《The Lipaks Way》


 Audiences: Prolog, A Glutted Audience

    Audiences by Grixit


    Prolog: A Glutted Audience


    ¡°It is time!¡± The announcement made heads swivel all over camp. When they saw who had made it, all of the adults and half the adolescents stood up and began gathering their possessions. The remaining adolescents and all of the children turned their attention back to the foreigner seated by himself at one end of the firepit. There was no doubt about his status, even without seeing his face, it was clear from his clothing. While everyone else wore heavy wool robes decorated with a few simple shapes in dark colors, he wore a light tunic with pale blue and yellow stripes and big puffy pantaloons all bright purple with red and gold lacy edging. He had raked together a small mound of rocks which raised him just a little higher than the licking flames; to the others it seemed as if he were rising out of them. It was just one of the many little ways he had of making himself seem mysterious and special. Mysterious? Certainly. But special? How could he be special, he was not a rinker.


    The woman who had made the announcement was not here to admire the stranger¡¯s clever positioning. She brandished her sword, it was the huge, back curved, split ended kind the rinkers called a flying pennant, and dragged it side on through the fire, scattering chunks of burning wood everywhere. ¡°Has someone forgotten their discipline?¡± she roared. The malingerers hurried to comply. In a moment, all clothing was fully tied and secured. Everything else they had was stowed in a pocket or saddlebag. Food leavings were thrown into the latrine trench, which was then filled with tufts of grass. The fire was covered but not extinguished, in case someone else might be able to make use of it. Twenty two people headed for the horses, taking their longest and lightest steps. The last two walked backward, smoothing out their traces.


    Three remained. Three rinkers, that is. And the foreigner.


    ¡°It is time¡±. the woman repeated. ¡°Ty-mee fo¡¯ whad?¡± the stranger asked. He spoke broken rinker in order to seem less threatening; he could be perfectly clear when he wanted to. He also pretended to understand far less than he did, but he knew exactly what she meant.


    ¡°It is time for us to go¡±, she said. ¡°The clan will leave our current grounds and set up home elsewhere. You will not follow us.¡± He looked distressed. ¡°Oh no, Froo-nee-yat, whad hafe I done? I thoud me stories was at least moderately pleashing¡­¡±


    ¡°I am a kuum, not a froonyat!¡± she snapped, irritated that this¡ª stone dweller¡ª couldn¡¯t seem to understand ranks and titles. ¡°And your stories have held some interest. But they are not our stories. They are like the sweets that your traders bring, which give delight for a time, but do not nourish us as our plain meats do. And too much indulgence makes the eater sick. We have enjoyed your stories but now we stop before you give us stomachaches of the words!¡± She spun around and left. One of the others, a small child, followed, dutifully erasing both their tracks.


    The foreigner looked at the remaining rinker. ¡°Ah, Seltheen Eeyunk, joy of my heart! At last you have come to see me alone. Dare I hope that you will finally show me what treasure you hide beneath your coverings? Besides all those weapons, I mean.¡± She laughed. ¡°Alas, Yar, you must seek your treasure elsewhere. I am not one of those great warriors who can have two men in her tent at once.¡± ¡°So, you say I am as good as two ordinary men, huh?¡± ¡°I say you are as wide as two ordinary men. And heavier.¡±Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Yar sighed. ¡°Sadly, that is true. Unlike your wise kuum, I seldom recognize when it is time to move away from the sweets. So it is to be goodbye then, without the thirst of love slacked? I will try to control my tears, dear heart. Just let me leave you with one last ballad.¡± He slipped off the leather case that hung on his back and began to untie the thongs. She put out a hand to stop him. ¡°You can sing your syrupy songs of desire on the road. I am going with you. No, stop! Seriously, I have long thought of seeing the lands to the north, and you seem to know them well. You can be my guide, and I will be your bodyguard.


    ¡°I understand¡±, said Yar. ¡°I shall continue to enjoy your intoxicating company, if not your body. But if you intend to come with me all the way, you should know that it¡¯s going to be a long journey. I will be visiting most, perhaps all, of the lands of the Empire.¡± ¡°Good¡±, she replied. ¡°I have never been to the Empire, it will be useful to know something of the enemy.¡±


    Yar bent down and pretended to adjust a bootlace so that she wouldn¡¯t see him smile. The rinkers liked to pretend that the Empire was still an unknown foreign entity some distance away, that the nildrer people who ruled it were just another group of overfed city folk. Their soft living weakened their bodies, their book learning weakened their common sense, and their buildings weakened their connection to the natural world. Yes, yes, and their elaborate music weakened their appreciation of the sound of birdsong. He heard many versions of the same endless litany. Sometimes he¡¯d make up his own complaints just for fun. Reciting reasons to feel superior to the nildrer, or any other people, was a traditional rinker pastime.


    In rinker popular history, which was mainly oral, was the memory of a small battle, more like a large skirmish, actually, in which a rinker force had been defeated by an imperial one. It had happened in the hill country north of the Rinks, when another group of settled (and therefore inferior) people had asked for imperial help against rinker raids. The aid was successful. However this only emphasized rinker superiority, since the nildrer had had a ten to one numerical superiority and had used dirty tricks. Even then, it had been a near thing. So the rinkers had retreated grudgingly, while inflicting great losses on the enemy, and had kept their honor intact.


    Later, a truce had been arranged, and the nildrer, chastened by the high cost of their victory, had promised never to bring their troops close to the Rinks again. In a magnanimous gesture, the rinker leaders had offered to stop raiding in exchange for payment. This was accepted and that is why, when traders came in from the Empire, they always gave tribute to the rinker leaders before doing business. They referred to it as `gifts¡¯ in order to save face, of course.


    Yar knew the truth. The battle had been a total rout. The nildrer had had superior numbers and guile, that was true, but also superior tactics, intelligence, and magic. And it had been no small skirmish and no attempted raid. This had been a full scale punitive expedition involving all the tribes. And every tribe had taken serious losses. It was the rinker elders who were saving face by referring to gifts from traders as `tribute¡¯, when such gifts were mere the common practice of traders who needed approval from local authority. No, no tribute involved. Indeed so far from collecting tribute, the rinkers were actually paying taxes. Because the truth was that the Rinks had become part of the Empire, not through military action, but through more subtle forms of conquest. And now, as the traders and other foreigners moved deeper and deeper into rinker territory, bringing new ideas into rinker consciousness, they were strengthening the tiny threads of that conquest, threads that added up to unbreakable bonds.


    But if the rinkers wanted to act as if they were the winners and still independent, let them. The nildrer didn¡¯t care about saving face, they cared about pragmatic results. And those included one undeniable fact: the rinkers no longer attacked their neighbors. Tribes still raided each other and the clans within each tribe occasionally jostled over territory but that was it. Those who wanted more would have to join the imperial forces and fight under nildrer direction. Or go somewhere else and become a mercenary. Increasingly, more and more rinkers were becoming personal guards, a profession that allowed them to show off their skills while incurring less risk than actual warfare.


    Yar straightened up, his face all businesslike. ¡°Well then¡± he said briskly, it is time for us to leave as well. ¡°So away we go! On to further adventurers and hungrier audiences.¡±

 Chapter 1, Mules and Words

    Chapter 1, Mules and Words


    ¡°That¡¯s it, little pony, eat up!¡±, urged the rightside mule. ¡°Good boy¡±, the leftside mule added. ¡°Get yourself some bulk on that bony frame!¡± Seltheen¡¯s horse certainly seemed to be following their advice as it eagerly devoured the thick leafy shrubs that now surrounded the travelers.


    They had left the Rinks behind them three days ago, but still she couldn¡¯t help looking back constantly, trying to make herself see the great grassy plains of home. She missed them already. The people, the plains and the grass itself. Oh there was grass here, but it seldom grew higher than ankle level, and then only in isolated clumps. Nothing like the knee high sweet grass of the rinks, or the waist high smoke grass, the chest high pillow grass, or the above the head thickets of spear grass. She even missed the long winding strands of wolf grass with their cruel thorns.


    But apparently her horse did not. ¡°Inshaa, you are a glutton!¡± she scolded. Inshaa lifted his head once, seemed to shrug, and went back to enjoying the local diet. Savory greens was what Yar called them. He had gathered armloads of them to stow in the back of his capacious wagon. They had formed the better part of the last three meals he had made. She had to admit, the conceited entertainer was an amazing cook. Even if he did use entirely too little meat. Unfortunately, he would not agree to her ranging to hunt, so she had had to settle for what she could catch along or near the road. So far they had eaten a lot of small birds and several burrowing mammals.


    Not much grass, but lots of trees. Lots of hills and rocky outcroppings too. To Seltheen¡¯s warrior instincts, that meant possible ambushes, another reason to keep looking back as well as every other direction. But Yar was unconcerned. He said that they would be perfectly safe as long as the kept to the road. He took a watch at night, apparently just to humor her, but he spent the days practicing his craft: singing, playing the fuunok, slight of hand, and seduction. She had given up trying to stop the last activity, finally realizing it was just another act to him. Instead she let his blandishments wash over her unheard. He also spent a lot of time napping, in the front of his wagon, straw hat over his face, reins slack in his hands. Fortunately the mules didn¡¯t seem to need much guidance. They trudged along steadily, hour after hour, commenting on everything around them, including their owner¡¯s snores.


    Seltheen had asked Yar how come his mules could speak. He only said that it was a secret he would only share under `special circumstances¡¯. Right. Later, he did confide to her that it had taken him a long time to teach them rinker. ¡°We would have learned sooner¡±, argued the right side mule, ¡°if it weren¡¯t for his atrocious accent.¡± The left side mule snickered, then quoted one of the many aphorisms that made up the rinkers¡¯ unwritten literature. ¡°A true warrior wields sword and tongue alike in precise strokes.¡±


    While Seltheen had expected their path to head directly north, they had been going mostly west for some time. Yar had begun peppering his conversation with strange words, words whose pronunciation threatened to tie her tongue in knots. He explained that he was getting her used to a new language. ¡°You want me to learn your language?¡± she asked. ¡°Not my language, I am a waujak. We are heading into chuudib territory, you¡¯ll need to know something of theirs. So pay attention, the chuudibs have a general term for all the different kinds of greens we¡¯ve been eating: `yland¡¯. And their term for singe cooking, that is cooking by hanging something over a fire like this, is `shreeglurlov¡¯, no you have to push up with your tongue to say the rl combination correctly, but don¡¯t turn it into a rolled r, that¡¯s completely different. Now, say adhurrell shreeglurlov yland. That means we are going to singe cook some greens. And `fyendlar grreevluu dhiirlandelli ilfurrell shreeglurlov rrunk¡¯ means my big barbarian lover would like to singe cook a cow¡¯.¡± ¡°I am not¡ª¡° she started, but stopped short knowing it wouldn¡¯t help.


    Seltheen endured the language lessons but made no attempt to practice. Instead she kept trying to steer Yar to discussing what lay ahead. He in turn would try to turn every explanation back into a language lesson. She had better luck with the mules, even though they too had begun to speak partly in chuudib.


    According to the left side mule, chuudibs could be distinguished from the other hyuumin races by their deep pink complexions and soft puffy hair. The right side mule interrupted to explain that he had once eaten a chunk of chuudib hair and that it didn¡¯t seem any softer than that of other hyuumins. ¡°No matter¡±, the left side mule replied. ¡°It is all in how the hyuumins themselves perceive it.¡± It suddenly occurred to Seltheen that if she was going to converse with the creatures she should know their names. After all she knew the name of her horse and he could not speak to her. ¡°Pardon me¡±, she said. ¡°I don¡¯t believe Yar ever properly introduced us?¡± she said. Her voice trailed off towards the end as she started to feel self conscious about being social with a draft animal. But the right side mule didn¡¯t seem to notice. ¡°I am called Heave¡± he said. ¡°My stalwart companion is called Ho. You may continue to address us with those, although we will soon be using the chuudib equivalents.¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The mules went on to describe items of chuudib society and practice. They seemed to find the details fascinating. But to Seltheen¡¯s ears, well, all settled people were much alike, putting walls everywhere, collecting more possessions than they could easily carry, crowding large numbers into small spaces, fewer warriors and more artisans. And more farmers. It was no wonder that such people became the target of raids.


    ¡°Typical rinker¡± observed Ho. ¡°You excuse your acts of depredation by blaming the victims for being weak.¡± ¡°Watch it¡± said Heave. ¡°Don¡¯t talk about the boss¡¯s sweetheart like that!¡± ¡°I¡¯m not his sweetheart!¡± Seltheen protested. ¡°Anyway, the thing is, everyone gets raided. Those who let themselves get weak, get hurt. That¡¯s the rule!¡±


    Ho paused to munch some greens. ¡°That may be the rule, but being civilized is not the same as being weak. Or have you forgotten what the nildrer did to your people?¡± ¡°Actually¡±, Heave added, ¡°compared to the nildrer, everybody is weak. Or should I say `trlendelgodh¡¯, that¡¯s the chuudib word for military weakness in a defensive position.¡±


    Seltheen decided it was time to change the subject.


    Yar wasn¡¯t just changing his language. He also changed his wagon. One day, he turned the wagon off the road to a low sandy area that turned out to be the bank of a stream that Seltheen had previously missed. Now as she looked back, she could make out the narrow line of deeper green in the plant life. She mentally kicked herself; in the Rinks she would have noticed it automatically.


    Yar quickly undid the latches on the wagon, allowing all the sides to drop. Then he unloaded all his mysterious crates and barrels. Then he used a bucket and a brush to clean the wagon thoroughly. This surprised Seltheen, he didn¡¯t seem like the type to do that kind of work. He also disassembled the awning he sometimes used and put it to soak. Then he somehow managed to catch a bucketful of fish and little freshwater crabs. ¡°Here, you cook¡± he told her. ¡°Glomfyuudhurrell shreeglurlov eshid yland, that means go singe cook them over some greens. I recommend shluch and dirrelm, those are the lacy stems with the tiny yellow flowers and the broad leaves with the dark red veins.


    When she finished setting everything to cook, er, shreeglurlov, she found him painting. He had already whitewashed the boards of the wagon, and was now adding a second coat of deep yellow. It was for the chuudibs, he explained, they liked everything colorful. ¡°Well then, they¡¯ll appreciate your tunic and pantaloons¡±, she commented. ¡°Of course¡±, he said, ¡°that¡¯s a chuudib design, one of the more sedate ones, actually.¡± ¡°Sedate? Oh dear.¡±


    The next day, Yar stretched out the awning, which had turned pure white in whatever stuff had been in the bucket. The bucket was then dumped over the mules. While the awning dried, he mixed up some more paint and began covering the wagon with tight complex floral patterns in blue and pink. Later he did the same with the awning.


    ¡°And now it¡¯s our turn.¡± He unrolled the tent. But instead of setting it up normally, he folded it around the poles and lashed it tight so that it formed a trough. ¡°This, my precious flower, is our bath tub!¡± he said, beaming. This current slovenliness is meaningless to soulmates such as us, but now we must be prepared to meet the public, who will judge us by trivial, external matters. So saying, he filled the tub, stripped, and climbed in. ¡°Ah, lilac and passion flower¡±, he said, splashing happily. ¡°And speaking of passion, I believe there''s room for two in here.¡± ¡°No there isn''t!¡± she said hastily.


    She took Inshaa over to the stream and gave him a good scrubbing, but without any of Yar''s mysterious concoctions. Then she made her way upstream to where the overhanging bushes were thickest. She took her own bath there, knowing that for all of Yar''s sly tricks, he couldn''t be in two places at the same time. As long as he was splashing, he wouldn''t be peeking. So for the first time in weeks she enjoyed the luxury of a full soak and scrub. Rinkers, even among other rinkers, normally kept their bodies covered up, showing only hands and faces to the world. Even longstanding partners closed their tent flaps all the way and undressed together in the dark. Hence, when there wasn''t enough privacy, the general practice was to pour a bucket of water inside one''s robes. But now, for once, Seltheen was out of her robes, shirt, drawers, and stockings, which she also cleaned, consuming a whole bar of Yar''s scented soap without any feeling of guilt.


    By the time Yar finished his own bath, she was back in her inner robe, the rest of her clothes spread out on some branches. To dry faster, she did some weapons drills.


    By evening everything was stowed back in place. Dozens of little pennants fluttered from the edge of the bright awning and fanciful knots of colored rope festooned the festive wagon. Yar''s thick, deep reddish black hair was now a coppery cloud that floated around his head. He wore only a tight sky blue loincloth with matching open vest at first. But after sundown, much to Seltheen''s relief, he put on a long coat made from patches of fur in several shades of gold. And the mules, their coats bleached and dyed a ruddy bronze, had bells and tassels hanging from their tack. Seltheen had refused to accept any alterations in her own garments, but had agreed at last to let Yar buy her new robes at the first opportunity. She only hoped they would be some color she could wear without feeling like an idiot.


    It was just a little after dawn. The mules were complaining about the early start, while Yar had roused himself just enough to make ready and was now back to dozing in the wagon seat. Seltheen was seated beside him but she couldn¡¯t bring herself to sleep, that impulse had been schooled out of her years ago. ¡°A true warrior does not mix sleep time and wakefulness, there is neither alertness nor true rest in that.¡± Actually she knew of several older rinkers who made a practice of napping in the saddle, apparently it was possible to outgrow the aphorisms. Inshaa followed, she could trust him not to stray. Instead she reviewed the small store of chuudib words she had picked up. She thought she could possibly say things like ¡°The loud man is a big phony and we don¡¯t have a relationship¡±. She also, as always, scanned for danger. ¡°Feeling safe is not the same as being safe¡± whispered one of the Sacred Ancestors. Or perhaps it was the memory of one of her teachers.

 Chapter 2, The Smallest Audience

    Chapter 2, The Smallest Audience


    The sound under the wheels changed. ¡°Hey boss!¡±, Heave called out. ¡°We¡¯ve hit gravel, there¡¯s a town coming up. Yar yawned and stretched, nearly knocking Seltheen out of the wagon. ¡°At last!¡± he exclaimed happily. ¡°Look alive everyone. We will soon meet some people. And remember the code of the performer: always give the audience a show. Always give them your best, .whether it¡¯s a crowd or a single person.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡± said Seltheen in the same tone. ¡°I¡¯m sure it will be easy for you, having had a lot of practice performing for just one person.¡± He smiled broadly ¡°That¡¯s quite true, I have played to audiences of one.¡± He paused thoughtfully. ¡°And less!¡±


    ¡°Wait, how can there be an audience of less than one? I mean an audience of none can¡¯t actually be called an audience!¡± Seltheen¡¯s exclamation brought gasps form both mules. ¡°Now she¡¯s gone and done it¡± groaned Ho. ¡°Yup¡±, said Heave, ¡°now here it comes.¡±


    ¡°It was the strangest thing¡±, mused Yar. ¡°It was evening, and there was a storm brewing. I was in the middle of nowhere, lost.¡± ¡°That¡¯s before he had us¡±, Heave interjected. ¡°We aren¡¯t as bad at directions as him.¡± ¡°Well, um¡±, resumed Yar. ¡°so I had found this cave, it had the remains of a wall at the front, and a lot of marks inside that showed it had been used before. Just in time too, a hurricane hit the area just as I entered. The trail I had been following was washed out immediately and the bricks shook from the impact of the rain. I went in deeper, until I could put a couple of turns between me and the wind. I could still hear the storm outside, feel it too. I lit a fire and discovered that I was in a circular chamber with a niche at one end and some broken tiles on the floor that must have fallen form the walls. I realized that I was in an abandoned gorvij shrine. The gorvijes cremate their dead and make the ashes into tiles, you see. That¡¯s how they remember them.¡±


    ¡°That seems strange¡ª¡° began Seltheen. Heave cut her off. ¡°Don¡¯t. Unless you want him to expound at length on the differences in the fate of the dead among the gorvij and rinker peoples. Let it suffice that they are different.¡±


    Seltheen bit her tongue and said ¡°sorry, go on with the story¡±.


    ¡°Yes, well then, where was I?¡± asked Yar, apparently confused by the sudden loss of a change of subject. ¡°You had just realized you were in a shrine¡±, prompted Ho. ¡°That¡¯s right, I was in a shrine. A gorvij shrine that had fallen into disuse.¡± Seltheen shivered. One of the worst things you could say to a rinker was that their ancestors were unremembered. Yar continued. ¡°While I waited for the place to warm up, I had a look around. Turned out there were a lot of tiles still up on the wall. They were covered in dirt and mold, so I started wiping them off. I like art, you know. I¡¯m always looking for interesting designs I can make use of. Every gorvij tile is decorated as the maker sees fit. There are a lot of standard patterns, of course, but there¡¯s nothing stopping someone from being totally original. So there I was, looking around at religious symbols, representations of professions, handprints of grandchildren, and such like. There was this one that was symbolic, the gorvijes say heraldic, means that it represents an important family. I¡¯m pretty good at such things so I was trying to work out what family it was and perhaps what other families it might be associated with, when I got this feeling that I was being watched. So I looked and I saw this man standing in the fire! He was clearly a gorvij, and from the armor and weapons he had, he must have been a knight. Uh, that¡¯s a gorvij word, it means an elite warrior, or at least someone with the status of one. Well he was in gold plate armor polished mirror bright with a silk cloak over it. And the cloak had the same design as the tile I was studying. Weird huh? He stared at me and his face contorted with fury and screamed `get out, unclean interloper!¡¯ He strode away from the fire but with each step he faded. I mean he became more insubstantial and translucent until he completely disappeared. Which was a good thing because he had a blade staff. That¡¯s a special weapon of the gorvijes. Imagine a straight sword blade as tall as you are. It¡¯s a handsbreadth wide for most of its length but it tapers to a point at each end. The edges are kept razor sharp, but there are these two handles that slide up and down. So depending on the position of the handles it can be used like a spear or a broadsword, or a staff. Just as he vanished completely, he made a slash as if to take my head off!¡±The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Yar paused for a shuddering breath. In spite of herself, Seltheen was fascinated. ¡°I said he vanished, but I soon realized it wasn¡¯t over. I began to feel little pains all over my body. It was like being pinched hard, over and over again. And while each one wasn¡¯t much, adding it all up, it hurt! I realized that I was dealing with an unquiet ghost, and that he was trying to kill me or drive me away. Well I couldn¡¯t leave. Besides the rain and wind, who knows what might be wandering out there. Could be wolves, or snakes, or apes, or¡ª¡°The mules interrupted him, reciting in unison. ¡°Or bears, or eagles, or whales or chipmunks, even!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t mock me!¡± retorted Yar. ¡°You weren¡¯t there!¡±


    ¡°Why would the ghost want to chase you out into the rain¡±, Seltheen wondered. ¡°He was supposed to be from one of those special families, you said. Wouldn¡¯t he be honor bound to allow you hospitality?¡± ¡°A good question¡±, Yar responded. Indeed, their chivalry is similar to your warrior code in many ways, and yes, hospitality is part of it. But this was a sacred space. It is like your weapons, or your consecrated horse skull, you don¡¯t let just anyone touch them, only other warriors that you respect. Well, the shrine was consecrated to the gorvij deities and I of course, am not a devotee. Hence, his duty to maintain the sanctity of the place was greater than his duty of hospitality.¡± ¡°Oh¡± said Seltheen thoughtfully.


    Yar continued. ¡°I realized that his assaults, non physical as they were, would eventually overwhelm me. But I could not fight back, alas; I am not much of a spiritual person. So what could I do, unable to retreat or defend myself? Somehow I had to get him to stop attacking me; put his attention on something else. If I could keep him distracted until dawn, he wouldn¡¯t be able to hurt me any more. ¡±So-o-o-- I told him a story.¡±


    ¡°You told him a story¡±, Seltheen repeated. ¡°Is that your audience smaller than one?¡± ¡°Of course, dear heart. An unquiet ghost does not have all the autonomy of a living person, therefore they are less than one, see?¡± Seltheen did not see it that way. Certainly, she would never agree that the Sacred Ancestors were any less real people than the living rinkers. It might be different for gorvijes, though, so she signified assent. Yar beamed and started again. ¡°So this is the story I told him: Long ago, in one of the gorvij realms, the ruling family produced identical twins. It was a difficult birth, with the mother thrashing so hard, she knocked down the nurses. There was so much concern for her that the attendants lost track of which baby had come first. So they grew up in uncertainty and jealousy¡­¡±

 Chapter 3, No Audience Here

    Chapter 3, No Audience Here


    ¡°¡­As the guards led the disgraced chancellor away, the twins looked at each other and smiled. And then they embraced, unreservedly and wholeheartedly. The courtiers cheered to see that because it meant that the twins were reconciled at last. Each had learned to appreciate the other¡¯s abilities and each understood that they could trust each other. So at the shrine to their parents, they pledged to share the throne. They had a long and happy reign, with peace and prosperity for all their citizens.¡±


    Yar cleared his throat. ¡°I finished the story just as dawn was breaking. The ghost smiled and saluted me as he vanished. I knew I could sleep securely. Which I did, until mid afternoon, by which time the ground had dried out. I left the place and continued my journey. Oh, look, we¡¯ve reached the town!¡±


    Seltheen had been so absorbed in the story that she had almost forgotten to watch their surroundings. Now she wondered how come a story that Yar had just told in less than an hour could have lasted all night previuously. Add another mystery to the others surrounding the man. A young boy was sitting on a fence that now ran alongside the road. Yar threw off his coat, stood up, and began to juggle three rods, (or was it four?) while reciting something in chuudib. The boy jumped down and ran. ¡°Aha!¡± exclaimed Yar. ¡°Now the word will spread. Soon we will do our first show for these good people.¡± A minute later the air was full of stones and cries of ¡°vrraayend! vrraayend! rringerl!¡±Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Seltheen called for Inshaa. The wiry rinker warhorse plunged through the shower of missiles and drew up beside the wagon. She jumped into the saddle. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± she demanded. ¡°What¡¯s that they¡¯re saying?¡± Yar had pulled on his coat again, along with a brightly painted helmet that looked like an eagle¡¯s head. ¡°I seem to have miscalculated our distance from the Rinks: he said. ¡°Apparently your people have been this far in force. What our welcoming committee is saying is `savages¡¯ and `rinkers¡¯. I¡¯m afraid we¡¯ll have to go deeper into chuudib territory before we can find people who aren¡¯t threatened the mere sight of a rinker face.¡±


    Seltheen charged toward the source of the stones. Inshaa neatly hopped the fence. Then the rinker¡¯s long chopping spear smacked into a line of attackers. Two fell bleeding, the others scattered. She quickly returned to the wagon. ¡°What do we do now?¡± ¡°Move fast and hope they don¡¯t have any trained troops.¡± No troops opposed them. They sped down the road as fast as the mules could trot. Seltheen sent two arrows back to discourage pursuit.

 Chapter 4, Pig and Shovel

    Chapter 4, Pig and Shovel


    Seltheen looked around from the top of a lone tree while Yar saw to the mules and the wagon. She hoped he knew what to do for the poor exhausted creatures, but right now it was more important for her to watch for enemies. After about half an hour she came down having seen no sign of anyone coming. ¡°How soon can we move?¡± she asked. ¡°We can move now¡± responded Yar. ¡°We just have to turn off the road and take it slowly. This meadow is deceptive; it has hard subsoil, almost as good as a road. And the plants will soon spring back, hiding our tracks from casual detection. Now you see that clump of pale pink flowers over there? With the big fleshy stems? Bring them. Bring everything, the flowers, the stems and the bulbs. I¡¯ll make something for our bumps and bruises.¡± That night as she fell asleep, Seltheen mused on her people¡¯s long habit of making neighboring populations fear them. That certainly helped soften up resistance to a raiding party. She had never considered how the practice might have negative consequences. Then it occurred to her how rare it was for single rinkers to meet those consequences. In previous generations each such journey could make a saga. Now it was becoming commonplace, ever since the rinkers had been forced to stop attacking others. Curse those nildrer!


    They crossed the meadowlands without further incident.


    Three days later, Seltheen finally got to do some serious hunting. Yar had made a deal with the leader of a small village. The village would give them shelter, supplies and some attention from their smith, carpenter and other local artisans. And all they had to do was kill a marauding pig. All Seltheen had to do was kill it, of course. And she was sure he had misrepresented their relationship, both personally and professionally. This was confirmed when she saw that they had been offered a single hut to sleep in.


    She took out her annoyance on the pig. She killed it with a single thrust but broke her spear in the process.


    She explained things to Yar. ¡°If the carpenter and I have managed to understand each other, it will take a few days to properly prepare a new shaft. And then another day for the smith to fit my spearhead to it. Until then, we are staying, that¡¯s all there is to it!¡± Expecting an argument, she folded her arms and assumed her best expression of implacability. But Yar didn¡¯t argue. He just shrugged and said there was no hurry. Meanwhile, the villagers were scouring all of their biggest pots. There were even a couple of washtubs and a trough. Several piles of wood had been lit inside a small barn. Some were to heat the various vessels and some were for smoking. A group of adolescents was sluicing out entrails and hanging them from posts. A frail old grandfather was picking through a pile of savory greens. He muttered their convoluted names thoughtfully. A young mother wielded a scraper over a mottled hide while her children collected stiff shaggy hairs in a bag. There was a lot of pig to process.


    Seltheen studied the fields surrounding the village. It was the best way to avoid looking at the villagers. More specifically, it was the best way to avoid looking at their skin, so much of which was on display. Below the waist the chuudibs wore mainly loincloths or mid thigh length skirts, or occasionally short pants. Above the waist they wore sleeveless shirts and vests. When they felt cold, they just added something heavier over all of it. Sometimes there would be more covering for protection, but it was flung away as soon as it wasn¡¯t needed. And if it wasn¡¯t cold and the job was really dirty then--- Oops, she suddenly realized that the ditchdiggers in the distance were working entirely naked. Well, many of the children were naked too, but that didn¡¯t bother her because that was part of rinker custom as well. But long before adolescence every rinker child acquired a decent sense of propriety. Yar had good naturedly needled her about her attitude. Rinkers were so proud to be free of the many fears and quirks that hampered civilized folk, but they had the biggest nudity taboo of any known culture. Weren¡¯t they proud of their hard won physiques? Seltheen refused to discuss it. It was something a stonedweller would never understand.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Spit roasted kidneys and blood fortified the stew at dinner. Definitely food for a warrior. What surprised Seltheen was the lavish praise for the scooped out slabs of bread that the meal was eaten from. Back in the Rinks baking was a function of the Unclan, the group of outcasts and unfit in each tribe who were not part of any clan but did the menial labor for all. No one would ever praise an unclanner, neither they nor their work was worthy of it. Still, she had to admit, this bread was the best she¡¯d ever tasted.


    After the edge had been taken off everyone¡¯s appetite, the villagers looked to Yar. ¡°Showtime!¡± he announced with a big grin. Or at least, that¡¯s what she assumed he¡¯d said. He took out his fuunok and brushed the metal strips on its face gently. He made it hum, then buzz, then ring. He began to sing strange looping tunes in the long liquid syllables of the chuudib language. A hand squeezed Seltheen¡¯s arm. She turned, startled, and found herself facing one of the villagers. ¡°You are the carpenter¡¯s son, I believe¡±, she said. ¡°Did you need something?¡± He smiled, and ran his fingers along her face. Whatever he said was outside her limited chuudib vocabulary, but his meaning was unmistakable. ¡°Oh¡±, she said. ¡°Do you know somewhere warm and dark? Lead on.¡±


    Yar watched her go. Good to see her getting along with the natives. He studied his audience. Peasants. ¡°Good sturdy peasant stock¡±, as writers and officials liked to put it when trying to flatter such people. They were in a good location, fertile, well watered, close enough to other chuudib communities to trade but not close enough to be dominated by any of them. More importantly, they were apparently far away enough from any rinker incursions to feel safe. Hmm, people who feel safe in real life tend to like danger in their stories. So, then. He accepted a fresh drink and began.


    This is the story of the Traveling Shovel of Death.


    A long time ago, far away in the gorvij lands, there was a storyteller. More than a storyteller, actually. She was a minstrel, a person with a lot of skill in the performing arts. None of them are as good as me, of course, but she came close, being one of the best. But even the best occasionally come up short. Not me, of course, I mean the best of the regular entertainers, other than Yar the Magnificent.


    The minstrel was spinning a new tale extemporaneously. It was full of mystery and suspense and terror. She had her protagonist, a plucky farm girl not unlike some that I see here, hiding in a barn from a shadowy band of attackers. They were closing in fast. And that¡¯s when she, the minstrel that is, suddenly ran out of ideas. She had cornered herself as well as her character. But she was a professional and kept her cool. She pretended to have a coughing fit and took a long drink to cover herself. I don¡¯t do that. When I cough it means my throat is dry and I need a drink for real. Like, cough cough, right now. Oh thank you.


    The minstrel looked around. She was outside at the time, speaking to a group of miners on a fine evening much like this one. She saw a shape in the darkness, just beyond the fire light. There was something leaning against the wall where she could have sworn there was nothing a moment ago. She strained to see what it was, realized it was a shovel. Inspiration struck! She had her protagonist find a shovel under a pile of old burlap sacks. She dragged it out and raised it just as the leader of the attackers came around the corner. She lashed out in blind panic and somehow managed to slice into the woman¡¯s neck, killing her instantly. The others ran off, never to be seen again. At the end of the story, the protagonist flung the shovel into a river because she was horrified by what she did and didn¡¯t want to be reminded.


    I say the end of the story, but I mean the end of the story the minstrel told. Because there was another ending, what sophisticated literary types call an epilog. You see, two days later, one of the people who had been listening to that story, took the shovel that had inspired the minstrel, and bashed in the head of a neighbor he¡¯d been feuding with for years. He was hanged for that killing. Afterwards, no one could find the shovel.


    Now the number of performers in this world is relatively small, and most of us wander a lot. So we often cross each others¡¯ paths and when we do, we swap stories. This story has spread and it seems to give rise to further inspiration. Sooner or later, every performer will tell a story in which someone gets killed with a shovel. At the same time, there are also many reports of people being killed by disappearing shovels in real life. This has led some to conclude that it is all the same shovel, manifesting itself both in the world and in people¡¯s minds. It has come to be known as the Traveling Shovel of Death. So, if you¡¯re a performer like me, whenever you tell this story, you always look around. Let¡¯s do that right now, shall we? Look around you. Lo-o-ok a-a-r-rou-ou-nd! Are there any shovels in sight? No? Good.

 Chapter 5, Bear!

    Chapter 5, Bear!


    Yar sat up slowly, careful not to disturb his still sleeping companion. He pulled up the edge of the wool rug and took a long look underneath. Nice! Actually, nothing had happened last night, as she had had way too much to drink. Still, it was always good to have someone warm to snuggle up to. Of course, that is not how everyone would see it. His reputation as a roguish and worldly type, who¡¯d lived an appallingly fascinating life, would be maintained. It would also help the woman¡¯s reputation for having bedded the glamorous foreigner. He shook her gently. ¡°Let us meet again later¡±, he said. ¡°For now, no doubt you want to rest from last night¡¯s exertions.¡± He kissed her smartly, pulled on his clothes, and went out to find breakfast.


    It turned out that almost everyone else had already eaten and was now hard at work. But there were eggs and smoked fish waiting for him. And a big fried slice of pork brain. Excellent. Afterward he had a quick wash and went to look for Seltheen. He found her on Inshaa, trotting around in circles, slashing at targets with a long pole. She pulled up, slid off the back of the horse, and dropped low, spinning the pole over her head. Several dozen onlookers, mostly children, applauded. She strode over to the carpenter who was among the watchers. She used her dagger to slash the pole near the end, and then presented it to her. ¡°Cut. Here. Good. Pole.¡± she said in mangled chuudib. The carpenter smiled and took it away.


    ¡°Had a good night?¡± Yar asked Seltheen. ¡°Good enough, ask no further¡±, she replied coldly. ¡°Oh dear, have I transgressed a rinker social norm?¡± ¡°You know you have.¡± ¡°Fine, be like that. But your new friend will not be so reticent. Chuudibs have different customs concerning such things.¡± ¡°So go ask him, I won¡¯t care. I suppose you have a new friend too.¡± ¡°Always, but I won¡¯t let her come between what we have.¡± She snorted and began attacking the targets again with her sword.


    She kept it up for the rest of the morning. Sword, saxe, dagger, bow. She had managed to obtain a few arrows she thought she could use. She also borrowed an axe and practiced with it. The village elders had to keep dragging youngsters back to their tasks.


    Yar joined the youngest children at their chores. He improvised a silly song for each task. For weeding it was ¡°pinch away, pull away, dig away, now, this patch is my farm and my hoe is a plow!¡±. For carding wool it was ¡°fine, finer finest, the yarn will entwine, for that soft softer softest new sweater of mine!¡±. They got twice as much done as they normally did. Later, he met up with his partner of the previous night. Her name was Brleyandarmblee. He pretended to lose his balance saying it. On the third try, he turned his grip on her into a dance step. ¡°Shall we?¡± he asked. He summoned the children and had them clap while singing the songs from earlier. Somehow they made appropriate music for a simple skip around a circle dance. And soon he had other couples joining in.


    For the rest of the day, he divided his time among the various groups of working adults, singing traditional chuudib ballads. And that evening, after a dinner of pork and roots that had been roasting all day, he set up a puppet theater. Once again, Seltheen didn¡¯t stick around. She had found some more company.


    Yar put on what he said was a classic gorvij drama called ¡°Out of Chocolate¡±. The storyline was certainly a drama, with war and conquest in the background. But it centered around a group of aristocrats whose inept attempts to respond to the crisis kept degenerating into thigh slapping comedy. The audience especially roared every time one particular character wandered out holding an empty pitcher and responded to someone¡¯s description of a catastrophe with the plaintive cry ¡°and we¡¯re out of chocolate!¡±. Foolish nobles were always a hit with the working classes.


    The next day, Seltheen decided to explore. Her new partner was a hunter, so she asked him, with much halting and gesturing, to show her around. He was pleased to oblige.


    His name was Uunreed, which was convenient because she could pronounce it. Sort of, since the `nr¡¯ sound was not supposed to be split. He in turn had trouble with her name, calling her `Selsheen¡¯ or `Selcheen¡¯. But best of all, he spoke the simple universal language called `mood say¡¯. It was more of a code than a language, but it had the interesting property of that one didn¡¯t so much learn the words and grammar by being taught, but by discovering them through contemplative exercises. It was said that deep down inside every sentient being already knew it, but not all knew that they knew it. It was only good for transmitting the most basic ideas, but it was better than mixing a few dozen words of mangled chuudib with a lot of pointing.


    Well there was still some pointing. Uunreed was describing the terrain ahead. ¡°Advise: trail soon forward. Lake later. Many big four leg leaf eater.¡±


    Seltheen was eager. ¡°Query: four leg good for kill-eat.¡± He laughed ¡°Advise: yes.¡± It was a good day. Seltheen killed two deerlike creatures and a large bat, impressing Uunreed with her skill at archery and at dressing carcasses. Inshaa impressed him too, with his unexpected strength for his size, seeming unaffected by the weight. Uunreed was even more impressed when he cried out in warning. ¡°Imperative: danger! Stop now!¡± And Inshaa stopped instantly in response to Seltheen''s change in posture. She rolled off the horse''s back into a crouch with her sword out. Something with a short dense body and a wide toothy mouth sailed over her head. Later she learned it was called a vipertoad. Uunreed snagged it with his throwing net and bashed it against a rock. Then he expertly gutted it, demonstrating to Seltheen how to remove the poison sacs.


    Yar was with the children again, making up silly verses about their names, when the whole village went into commotion. First he saw a fox streak across the hardpacked workyard and squeeze under the wall of a hut. That was strange, foxes were often wary, but he''d never see one running flat out like that. Yar had gotten used to small animals bustling around the edge of the daily activities. Chuudibs rarely had personal pets but some creatures were treated kindly so that they would hang around and be useful. Foxes kept down the vermin population and reduced the amount of food waste that had to be buried. A second fox found home base, then an anteater. Somewhere a bell was clanging. People were running now, including most of his juvenile audience. Those that didn¡¯t were quickly snatched up like sacks of turnips. Someone grabbed his arm. ¡°Get inside, outlander! There¡¯s a bear out there!¡± As he helped bar the door of the shed he ended up in, Yar wondered why the chuudib word for `bear¡¯ required four trilling syllables. You¡¯d think they¡¯d have developed a faster word to say at times like this.


    Inshaa narrowed his nostrils and whickered. ¡°Yes, I know¡±, Seltheen murmured. The rank smell was unfamiliar but she was sure it meant danger. She looked at Uunreed. He was staring. There was definite fear in his eyes. He brought his horse up close, leaned in and whispered. ¡°Advise: much danger. Big thick fur creature. Big teeth claws. Easy to anger. Hard to kill. We move now. Quiet.¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    They separated enough to have room to fight if necessary. They started to head towards the village. A huge shaggy brown creature erupted from the underbrush. Seltheen put an arrow into it with practiced ease. There was time for another, and two shots should certainly slow the creature enough to dispatch with a blade. That¡¯s how she would have dealt with a wolf back home. Thank the Sacred Ancestors this thing didn¡¯t have packmates. Her hand flashed to her quiver to grab another arrow when the creature stood up and roared.


    Seltheen¡¯s heart froze. Something struck her like a hammer blow. Her vision went black. There was roaring all around her, .it seemed. But there was only one creature, wasn¡¯t there? Someone was shrieking. Inshaa? He had never made a sound like that before. And why was he so far away? She was riding him, after all. No she wasn¡¯t. She became aware of her body again. She was on her back. On the ground. Her highly trained, fearless rinker warhorse had thrown her!


    There was a thunk in the distance and the roaring stopped. A voice was shouting in chuudib. Uunreed. ¡°Can¡¯t!¡± she yelled. It was the only chuudib word she could remember. He must have heard her, because he started using mood say. ¡°Imperative: stand up now.¡± Yes. Must stand up. She had a purpose now, a direction. Her vision cleared as she rose to her feet. The creature was growling as it faced Uunreed and his panicky horse. A gash in the creature¡¯s shoulder looked like a hoof mark. The horse must have managed to catch the creature with a surprise kick; that was the sound she¡¯d heard. But the blow had been only slightly more effective than her arrow, which had fallen out. Muscles bulged as the creature gathered itself for a leap. Uunreed threw a log he was holding. It hit the creature square in the nose, causing it misjudge its distance and fall short. Uunreed drew his long knife and sliced down. Blood spurted. The creature roared and lashed out, raking his arm. His gritted his teeth against the pain and lunged. This time he stabbed deep. He ducked under the return swing and wrenched his horse¡¯s head around. The horse was glad to oblige, it took off so fast that he lost his grip and fell off.


    Seltheen ran and helped him up. The creature growled and stood up again, ignoring the gushing blood. It spotted the two hyuumins and dropped down again, ready to attack. ¡°Inshaa! To me!¡± Seltheen called. The plucky little horse had recovered its nerve. It charged from behind and ran up the creature¡¯s broad back. The creature collapsed as the warhorse bounded off. Seltheen leapt into the saddle and pulled Uunreed up behind her. She looked back. The creature was getting up again. Well with the wounds it had sustained it wouldn¡¯t be able to catch them. She brought Inshaa to a gallop. Uunreed groaned. ¡°Imperative: go from dwellingplace.¡± ¡°Acknowledged¡± she replied. Of course they should lead the creature away from the village even though it would likely drop dead soon.


    When she thought they had enough of a lead, she stopped to check on Uunreed. He was bleeding profusely from three long slashes but none were very deep. She bandaged him. ¡°Advise: will be good markings. Your companions will see your worth.¡± He did not seem pleased. Perhaps chuudib warriors did not honor their scars the way rinkers did.


    The next day a team of hunters retrieved the body, along with Seltheen¡¯s bow and Uunreed¡¯s knife and crossbow. Some of the products of the pig were traded to other villages for more firewood and a few extra metal tools. Uunreed was judged to have made the killing stroke so he was to have the bulk of the skin. It would be made into a cloak. For her part, Seltheen was allotted enough of the hide to make a short tunic, but since a rinker wouldn¡¯t wear one as outerwear, no one would know of her valor. So instead she was getting a vest, mittens, and leggings. Also several teeth and claws. ¡°Allow me¡± said Yar. He deftly undid the braided cords on the handle of her sword and redid them incorporating two of the claws. He added a tuft of fur to make a tassel. ¡°As you see, I have restored the patterns so they still indicate your clan and tribe. But now you are also identified as a hero.¡± Later he did the same with her other weapons and her saddle.


    They stayed another 5 days. Yar continued to come up with new songs and other amusements in addition to the ones everyone wanted to hear again. Seltheen and Uunreed went out riding every day and spent every night in her tent or his treehouse. She couldn''t get the village children to understand that Inshaa was a battle trained warrior¡¯s mount and they could not just walk up and offer him a caress or a carrot., so she built a lean-to to act as a makeshift stable to reduce his exposure and surrounded it with dry twigs so that he wouldn''t be surprised.


    Since the abundance of meat had given her an abundance of goodwill, Seltheen was able to have her new spear shaft reinforced with steel bands at the pointed end. To balance the extra weight she had a thick iron cap added to the other end. She was vaguely aware that Yar was also adding to his equipment but she didn''t understand the purpose of most of the items and didn''t care to listen to the explanations.


    On their last night, the village population tripled from visiting neighbors. They were plied with many new and unfamiliar dishes. Yar cautioned her not to have more than a bite or two of anything but always accept anything offered for the road. He himself had obtained two baskets full of little meat pies. ¡°They keep a long time¡± he explained.


    Yar was, once again, the main attraction, but tonight his offer was an epic dramatization of Seltheen''s recent adventurers. Many liberties were taken with the facts. The pig became a smoky dark juggernaut sent by malevolent deities of the underworld. It tore up whole villages and when Seltheen confronted it, it still had bloody ribbons of flesh on its tusks. ¡°Yes my friends, those same tusks that now adorn her vest!¡± With barbarian cunning, she trapped the monster between two enormous fallen trees, and then struck deep, deep into the evil red ember of its great piggy eye... But her spear snapped! Without hesitation, she leapt onto its back. And when her sword stuck in its rock hard flesh, she slid off and dodging around its deadly attacks she took her dagger in both hands and stabbed it in the groin so hard her arms went into to its body up to the elbows. In its death throes, the pig had churned up enough virgin land to start a farm. In fact someone had already claimed the land for just that purpose.


    The audience gasped and groaned, cheered and laughed as they followed the moods created by Yar''s art. A merchant from another village stood next to Seltheen and translated for her. By the time the story ended, her arm was sore from his excited pounding. She was also stunned at Yar''s audacity. Tall tales, especially bragging ones, were a highly respected tradition in the Rinks. But this was far beyond anything she''d heard from even the most seasoned warrior in her tribe. She whispered the traditional rinker closing phrase for a bragging session. ¡°Once I told a tale so outrageous that the moon shook its head at me.¡±


    The crowd had gotten a good start on its digestion and was ready for more food. As platters started making their way around again, Yar led a chorus of some of his young friends in a few favorite chuudib folk songs. Then he graciously made way for some local singers. None were in his class but he found something complimentary to say to and about each one. He made sure that they all got applause.


    Finally, when everyone was full again, Yar performed another epic. This one featured Seltheen and Uunreed versus a destructive forest spirit that took the form of a bear as tall as an ancient tree. It moved like a whirlwind and battered the heroes so hard it threw them into the air. But Seltheen was a match for that. She had some magic unguent made by a rinker shaman and when she smeared it on her horse¡¯s hooves, it made him fly. So on his back, she flew around the bear, attacking with her sword. Meanwhile, Uunreed called upon the good spirits to give him their strength. The spirits answered. Uunreed raised his hand and threw lightning! The evil spirit was defeated. It fled, leaving the empty bear form behind. And now, behold: he wears its skin as a trophy!


    Tonight the moon was going to shake its brains out.


    ¡°So what did that merchant want?¡± Seltheen asked the next morning. ¡°I saw him talking to you after last night¡¯s celebration. Thing is, you appeared to be listening.¡± Yar chuckled. ¡°You do know why that man speaks your language, right? He travels to the Rinks a lot. He gave me 250 gold pieces to make him a written version of your triumphs. The one about the bear had to be adjusted a bit, to diminish Uunreed¡¯s part a little. He¡¯s going to take it with him on his next trip and some rinkers who work for him will sing it. His audiences will enjoy hearing the mighty deeds of one of their own. That will make them more favorable towards trading with him. That will go double for Eeyunk Clan, of course.¡±


    ¡°How does he know my clan name?¡± demanded Seltheen. ¡°I never gave it! We only give our personal names to outsiders.¡± ¡°True, but some outsiders have learned the meaning of your braids and tassels. Don¡¯t worry, he won¡¯t tell anyone. And I certainly know better, oh flame of my heart.¡±


    ¡°Are you back to that?¡± she sighed. ¡°I thought you got plenty in the village! I know you have some nice presents, that implies that some foolish woman not only liked the sound of your quail honking, they liked the quail too.¡± ¡°Oh, yes, more than one, in fact! And I know you and your fellow beast slayer had some more welcome adventures together. But now we are each alone again, we must mutually offer comfort.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got bear sausage on your breath!¡± ¡°So do you.¡±

 Chapter 6, Alone in the Crowd

    Chapter 6, Alone in the Crowd


    Yar was singing at the top of his lungs, with the mules occasionally joining in. They were in the middle of a bustling market, but Seltheen was feeling isolated. Uunreed and the bear were three weeks and four villages in the past She hadn¡¯t heard the rinker language from anyone except Yar in over a week, only then in snatches. She did know a bit more chuudib now, but it didn¡¯t help. The language as spoken here was even harder to follow when spoken at normal speed. Yar said it was just a matter of getting used to the dialect. Well she wasn¡¯t getting used to it.


    It was strange, feeling alone when surrounded by people. She had felt that way once before, back when she was 16 and trying to be recognized as a full fledged warrior.


    Seltheen was alternately hot and cold, her long flimsy tunic soaked in sweat. She was afraid she was going to wet herself, afraid she was going to faint, afraid she was going to run off screaming. And that was before the shaman offered her the cup.


    The Warrior Code forbids the use of `substances tending to impair the senses¡¯ except for religious purposes. That includes healing, divination, and medicine dreams. And a medicine dream is part of the Adulthood Rites. Today, Seltheen and her agemates would be experiencing theirs. Some would obtain insight. Some would obtain guidance. And some, oh please not her¡ª some would discover that their destiny lay in the unclan.


    The shaman was slowly walking down the line. Which shaman was it? She thought she had met all the ones in the clan. But they might have brought in someone else, someone of higher rank who functioned for the whole tribe. But the mask and bright feathered cap offered no clue. For all she knew, behind that painted face was the golden glowing visage of one of the Sacred Ancestors! Her knees began to shake uncontrollably. She locked them together. She shut her eyes tight and tried to remember a calming chant. When she opened her eyes the shaman was right in front of her. She screamed. Except that it came out as a croak. Her heart was trying to gallop away to the Edge of All. In spite of her two day fast, she was going to vomit.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    The shaman placed a cool hand on Seltheen¡¯s face, and then on her chest. She could feel her heart slow down from its frantic drumming. ¡°Calm, child, it will be alright¡± the shaman whispered. Oh relief! It was old Freezhii, doctor and confident since she had been a small child. He spoke again, in a loud and deep tone. ¡°Youngling! Candidate! Are you prepared?¡± ¡°I am fully prepared, shaman¡± she replied. ¡°Then drink!¡± She drank. It tasted vile. She choked it down. Nothing happened. Someone took her by the arm and led her to where she had laid her cloak. She sat down. She didn¡¯t feel any different. Well, everyone said that the effects of the drug were highly variable and sometimes it took a while to kick in. Meanwhile, she was supposed to meditate. So she meditated and looked out at the scene. She saw the other younglings, the shamans and their assistants. and a little ways beyond were the tents of the clan. In the distance she could just barely make out the shapes of camps belonging to other clans. And beyond that, beyond, before and all around, was the Rink, one of the great seas of grassland designated by the ancient deities to house the mightiest of all peoples, the rinkers. Together, the Rinks stretched from the dawn of creation to the Edge of All, where the Sacred Ancestors lived and hunted. Yes, stretch was the right word. She could see it now. Colors and shapes lengthening and pulling like a clump of mud dropped into a clear stream. Everything was softening, becoming indistinct. Sounds too. They had lost all meaning, either dropping to the ground and shattering, or bursting in all directions then drifting away.


    All day people wandered around her, or she wandered among them. But she couldn¡¯t make out any faces or hear any words. She didn¡¯t achieve any great enlightenment either. As she complained to Freezhii later ¡°I¡¯m still the same me!¡± ¡°That too, is a message, child¡± he told her reassuringly.


    That had been a long time ago. She had passed with no problems and earned her heavy white tunic and the right to be addressed as Warrior.


    Now it seemed she was back in the medicine dream, seeing figures but not being able to interact. Well then she should probably meditate.

 Chapter 7, An Uninvited Audience

    Chapter 7, An Uninvited Audience


    Yar looked at his companion, saw the frustration in her face. He had hoped that she would be able to learn at least a rudimentary amount of chuudib by now. Not necessarily fluent chuudib; after all few people had his gifts. He himself had always found languages absurdly easy. He spoke every major hyuumin language in the Empire, and several minor ones, in multiple dialects. He also knew a few non hyuumin languages. Well, they were coming to a more densely populated region. Perhaps he could find her a tutor. They should reach the outermost market town early tomorrow morning.


    Crowded. Seltheen thought she had experienced it before. but not like this. This was like being in a herd. Like cattle. Like settled people, whom the rinkers often compared to cattle. Yar had warned her to beware of sneak thieves. And also con artists, but to trick her someone would first have to be comprehensible. And in this place, there was no fear of that. So all she had to do was keep her valuables out of reach. Her pouch was inside her outer robe, the strings were tight on her pack, she had her sword out, and she was acutely aware of any movement towards her other weapons. With her warning slashes and Inshaa¡¯s apparent willingness to bite, she was able to clear a little space, but if the crowd decided to attack it would close tightly around her in an instant.


    Behind her, Yar and his loaded wagon must be a very tempting target. He didn¡¯t seem at all concerned, though. He was, as always, making new friends. A few coins and a lot of fancy flattery soon bought him an escort of youngsters who watched the crowd for him. She saw them fend off two grabbing hands. One of them brought a bundle wrapped in thick round leaves. It turned out to be thick paste of unidentified vegetable chunks with a sharp sweetish smell. Yar assured her it was edible. It was a strange breakfast, but not entirely unpleasant. Afterward, Yar brushed himself off, and then stood up in the wagon. He raised his voice to a booming level and announced himself. Many voices answered him and they were not all favorable. In fact one seemed, as near as Seltheen could tell, to be both hostile and sarcastic. Yar engaged that voice directly. Barbs flew back and forth, but finally the voice was reduced to sputtering insults and then nothing. Try as she might, though, Seltheen could never make out whose voice it was. No doubt the man wanted to preserve his anonymity now that he had been bested.


    Dozens cheered Yar¡¯s wit and laughed at the discomfiture of his heckler. Even as he found a space for the wagon they stayed eager for more. And with his new self appointed workforce helping with the mules and awning, he pulled out his fuunok and began his first performance.


    Later she said ¡°it was a lucky break that you were able to overmatch that rude person. Your success in a verbal duel really helped you to collect a paying audience. But what would have happened if you had lost?¡± ¡°No worries, dearest!¡± Yar chuckled. There¡¯s always someone like that, and most of the things they say are not new. So I just prepare my responses in advance!¡±


    In between performances, Yar guided his crew to unload the wagon and stow most of the items underneath. He attached a curtain of heavy chains to the bottom of the wagon, a barrier against thievery, he said. He had straw bundles dragged to form a curve around the front of the wagon. A makeshift theater, he said, and a snack for the mules. He draped brightly colored strips of cloth over the straw. ¡°Stay back¡±, he told the workforce. ¡°These are still damp from the bleaching solution, it will hurt your eyes and skin.¡±


    They were taking an afternoon break when she observed Yar''s youngling assistants suddenly fall silent and slink away. The silence spread outward in ripples, followed by a strained pretense of return to normalcy. But under the pretense there was fear. ¡°Oh, ho!¡± exclaimed Yar. ¡°Here it comes. Someone is going to try to upstage me!¡± ¡°What?¡± asked Seltheen. ¡°It feels like an attack coming to me!¡± ¡°Attack, performance, sometimes it¡¯s the same thing!¡±


    ¡°Back in the Rinks you have the Truce Grounds¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s neutral for all the tribes and for outsiders. Outsiders have to pay a fee, you rinkers call it tribute. The judges determine the fees and collect them. After that the outsiders are free to do business. However, sometimes some rinkers, usually younglings, try to get more money out of them. They take advantage of your people¡¯s fearsome reputation and the outsiders¡¯ ignorance of the rules. They come up swaggering, brandishing weapons and pretending to be outraged. They claim that there¡¯s an additional fee that must be paid immediately.¡± ¡°B-but that¡¯s¡ª¡° ¡°Dishonorable? Of course it is. But we both know that you know better. It¡¯s only in the epic tales that things are clear cut and only the corrupt and degraded cross the line.¡±


    ¡°There are similarities here. Officially, this market is governed by a group appointed by the regional chuudib authorities. There is a fee to do business here, and a fee to have an armed retainer. I have already paid both. But there are unofficial groups as well, they are called gangs. Like your rogue rinkers, they seek to steal by intimidation. And in a place with so much crowding, so many people, and so many kinds of people, it is very hard for the official group to stop this activity. They have people watching, you¡¯ve seen them, they wear bright green jackets and tall green helmets with pink feathers. Those are called constables. Thing is, a lot of the people who come here are more afraid of the gang than they are of the constables. So they pay the money demanded and try not to get the gang mad at them. What we have right now is a demonstration of power. The gang is coming, they need to demonstrate to me and to everyone else, that they are still in control and that it would be unwise to cross them.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m ready¡± said Seltheen. ¡°I¡¯ll skewer the first one, knock down the next, and take on the rest before they expect to be in battle.¡±


    ¡°Spoken like a true warrior¡± said Yar. ¡°However, there¡¯s a small matter of my own need.¡± His voice grew intense but he kept it low. ¡°I am a member of many different organizations and I have supreme rank in all of them. I am what the gorvijes call a Grand Magister. I have a reputation to maintain, I must demonstrate that I can put on a better show than a bunch of thugs, no matter how many there are. So I need you to hold back, let me take the lead. I will use mood say and the rinker system of hand signals. Some basic instructions: First, you must not use your bow, not even to save my life. I¡¯d rather take my chances with the healers than get banned from a venue. Second, don¡¯t use your spear unless you absolutely have to. Third, don¡¯t kill anyone, and keep the wounding to a minimum unless I say differently. Finally, as soon as the constables show up, stop and defer to them. As for actual fighting, I won¡¯t presume to advise you. Now pretend you don¡¯t notice anything. It¡¯s showtime!¡±


    Four people came through the crowd, which shrank back as they approached the rear of the wagon, where Yar sat. He was wrapped in his fur coat. With one hand he was pouring powder into the fur. The other hand was smoothing it in with a large soft brush. He was humming to himself apparently oblivious. The man in the front of the group strode up to him and without hesitation, stuck him in the leg with a long dagger. Yar started and dropped the pot of powder. It hit the man in the head and enveloped him in a whitish cloud. A loud mocking laugh rang out from the crowd, followed by giggles.


    ¡°Tich¡± Yar observed, at stage volume. ¡°That could have been a good entrance. First silence, then the sudden shock when you poke me with a stick¡ª that¡¯s the sort of thing that captures the audience¡¯s attention. But your timing was off, that¡¯s an amateur mistake.¡± The man coughed and rubbed his eyes. There was more giggling. He spun around and shouted ¡°shut up!¡±. ¡°Make me!¡± came the response. ¡°Tich¡± Yar said, still loud enough for everyone to hear. ¡°Don¡¯t engage a heckler unless you have something to get the audience on your side. Otherwise it¡¯s best to ignore it. But forgive me, I seem to be stepping on your lines.¡± From the audience a voice shouted ¡°Don¡¯t apologize, his lines aren¡¯t worth hearing!¡± ¡°Neither are yours!¡± Yar shouted back. ¡°But he¡¯s the one on stage.¡± He beamed at the man. ¡°Apologies again. Now please, you were saying?¡±


    The man and woman, who had come up meanwhile, looked at their leader in some confusion. Yar observed that they were both waujaks, members of his own race. As for the man hanging back in the rear, he wasn¡¯t a member of any hyuumin race, he was a member of the braksont species, chest high to a hyuumin but of imposing solidity.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The leader signaled. The two waujaks came up beside him. ¡°That stunt just cost you extra!¡± he growled. ¡°Cost me extra? Extra what?¡± asked Yar in surprise. ¡°Extra insurance payments!¡± ¡°No thank you, I don¡¯t need any insurance.¡±


    The man raised his hand with the dagger. ¡°I think you do!¡± he spat. ¡°And this is not a stick!¡±


    Yar scrambled backward and stood up in the wagon. He waved to the crowd, then pointed to the gang members in a way that exaggerated how high above them he was. ¡°Behold!¡± he called out. ¡°We see now the theme of this impromptu drama. It is about extortion. The performers you see before me are playing the part of lowly scum, of small minded, cowardly villains whose self hatred can only be assuaged by hurting people weaker than themselves! I think they¡¯re doing rather well, myself. Notice how the leader, the weakest and most cowardly one of all, sums it up when he says `this is not a stick¡¯. Let¡¯s all give them a big hand!¡± ¡°Let¡¯s not!¡± retorted the heckling voice. ¡°They aren¡¯t acting, they really are lowlife scum, they should be drowned in dirty water, not applauded!¡±


    The gang leader spun around.¡°I will deal with you later!¡± he roared. He peered at the crowd, trying to see who had said that. People shrank away from his gaze.


    Yar clapped three times. ¡°That¡¯s better¡± he called. ¡°You see folks, by threatening some poor anonymous person, well in a way he¡¯s threatening all of you: honest working folk just trying to get on and do a little buying and selling. He knows that the constables cannot be everywhere, and so he sets a scene of uncertainty and fear. He makes you worry that some time, perhaps in the middle of the night, he will come and hurt you or rob you. He has the time to do that, since he has no honest toil, no homely obligations, to take up his time. Of course, like the constables, he can¡¯t be everywhere, but the fear extends his reach. It¡¯s cheap theater, but it is effective.¡± Again he gave a short clap.


    The gang leader rounded on Yar. ¡°Think y¡¯ c¡¯n play gimes do yer?¡± he growled, his speech reverting to a lower status dialect of chuudib. ¡°Teach th¡¯ git some manners!¡± The minions leapt to obey. But they now discovered that at some point while they were distracted, Yar had raised the chain curtain so that it was now surrounding him. And when they tried to climb the chain, they discovered that it contained sharp spikes. ¡°Get off, you mangy rats!¡± yelled Yar. He whacked at their fingers with his coat brush. From their yelps it was much heavier than it looked.


    ¡°Go, go! Everybody, carve this pig now!¡± yelled the boss. ¡°Now, you¡¯ve done it¡± said Yar. ¡°You¡¯ve upset my mules.¡± The mules made complaining noises and strained at the lines. Suddenly they lurched backward, just as Yar hurled the brush, striking the gang leader in the throat. As he choked and swayed, the wagon knocked him down, then one of the wheels rolled over him. The wagon stopped with the wheel resting right on top of his knee. He tried to wriggle free but he was caught in a loop of chain.


    Meanwhile four more gang members attempted to climb over the makeshift wall of straw. Yar jerked the narrow cord in his hand. It was attached to the brush. He caught it. He swung it around his head and faced the gang members. With his other hand he signaled to Seltheen to attack. She rode in a tight curve with her sword held backwards and clipped the waujak man who had been with the leader across the back of his head. She bypassed the woman, who was trying to help the leader. He was screaming, presumably threats from the tone of voice. A shallow gash across the ribs caused one gang member trying to get into the wagon to lose her grip and fall. She was about to go after another, when he crashed to the ground and began rolling around, shrieking and tearing at his clothes. The rest soon followed, except instead of rolling, they ran.


    She looked up at Yar. He was struggling with another attacker in the wagon. The man was chopping with a small axe, to no apparent effect. Oh. That fur coat was armored! Yar struck his opponent a glancing blow with the swinging brush, then dodged the return blow. As the man crashed into the chains, Seltheen took her sword in both hands and smashed him in the shin with the back of the blade. He went down, thrashing. Yar signaled her to circle about and watch for other attackers.


    Yar looked down at the gang leader. ¡°Hold still, you¡¯re only making it worse. Tich, your associates really made a mess. Knocked over a bottle of my favorite hair conditioner, too.¡± He kicked a bottle off the edge. It hit the leader¡¯s shoulder, and a thick purple liquid spilled out.


    ¡°I''ll cut you into little pieces!¡± the leader shouted. I''ll cut you one piece at a time-- see if you feel like applauding that!¡± The female waujak trying to free him shoved the wagon again. He screamed and tried to slap her with his free hand, but couldn''t reach. ¡°You clumsy ox! Get this off me now, or I swear i''ll tear your nails out!¡±


    The minion felt a sudden sharp poke in her side. Yar was standing behind her with a dagger. Somehow he''d managed to slip out of the wagon without her noticing. She also saw that there were no other gang members standing anywhere near. There were reinforcements back in the crowd. But those were the less reliable hangers on; none of them would come on their own initiative. The leader saw Yar too. ¡°Grab him! Take him back to the main place, i''ll deal with him later.¡± He smiled at Yar. ¡°You''ll be performing tonight, alright! It''ll be the performance of a lifetime!¡± Yar pushed the dagger a little more. ¡°Sorry, no room on my calendar for private bookings.¡± he said.


    ¡°Get him! Get him! Get him! Everybody now!¡± shrieked the leader. ¡°Seltheen!¡± called Yar. Imperative: stop all opponent approaching!¡± Seltheen rode over and cracked the female waujak in the shoulder with the hilt of her sword. The target collapsed onto her male companion. He groaned. Seltheen then whirled to face the crowd. Don¡¯t use the spear unless it¡¯s absolutely necessary. They didn¡¯t need to know that. She reached back for the spear and spun it threateningly. Then she put it back in its socket, and took out her sword again. Behind her the gang leader yelled again. Two figures started pushing through the crowd. Seltheen pointed her sword at each one in turn. They stopped coming.


    Yar looked down at the gang leader. A true performer should use as few props as possible, and here he was, the greatest in the world, resorting to potions. The one in the banners, which had soaked into the straw, caused hallucinations and terror. Victims would typically feel that their skin was on fire, or that horrible insects were crawling on them, or that they were being assailed by small flying monsters. That had neutralized most of the gang members who had tried to climb the straw. Now, he just needed the purple liquid to act before this drama ended.


    The gang leader was alternately screaming threats and calling for his followers. Between their comrades¡¯ mysterious ordeal, and the very palpable threat of the rinker, no one was coming. The potion should already be affecting the man; reducing his ability to handle pain and fear. With that, and a wagon wheel crushing his leg, even the strongest willpower would succumb quickly.


    The man¡¯s screams changed, became more frantic. The threats became demands to get the weight off him. The calls for the gang to kill Yar became calls for them to help him. His voice became more and more shrill. He began to offer rewards to free him. He began plead, to cry. Good, this would cost him the crowd¡¯s fear and the gang¡¯s respect.


    And indeed, elsewhere in the crowd, a pair of big, rawboned farmers came up behind a rough looking man and grabbed him. They took his blade and smashed him to the ground. Then they proceeded to stomp on him while making references to ¡°our papa''s wagon¡±.


    There was one last threat to worry about. Yes, there was movement. He signaled Seltheen with a few rinker hand signs. She immediately charged towards the braksont, spear leveled. The braksont saw her just as he whipped out his hidden dart thrower. He had started to aim at Yar, thought of shooting her instead, then on third thought decided he needed to get out of the way. The bolt went wide and hit a booth-- right next to a constable that had just arrived. There was a burst of whistle blasts and a squad of constables, shields locked and clubs held high, charged across the space. Seltheen aborted her own charge and circled back to the wagon. The braksont had no time to recover his footing, he was knocked over and beaten down. ¡°Bad move on his part¡±, commented Yar. ¡°The prohibition against missile weapons is one of the strongest rules here. Violation is punishable by immediate breaking of both arms, no recourse to a trial is required. And the constables, bless their less than ethically consistent hearts, get really righteous when one is pointed at them; I doubt that they¡¯re going to stop with just the arms. And as for our friend under the wagon, you are hearing the chuudib for `mommy, mommy, please help me.¡¯¡±.


    The constables quickly hauled away the casualties. ¡°Another gang will form eventually¡± remarked Yar. ¡°But not soon.¡± He put on gloves and carefully rebuilt the straw wall. Then he sprinkled dirt to soak up the remains of the purple potion. ¡°Now, there may be one more attack. That would be from one of the people we chased off earlier, trying to restore their self respect and start building their reputation. If that happens, I want you to smack them around a little, disarm them, maybe make them bleed. No chasing. And as you see some of my workforce from earlier, let them know I¡¯ll still pay them for a full day if they¡¯re back within the hour. I expect a huge crowd this evening.¡± He was right. That evening¡¯s audience was bigger than Seltheen¡¯s whole clan. And the next morning, she caught someone trying to slip through the crowd to reach Yar. She staggered him with a kidney punch, then wrenched his arm down and over so that he slashed his own belly with his dagger.


    They stayed there fifteen days. Yar bought supplies, including clothing. Seltheen''s new robe featured a crowded design of orange and yellow flowers on a deep pink background. It was a little thin for her comfort but the new underrobe made up for that.


    There was also a language tutor, a very short woman named Welington Ipswich whose features reminded her alarmingly of the goblins of her people¡¯s folktales. Yar explained that she was of the dargoalhuun species and more specifically of the vordin race. And no, she wasn¡¯t planning to steal Seltheen¡¯s hair, or teeth, or future children.


    Welington¡¯s methodology was to make up little stories about things around them. It wasn¡¯t that different from what Yar had been doing since they had entered the chuudib lands. Yet somehow she made it easier to understand. She also drilled Seltheen on recognizing a few common nouns and verbs and then trying to figure out the rest afterward. Seltheen began to hope that she might actually be able to follow chuudib speech loosely, though she still couldn¡¯t pronounce most of the words.


    Meanwhile, Yar sang, juggled, told stories, and sought out information. He listened to rumors, read newspapers, and spoke to old friends he trusted. Every scrap he could learn about the road ahead would help.