchased, to merchants standing in their tents dressed in finery of silk. Nothing like the outrageous suit he had tucked discreetly away, but they got pretty colorful and fancy.
People of all ethnicities and genders seemed to be operating in a harmonious and tranquil way. Householders dickered with merchants over prices and quality in a way Gary was familiar with from his time busking for change at street fairs and farmers markets.
Even when the dealing got heated no one got out of hand or created a scene, it was all very dignified and orderly. He found a stall selling what looked like shawarma and dug into his new leather pouch, filled with the small copper and iron coins in use all around.
The handsome and muscular man running the used item stall had happily sold him the clothing and some nice leather boots for a single large coin and traded another for the pouch of small bits. Gary changed in the vendor’s tent and strolled out a much less obvious stranger.
He had probably been lightly ripped off by the merchant, but it did not seem like a bad deal. Gary was happy in the loose pants and shirt, their muted earth tones and simple, common design let him slip into the crowd with greater ease.
Gary roamed the market, eating this and that from stalls and listening to the people all around. At the skewered meat stall he heard about a group of “Acolytes of Joy” that were rumored to be coming to the local temple dedicated to that goddess.
He gathered that Joy did not have many clergy and the current priest had been called away months ago, leaving a beloved but very old and frail priest running the temple alone.
While waiting in line for fried dough drizzled with honey and pistachios, he learned the upcoming festival would be celebrating the goddess of Healing, Dana and her rites of baptism. From comments in that context, he gathered that the festival was a typical time to ask the gods to Contract with mortals.
A number of young adults and older children expressed interest in a baptism Contract while he waited. Everyone seemed to consider Dana the goddess of Healing and Cowl, goddess of Joy with great reverence and affection. More as though they were respected and influential citizens, rather than divine entities. Thinking back on Z’s notebook, Gary opened to that section;
Gods are very territorial, don't attract their attention, it's just easier that way.
Not exactly a warning of dire peril. On reflection Gary surmised that his own experiences had shaped the way he read that sentence, he resolved to keep an open mind.
Sure his first foster family had been jesus freaks, who thought locking him in the basement bedroom all Sunday while they went to their church was just fine. They knew he had come from the musical weirdo family in town and assured him he would be “cleansed of the devil and get to go to church with good christians next week”.
They had been dumb enough to assume that a cripple could never escape from their little makeshift jesus jail. He had disassembled the door hinges and disappeared while they were still on their first hymn, after smashing the taps in the kitchen and bathrooms with a hammer. Flooding the place was a fine parting gift.
Maybe in this world things would be different, here colorfully dressed men and women mingled with those in more subdued clothing freely. Genders, races and classes seemed to be interacting cordially.
Activity was thickest near the town entrance, a broad gate of giant square beams and iron bands that looked as though it could be closed rather quickly, despite its size.
There were five guards standing near the gate, all wearing a uniform of chocolate brown and black piping with brass buttons and gleaming black boots. each one shouldered a staff of dark wood with bronze caps on the ends and a businesslike steel shortsword at their belts. They wore no armor, but on a warm day at the peaceful market why would they?
Gary sat down on a boulder a few dozen yards away from the crowd, pulled out his flute and began playing idly for a group of small children roughhousing nearby.
Within the first few notes, they had dropped the crude ball of rags they had been playing something complicated with and were seated in a half circle around him.
A mix of boys and girls around ten at the oldest, settled in with smiles. He was facing an audience of nearly a dozen. The oldest, a boy, with red hair and a wide gap toothed grin, shouted first; “Play turkey in the henhouse!”
“No, I wanna hear Gone to buy sugar” cried a girl of seven while throwing a wad of grass and mud at the older boy.
He dodged it and stuck a finger in her ear with a practiced move. “Was that spit or snot on my finger, Sally?” He asked while ruffling her hair.
She shrieked and kicked him in the shin, which he ignored entirely. He scooped her up and folded her into a hug. Sitting down to listen in the very image of well behaved children, when they noticed Gary had stopped playing.
Peace restored, he began again, running through a medley of simple children's songs which they sang along to, though the lyrics were completely new to him.
Old Macdonald had no farm here, instead it was a series of increasingly unlikely and often ribald verses insulting specific people by name. Each child took it in turn singing a stanza of almost offensive trash talk, on a few the whole crowd joined in, ending in a line about;
Lord Farganan, a bold and mighty man,
fell through the hole of the privy stand
Now up the lane and through the town,
He had to stroll, all painted brown…
The laundress won’t wash
The tailor won’t sew
Lord fargnahan’s pride
Suffered a terrible blow
Gary thought he had heard some of the other names in the song bandied about in the market, but this one rang a bell he remembered hearing a “Lord Farganan” being high up in local government, he wondered why kids were singing rude songs about a local official.
He shifted into more complex music, a few bars of The Jolly Beggerman had them bouncing on their butts. Before long one of the younger girls stood and started a wild and uncoordinated dance.
The other kids stopped moving and watched in apprehension, but when the music didn't stop, they relaxed and soon others were twirling and frolicking about.
Curious, he let slip just a trickle of his gift, trying to use it to pull the kids into rhythm and tighten up their moves. Within a few notes they were stomping and scooting along in a passable electric slide.
Soon the boys were competing to see which could stomp on the One the loudest, while the girls looked for excuses to twirl their skirts (even the ones in pants) and swan about through the line of boys.
Gary was entranced by this new ability, so he did not notice that they had attracted adult attention until too late.
A tall, spare figure in sleeveless robes of spring green, embroidered with climbing vines in a darker hue and flowers of tiny seed pearls turned in their direction. He slipped through his crowd of dancing children with quick and nimble moves that belied his advanced age.
“Acolyte!” he sang in a not unfriendly voice, which cut through the clamor of whooping, stomping children in a clear ringing tone. “If one arrives early, it is polite to check in at the temple before taking their ease.”
In surprise Gary hit a sour note and let it expire, while the children now released from his power collided into a giggling, clumsy heap.
In a panic, he tried to slip away through the mess of laughing children, but it was no use. The old man said; ”Come along son, we will settle you in and then you can come back and…” and took Gary by the shoulder in a gentle grip
A sudden static shock seemed to occur in the geezer. “Ohh my, terribly sorry son, I thought surely you were one of mine. Terribly, terribly sorry.”
His eyes became a little predatory as he calmly asked; “Have you considered contracting with Divine Cowl, Beloved Mistress of Joy? I see you only have one contract, and it is not even divine… you could go far in our temple.”
Gary tried to pull away but the grip on his shoulder was firm enough that he would need to break free. “Not right now sir, I’m new in town, maybe later” Internally, Gary cursed his foolishness as he tried to talk his way out of this mess. “I'm sure I will come by for one soon sir.”
Green robe guy was persistent, “Where are your parents? I could speak to them, if it's a matter of different faiths we can come to an arrangement.” He was clearly not accustomed to being denied anything he asked for and kept on. “I did not recognize that tune, what do you call it? Is it original?” The hand stayed on his shoulder as the questions flew at Gary.
He looked about, near frenzied and decided to bolt for a crowd of teenagers watching from nearby. At his first move, the old guy flicked Gary on the ear and sang a phrase too quickly to make out.
Gary collapsed to the ground twitching and convulsing wildly, convinced he was being tickled over his entire body with a feather duster.
As the sensation passed a few moments later, he looked up to see the weathered face of the priest looming over him, arms crossed in disappointment. “Lady Joy does not compel devotion, but she does demand courtesy to one's elders, young musician. Where are your parents?”
Now furious and terrified, Gary rolled and leapt into the gathering crowd like a frightened deer, he bounded over the startled but still prone children.
Racing through the market, the strange boy barely touched ground, running with an awkward limping gait, until he had vanished into the tree line.
The old priest simply stood there mouth agape. He had used Cowl’s Blessing on numerous occasions in his long life, no one had ever shrugged his spell off that quickly, certainly not a normal rank commoner boy with a single contract.
Intrigued, he collected the child’s flute from where it had fallen. A simple instrument, it was very new. Still smelling strongly of cut maple, wax and honey, the craftsmanship was lovely.
Otho, High Priest of Cowl, Lady of Joy, gave it a twirl in his gnarled fingers and sat on the same stone and began to play for the still exhausted, but now frightened children.
Otho’s music was sweet and lilting, a sound to calm worried minds and soothe troubles away. After a time he gathered a few of the older boys and girls to him with a wave. “Tobias,” he asked the oldest boy, “Do you know that young man?”
“No sir, he just started playing music, we didn't do anything wrong did we?” Tobias gasped.
“No, lad. You are all wonderful children and I enjoyed your dance, where did you learn it?”
“Well, little Kelly Ginniz started dancing, nobody seemed to mind so we all joined in… it was fun! Is he a priest of Joy? I love Joy! I wanna Contract with her too! Can I play music if I do? What kind of flute is that? Where did he go?”
A boney raised finger silenced the bubbling child. “Young master Tobias, I would very much like to give that fellow his flute back, if any of you should see him again, please tell me or a constable right away.”
He fixed the whole group of kids with a steely gaze that froze them like rabbits. “If you see that boy again, be certain to tell a grownup that I am looking for him.”
With that he made a dramatic gesture, and brightly wrapped sweets showered from his open hands, followed by a scattering of colorful fireworks hissing and popping into the cloudless afternoon sky in wafts of glittering smoke.
When the smoke cleared the robed man was gone, leaving the children and adults to gossip furiously.
You have gained skill in cross country running, congratulations.
You have gained skill in parkour, Congratulations.
You have gained skill in woodcraft, Congratulations.
You have gained skill in endurance, Congratulations.
You have gained skill in tumbling, Congratulations.
You have gained skill in first aid, Congratulations.
Gary suspected that he had not been under pursuit for an embarrassingly long time. Moreover, he had run off the edge of a shallow gully and face planted in the muddy bank, before rolling downstream for a few yards.
His short pants had surrendered most of their fabric to clean up and bandage his cuts, netting him a first aid skill bump.
He was unsure where or when his flute had been lost, most likely dropped in the original fracas. He could make another, but had a few ideas to try before that.
He tidied up in the steam and changed clothes in a thicket before heading home, exhausted and furious with himself and that geezer. The sun was falling fast when he got to his clearing, only to find a man standing there.
The fellow was tall, and might have been good looking if he were not unshaven and clad in greasy common clothes.
When Gary appeared he stood up lurching toward him and shouting; “Damn you! I been waiting half the day and nobody opened the door! Sorry excuse for business, better have good whores!”
“Terribly sorry sir but this is a private home, sorry for the confusion.”
The man spat at Gary’s feet and yelled; “I've been waitin, this long, sombodys gonna service me!” That was too much for Gary’s frayed nerves.
“Hey! Asshole, get lost fucker!” The man flushed red and reached for Gary aggressively.
On instinct the knife was in his hand, almost against his will, he lashed out, slashing a bloody gouge down the man’s filthy forearm. He staggered back, bleeding freely and cursing.
With a roar, his dirty assailant charged again and Gary drew a long line of blood across the man’s chest, leaving him stunned and spattered in gore at the edge of the clearing.
With a thought, the knife became a staff and Gary struck again and again, battering the man as he struggled to flee. “If I see you again, just start running, asshole!” Gary shouted at the fleeing figure, lost in unreasoning fury.
After a moment he calmed and examined the blood spattered clearing. “Gotta move now” He muttered as his house evaporated away in the evening light.
Two hours later, in a thicket of thorny bushes his gift identified as:
Thornberries; moderate magic, toxic/component/reagent
Gary was setting his house back to rights. The inch long straight thorns on those vines glimmered with a waxy venom which caused burning puffy welts, while the berries burst at the lightest touch leaving an itching rash wherever their indigo juices stained skin.
He had found this patch the day before and avoided it for good reason, now it hid his house from casual approach.
He used the shovel to ever so carefully dig up a few of the young shoots of thornberry and plant them at the base of his wall.
He integrated them into his house and the vines climbing the foundation wall began to grow long purple tinted thorns and clusters of plump berries, making his wall significantly more formidable.
Feeling well hidden and better protected, he went in to bathe and sleep, since he was still crammed full of fried dough.
#
When he opened his eyes, Gary knew something was not right, there was someone outside. Not from any sixth sense, but because someone was pounding on his door in that universal ‘cop knock’, loud, sharp and insistent. Peering out the window slit he saw a group of six people outside.
Three men dressed in shiny metal armor and with swords on their hips and spears, one with a round shield. And three in robes, two women and an old man, in bright green robes whose twining vines bore pearl flowers. That guy again.
Those raptor eyes locked on to his face, short silver hair glinting, crazy old man eyebrows waving in the breeze.
He raised one bronzed, muscular arm, looking like beef jerky past its prime, and twirled a familiar flute in his fingertips. “We are not going away and though we do not wish to break your door down, we will.” He called in those same clear, ringing tones.
The geezer gestured to his goons and they withdrew to the edge of the bramble, clearly unhappy being so far from their boss. Or maybe because they didn't want to be too close to the vines around the small clear patch by the door.
The old guy sat down criss-cross applesauce in the yard and waited, as patient as a stone. Before long Gary slid the door open and sat on the stoop, eyeballing the guy.
“Where's my recorder bro?” Gary grunted, forgoing his usual courtesy. “Aside from that I don't think we have any business.”
The codger’s caterpillar eyebrows wiggled in amusement and he smiled. “That’s true, as far as that goes, but there is the matter of bewitching children with an unknown power, flight from a City Officer, disrupting the market and assaulting one Irdall Renth, with a deadly weapon.”
“He attests that you came upon him in the woods, made an overture to engage in acts of prostitution, attacking him, when rejected. From which he barely escaped with his life”.
“He states you robbed him of three bronze half marks and a copper mark. Quite a tidy sum for an itinerant woodcutter to have, lucky you I suppose.” The old man’s smirk was too much.
Gary burst in a flood of invective, showering the old guy, the armored and robed goons and that skeezy turd burglar from the night before with a display of abusive language. That he realized too late was in english, with a sprinkling of spanish for spice. It was completely wasted.
The goons were on alert, like dogs that smelled food, eager to close in, but the old priest was hugging himself and rocking back and forth in glee.
“Splendid, splendid, you must translate those for me some day, I collect profanity you see. My hobby, I can’t wait to learn what a ‘puto chinga watsthis’ is. Terribly interesting…”
“But the matter of running an unlicensed brothel is problematic even so far in the wildlands. Where are your parents or the proprietor?”
Dumbfounded, Gary's mouth hung open like a flytrap, being accused of living in a whorehouse twice within twelve hours was too much again.
“This is my house bro, it’s just me. No ‘whores’, where the hell are you getting that crap from?” Now the old man was laughing aloud.
“Brown roof tiles are the mark of a brothel son, where are you from that you don't know? Where are your parents? I can only assume your family found an abandoned house and took over. It will go easier if you all just come out.” His look of infinite patience returned, clearly he had time to spend waiting for his answers.
They sat staring at each other in silence for a good while, the jerk toying with his flute, trying to get under Gary’s skin. Damn it was effective.
“I told you, MY house. JUST me. No hookers. I didn't rob that asshole, he tried to push in on me and I cut him for his trouble.” Gary snarled.
“Master Renth was slashed twice, quite badly, he nearly died before finding aid.” The priest remarked.
“He’s a slow learner, needed additional instruction, did he tell you I beat him with a stick too? Cause I did, when he ran, I let him go. You got a problem with that?” Gary demanded.
“No, that tracks with what he told us when justiciar Dunham over there, asked some rather pointed questions.”
He indicated the largest man in bright polished armor, leaning on a spear, looking eager. He waved a gnarled hand and the armored figure relaxed a little, seeming disappointed.
In a softer voice he asked “What was it you were trying to do to my children, boy? If you are an orphan, or a runaway we can deal with that, but to ensorcel my children, that is unforgivable.” Under that stoney gaze, Gary crumbled a little.
“It's called Entrainment, it's a gift, all it does is pull people and animals into my performance and make me more or less scary, depending on what I want, it can't hurt anyone. I would never hurt kids. They're terrible dancers, I just helped them get on the One.”
“Get on the One…” The priest murmured “I like that. Might work in a sermon…” He pulled a tiny notebook from his robe and began scribbling furiously. After a moment he snapped it closed.
“Very well, that concurs with my investigations as well as the analysis of acolyte Tawny of Healer.”
He nodded to the smallest hooded and robed figure, who noticed their attention and stiffened in place. Curls of golden hair escaped her hood, gleaming in the morning sun like polished amber.
“What of your parents or guardians?” He asked.
“Just me” Gary gunted.
“Well that won’t do, gather your things we will be taking you to the Adventurer’s guild orphanage. Get a move on, we don't want to miss lunch.”
He stood smoothly and waved his goons forward. “Clear the house gentlemen, mages, on me please. We will want to assay this young man’s contract and find out what we are dealing with.”
Caught flat footed at Gary’s sudden movement again, the old man was too slow to catch the door as it slammed closed behind the fleeing boy.
He darted through the house, mentally creating a backdoor in the courtyard wall, right where there was a hidden gap in his poisonous hedge.
His hastily conjured clothes disappeared as he ran down the winding path, while his foes battered on the door of a house that was already dissolving into smoke and mist.
Naked and barefoot, Gary was hoofing it at top speed into the woods, dashing past the end of his poisonous hedge maze. He pulled a baseball slide into a boggy pond, swam across to dry land and scooted into a bracken filled gorge.
In the shadows he wiped himself down with the last remnant of his short pants and dressed in common clothing and boots.
Hearing no sound of pursuit he slipped out of his hiding place and began navigating towards the road, meaning to head away from Wheatford and never look back. Whatever lay at the other end of that road had to be safer than this place.
As his boots stepped onto the road, he heard that same clear, rising baritone sing out, “This is a fine instrument young man, it would be a shame to leave it behind. Though I suppose you could just steal another...”
There he was, that green robed nutjob with eyebrows, smirking at him from under the shade of a hemlock tree. He spun, looking for the goons but they were nowhere to be seen.
