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We left town the next day.
Our journey was quieter than any day I could recall since Logwood. Our party was at its smallest since then, as well: Vira was gone, and Gard was with us, but the core group of Leroy, Jack, Astrea and I remained. Another similarity strikes me. We have no particular goal, only an interim destination and the vague predictions of mystics to guide us on our way. This is a familiar way of life for Leroy, Jack and Astrea. I think they know no other, any more. I have left behind my plans to find a new employer. My journal, an effort to learn to tell the truth, or at least a plausible imitation thereof, has become an end in itself, a record of the circumstances that have buffeted me over the weeks and months, the things I have learned about friends and enemies and the mundane creatures which share our world. I tried to share this insight with the others, but was unsuccessful. Gard is indifferent to abstract analysis of the course of my life. The rest think that what I have to say about it is disappointingly obvious. I have disappointed them again, by thinking such a simple idea is even important enough to voice.
The burned farmhouses became more scarce until there were no more. The road between Bolport and Orena is not well traveled in either direction. Parts of it have fallen into severe disrepair. Some creeks, once bridged, must now be forded. We camped in near wilderness, halfway between Orena and Bolport.
Nothing surprised us in the night, although we kept a close watch. The night was clear and cold, and when dawn arrived, the day was slow to warm. We stopped at an inn a few hours outside Bolport for lunch. We were asked for news of Orena. We did not give a detailed account, but said the town showed no allegiance to the Divarae, and the fighting had mostly died down. From this our questioners concluded that the Bol contingent had won. We did not correct this perception. We did, however, spread word that a great mage had joined forces with an exceptionally adept dragon and a local sorceror and they were rebuilding the town between them. We added that we expected a university to rise over time. I'm not sure why, but that made everyone who heard it look uneasy, and clutch whatever talisman, good luck piece or religious symbol they habitually carried with them.
Before we left, we inquired for news about the southern regions, and about the spread of a new cult and with it, gold tinged red which infected other gold it touched. No one we spoke to at the inn had seen the gold. They had heard stories, which they gave only the credit commonly given to any traveler's tale, that is, not a lot.
The inn was the first of a number of businesses that subsisted on the trade north of Bolport. Many shops were closed, unable to remain open as the road north to Orena saw less merchant traffic and more fighters, and eventually no traffic at all. The farmhouses were in tidy and in good repair; the fields under cultivation and the livestock plentiful. Presumably they sold their goods in Bolport. We overtook a few as we traveled south, our pace greater than that of laden carts. When we were hailed, we repeated our news of Orena, and added that produce would be welcome in the north, particularly grains and other agricultural staples. We were thanked profusely. Even the farmers were hurt by the loss of trade with Orena.
Bolport was fortified to a greater degree than any large city we had seen so far. We reached the north fort, straddling the road and surrounded by houses for the garrison, farms to feed them and shops to cater to their needs. We were forced to halt and state our business. Leroy spoke for us, stating that we were traveling through Bol to points south, to join comrades who had preceded us on other roads. He made no mention of Orena, or of red gold. The guard asked Leroy if we had passed through Orena. Leroy stated we had traveled around Orena, taking forest paths in an effort to avoid conflict we had heard stories of. I suppressed a grin. It was true, as far as it went. The guard eyed us, complimented Leroy on having good sense, and sped us on our way after collecting what I thought was an exorbitant toll.
We used the maps we had from Orena to make our way to the inn of Keren-happuch, whose face and form proved to be familiar. We had not stayed at an inn run by our preferred hostesses since the Divarae, and I was surprised at how pleasant it was to return home, even if I'd never been in this particular home before. The food, as always, was excellent. Bol was known for its sauces, of which almost an entire meal might consist. Spices, meats, vegetables and grains were ground fine, heated, dissolved in a variety of liquids and semi-liquids. The sauces were served with cooked grains and flat-breads. The variety was endless, although the components of each were familiar. Keren-happuch's three daughters prepared all the food, and were willing to show me how they prepared the sauces. The amount of effort involved, even with their special tools for drying, grinding, and powdering, was immense. The end result was intense. I negotiated for supplies of some of the powders, but they would not sell me more than they believed we could consume before they became stale.
Astrea and Jack consulted with several oracles in Bolport. I don't know what questions they asked, because I found I didn't care where we went or who we met along the way, at least not in advance of the event. I spent my time exploring the bazaars, and investigating the city's two major libraries. Tzika had suggested some books that my never-to-be-sufficiently-damned mother may have consulted during her experiments on me. While Tzika downplayed the likelihood of my discovering what had actually happened to me, she thought it might be worthwhile knowing what my mother's intentions were.
In the stacks with the grimoires I had been directed to, I found a slender volume about a snake goddess. The picture on the binding caught my eye. It was exactly the same as the snake which wound around my torso. After determining that no shop in the city carried a copy of this book, and that the librarian would not allow me to leave with it, no matter what inducement was offered, I spent the rest of our time in Bolport copying its contents into one of the bound volumes I had purchased for my journal. It was an unsettling experience. Sometimes, especially when I was tracing an illustration, or copying an invocation, I felt compelled to put the book down and walk around for a few minutes. I could not sit still, and was irrationally tempted to sway rhythmically. At night, I was difficult to awaken for my turn at watch. My dreams were filled with the name Arafnehtnye, which in the dream I could hear, but in waking hours I found impossible to pronounce. The dreams were also full of a detailed, eroticized ritual, repeated without change every night. As the days progressed, the faces on the participants, only some of which were familiar to me, were etched in my mind more vividly.
While I was wrestling with my own personal demons (or should that be deities?), and Astrea and Jack were making the rounds of the locals who predicted the future, Leroy and Gard went about the town on mysterious errands of their own. They would generally leave the inn during the last watch of the night, unless one of them had it, and return in time for their own watches the next night.
Eventually, I completed my transcription of the book. I determined, to the best of my knowledge, that the volumes likely used by my mother were of no value to me. I took my leave of the tolerant librarian and told those members of the rest of the party that I could find that I was ready to move south. We waited one more day, for Leroy and Gard to finish whatever project they were involved in, and departed in the evening, laden with fragrant spices and powders, as well as more usual supplies.
The southbound road out of Bolport was heavily traveled, deep into the night. The inns and many shops never closed, in part because the deepest portion of the port was about a day's ride south of the city proper. Barges plied between the main port and the harbor where the deepest-keeled vessels moored. The taverns near the main port were loud and well-lit. Their patrons were unsteady on their feet, either from drunkenness or unfamiliarity with firm ground. We stopped in one for a meal and a drink. We picked the quietest one we could find, since none of us could work up any interest in participating in a brawl. The sure knowledge that one won't so much as bruise, no matter how hard or how far or through which wall one is thrown takes a lot of the joy out of a mixer, at least in the opinion of Jack.
The barkeep raised an eyebrow at Gard, but chose not to kick up a fuss when Leroy ordered a bowl of brandy for her. The objection was less to walking around on all fours, and more to the prospect of someone taking up space without ordering. The rest of us ordered fried fare, and munched away in relative silence. From the time we entered the pub, through our meal, we were watched by a garishly dressed gnome, seated at the bar, nursing a tall beaker of ale. When the barkeep cleared away the dishes, the gnome drained his beaker, set it down, and walked purposefully toward us. He was not unsteady on his feet at all. When he arrived at our table, he craned his neck to look up at us. He stared at Astrea and asked if she really could walk around in daylight. Astrea popped the remains of a carrot into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and said yes. Turning to me, the gnome looked me over carefully, lingering in particular on my throat and fingers, and tentatively asked if I had something to do with a snake. I was surprised, but nodded. The gnome breathed a sigh, as if in relief. He hauled himself up onto the bench next to me, and said, "About time. I've been waiting for you lot for over a month." Not having any idea what to make of such an anomalous declaration, I awaited developments.
The gnome was named Wesley, except that was his real name, not his pirate name. A pirate, he said, had to have an effectively threatening name, like Blood or Thunder or at least something compelling like Rod or Blade. Jack and Leroy exchanged glances. I assume they too were bemused by the notion of a gnomish pirate. Wesley declined to divulge his working name, saying he had been shamed, having lost his crew. We weren't sure what he meant by lost and asked. "Of course I didn't misplace them, nor did they die at the tentacles of some dread sea monster, nor were they captured by the minions of law and order or more dread minions of some other pirate with a more compelling name. They mutinied, and set me ashore."
Reminding himself of his failure, Wesley grew despondent, and paused in his retelling. We prompted him to continue. What, specifically, did he want from us? We weren't interested in becoming pirates. At least, not yet. But Wesley wasn't looking for a new crew. "I want my old crew back," he said emphatically. "They were possessed, and as they were under my command, it's my responsibility to rescue them. I just don't know how, yet."
All he knew was, it had started when his second in command, Flint, had come upon some survivors of a shipwreck, and relieved them of their valuables. Among those valuables were several gold pieces, all tinged an unusual shade of gold.
The crew's magician, or what passed for a magician in Wesley's crew, said there was no spell or evil associated with the gold so, despite the oddity, Flint was permitted to keep it. A few days later, Flint had discovered that all of his other gold had turned red as well. Over the course of a month, every gold coin on the ship had been affected, and his crew had started to behave oddly. When Wesley refused to participate in rituals during the full moon, and destroyed several batches of what he described as heathen implements, Flint had been placed in command; Wesley had been put ashore. They'd sailed off without him, headed south, after removing every holy object on board.
After a week long bender, the surreality of the situation had gotten to Wesley, and he'd started to consult oracles in an effort to find out what had happened to his crew, and also to determine where they were now. The oracles, and other news sources, had kept him apprised of their journey south, which had ended a week earlier. Dispersed, they were impossible to track, although Wesley was certain he would be able to find his ship. His crew had attempted to buy out his share of the vessel, but as they had had nothing to pay with that was not tinged red, Wesley had refused.
Jack asked the obvious question a second time, "Where do we enter into this story?" Wesley said the oracles, all along, had described a group of people who would arrive shortly. He glared at us when he said shortly, as if we could have been late to an appointment we didn't even realize we'd had. This group would include two women, two men and someone else. One of the women was a day-walking vampire; the other either was a snake, or had something to do with a snake. Descriptions of the two men were never available; either the oracle couldn't see them clearly, or could but hesitated to put into words whatever it was they saw. "Surely", said Wesley, with inexorable logic, "you are the people sent to assist me in retrieving my ship and rescuing my crew."
We didn't see it that way. Jack asked, "Did the oracles say we were sent to help you?" Wesley evaded that question. Leroy asked, "Did the oracles say his crew could even be saved?" Wesley looked distinctly uncomfortable, and shrugged. Astrea asked, "Why not go into another line of work, possibly one further north, that would take you beyond the reach of the red gold, which isn't healthy for pirates, gnomish or otherwise? You've escaped it once; are you sure you want to confront it again?" He had a definite answer to that last question, and it was affirmative.
For myself, I found the situation funny. The vague pronouncements of vague people who saw a possible future dimly had ensnared me in adventures with this group; I could view my companions' protest at being similarly entangled with empathy, with effort. Mostly, I wanted to guffaw, and point accusingly, perhaps adding a few pungent remarks about serving them right.
The reality, however, was that we were traveling south to find the source of the red gold and join our former companions in attempting to halt its progress. No matter what we said to Wesley, we weren't likely to refuse to take him with us. After wasting another hour arguing with him, we did indeed offer to take him along, cautioning him repeatedly that he was coming with us on our mission, not the other way around.
Once again, I find my actions prescribed, or at least, described by strangers, in advance of conscious planning or decision on my part. I will happily travel south. I look forward to seeing Rushi and Irvish once again. I'm sure Wesley, over time, will be found a worthy companion. Didn't even I, in the end, turn out not to be a complete lost cause? And, as always, where someone else spoke of my actions in advance, I will describe them after the fact. It is a better life than the one I had, with better company, better food and superior scenery. I can complain, and I will complain, but I cannot yet imagine turning back, to spin out my days in a sunlit valley, babysitting dragons.
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Copyright Rebecca Allen, 1999.
Created: July 8, 2012 Updated: July 8, 2012