The sun had shone brightly in the morning dew that day, the near translucent spray left droplets upon the grass which reflected the brilliance of the light. Sounds came from within the village, quiet at first but then as time went on rose to a slight din. The chopping of a nearby ax upon wet wood, and the unmistakable crackles of fire. Smoke arose in several places and could be seen from the construction site, where Gregori lay hidden in the bushes observing. He had slept little as most of his night consisted of him stressing over his plans many details. Despite this, he was wide awake and eager to fulfill his duty. As he sat there, he saw the village folk walking by, smiling and laughing, filled with mirth. Gregori silently sneered at the sight, loathing every light elf he saw.
“Damned sun walkers,” he had said. “They think they are mighty and pure, just because-”
He stopped, and took a deep breath. He had to stay cool, he could not afford to ruin this operation for his own sake surely he thought, but also for Edme. He focused his sight on a nearby group of tents and stalls, the village market. hoping to catch a glimpse of the otherworlder he was after, but also to just see the vendors and their customers. Gregori had never seen an open air market as such before, for his homeland never had such things. Markets were inside buildings and food was rationed not bought as they were in the village. Inside Gregori two things were happening; his jealousy and frustration was growing, and so was his hunger as his eyes fell upon a ripe tomato at one far off stall.
While his mouth began to water, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Startled, he whipped around and in one quick motion, faster than one could see with the eye, drew and pressed his dagger up to the neck of the newcomer. Berma sat there, under Gregori’s weight and the threat of his blade, but made no sound. Slowly he raised one finger to his lips and Gregori withdrew his dagger with a roll of his eyes.
“You twit,” he began, putting away his weapon. “I could have killed you. Maybe ‘should have’ is the more appropriate thing to say. Don’t sneak up on me like that again if you know what’s good for you, fat bastard.”
As he sat up and Gregori withdrew, the 'fat bastard' silently chuckled. He was pleased with himself for scaring the elf, and it was not the first time either. Berma and Gregori had been friends for a long while, but still he managed to evoke the ire of his comrade from time-to-time. Often accidentally but more so on purpose as a joke. He was not always an evil man, and his sense of humor would otherwise prove it, had it not been for his other deeds in life.
“Sorry ‘gray’ ” he began. “Just wanted to let you know that the boys are all set up in the village.”
“Good,” Gregori was half paying attention as his eyes wandered about the nearby market again. “Also, sorry for the dagger, you startled me. Try to stop doing that if you can.”
“You seem on edge my friend. After this scheme, we should make some gruel back at the cliff camp to celebrate.”
“Do you think this is a party, young man?” Gregori had a grin on his face, concealed by the shadows of the foliage they both lay under.
The two went back and forth slowly easing the tension with a few well placed jokes here and memories of better days there. Despite Gregori’s personality and seriousness, Berma was his friend and as such the elf always wished to be courteous and kind to the man. As the two got into the story of when Berma once got beaten nearly to death by a tavern girl and Gregori had to carry him away from town on his back while being chased by an angry mob. ‘Good times’, Gregori thought, despite himself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Goldwater & CO~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was sitting in the dining room across from Malkolm. A glass of water and a mug of that same black inky sludge from the night before lay before me on the table, as did Malkolm though he had a glass of red liquid instead of water. He took a few sips, or more correctly speaking chugs, of coffee then switched and downed the entire glass of the red substance. The wince he gave was enough to tell me with confidence that it was medicine of some kind.
“So, Nelson,” He began, still struggling with the bitter taste in his mouth. “Shall we continue our discussion from the other night?”
“Absolutely.” I replied.
“Very good, now you said that magick does not exist where you are from, yes?”
“I did.”
“The magick we have here in our world is not the stuff of fantasy or children's books, but neither is it wholly trivial either.”
The things he said were intriguing me, egging me on to learn more, and thus I didn't want to miss a moment of it. I loved theory.
“You see, our magick works on two planes, the physical and the mental. The mental magicks are considered taboo to most as they revolve around causing the victims of said arts to become different people altogether.”
“How so?”
“Well for instance, you could cast doubt into someone's mind, causing them to second guess their loyalties. Or perhaps you can strike fear into their very hearts at your mere presence. While I was a court magician for king Eli’s father, I was taught and warned against ever using these magicks myself.”
“I understand, I think. So using that magick would be considered an invasion of someone's mind, or in other words-”
“Unethical,” Malkolm said, finishing my sentence for me. “A man's mind is his and his alone, nobody else has any say over this, and to violate that is to violate something profoundly sacred.”
“This sounds familiar,” I replied. “Almost like an old way of thinking I learned about in school many years ago.”
“I reckon that's because it is probably the same one.”
“How do you figure? I’m from another world, how could you have knowledge of our ideas?”
“My boy,” Malkolm chuckled. “Do you think you are the only otherworlder to ever come here?”
He got up and left the room, walking down the hallway. I sat there waiting curiously, and after a while he returned. In his left hand he held a big brown book bearing the elves strange language and with his other hand he was dusting the cover off with his robe sleeve. As he sat back down he plunked the tome onto the table and nearly tipped his coffee mug over, though I doubt it would have spilled any out had he done so, the coffee still had the hardness of molasses and hot tar.
“This is one of our most influential books here in the kingdom of Britona. Maybe you can tell just by looking at the cover what it is?” Malkolm said as he handed me the book.
Upon initially looking at the cover and the letters on it, I couldn't tell what it said. But the symbol underneath them was a sight for sore eyes. I was at the same time amazed and puzzled that the book was in this world. It was the visage of a man holding the globe on his shoulders.
“Atlas shrugged?!” I looked up at Malkolm, who nodded in high approval at my guess.
“That, Dear boy, is one of the only copies in existence left.”
“What happened to the rest?” I inquired.
Malkolm sighed, “most were burned long ago when the Imperium vassalized the kingdom. Objectivism is now just a memory from better days. The newer folk are not even taught the old philosophies anymore, it's both a blessing and a curse.”
That sounded odd to me, “A blessing, how so?”
“Yes, you see when the Imperium banned objectivist teachings, they also did away with other ones which otherworlders brought as well. The so-called Communism, old form fascism and a few others. But we are getting off topic, we should continue our discussion on magick.”
“Alright,” I said. “What is the second magick type you mentioned again?”
“Ah, that would be physical magick. The most well known and, well, stereotypical magick. But not in a bad way mind you. It governs the physical world and even other planes of reality.”
“Now that piqued my interest,” I said, leaning over the book.
Malkolm laughed, “I don't think I've ever met someone who is interested in magick quite as enthusiastically as you. Most of my old students found Magology and Geomancy particularly boring. I also find it funny, given that otherworlders cannot use magick.”
Just as Malkolm was about to down another swig of sludge, the dining room door burst open. Unsurprisingly startled, me and the old man turned to see a tower of empty crates stacked haphazardly, on the threshold.
“By the watchmaker, help me with this, will you?!” Came a familiar gruff voice from beyond the pile.
It was undoubtedly Kalom, but his voice sounded odd. Quickly I and Malkolm sprang to our feet and ran to help move the crates inside. One after another we took turns lugging the heavy things and stacking them once again near the closest of the ornate cabinets. The crates were worn, very old and splintered easily, as I soon found out the hard way; spending a good chunk of the following hour picking wood practically the size of toothpicks from my palms.
After all was said and done, it was then I noticed Kalom, covered in sweat and wearing an equally dampened shirt not too dissimilar from the one I wore. Though as previously stated, considerably less dry. He was holding in his hand a rolled up paper, and waved it around frantically while panting.
“I got the shopping list all sorted.” he said in between gasps.
Malkolm shuffled back to his seat at the table as Kalom and I followed suit. As soon as Kalom had sat down, Malkolm motioned for him to hand over the list he held, and he complied. I sat there patiently, watching as Malkolm pondered over the list, item by item and occasionally mumbling to himself under his breath. Kalom had leaned back his chair, seemingly unburdened by anything more as his job, the list making and he crate carrying, had been accomplished. Finally after a short while, Malkolm looked up from the parchment and at his son.
“Kalom, are you sure this is everything?” He asked.
“Oh yeah definitely, the guildhouse said that those are all the supplies novices need these days.”
Malkolm scratched his chin, deep in thought he said nothing for a time and then stood up without saying a word. He walked down the hallway, leaving myself and Kalom alone for the time being. I looked to him for some clarification, but he only shrugged in similar confusion. An hour passed it seemed, and I had begun to doze off, as it seemed like the old man wasn’t coming back any time soon. But just as I had plopped my head onto my arms on the table, a clang came from the hallway which startled me stiff. I looked up to see Malkolm balancing a collection of objects atop one another, even more unstable than Kaloms tower of crates. Kalom got up before me and we were about to rush to help keep the old man from getting hurt, but he managed on his own without us. He walked over, tossed all the things he held on the table, and leaned on it to catch his breath.
The things he spread out were diverse, from a group of scrolls, bronze compass, an antique looking brown water skin. To a sword tucked away in a bright white leather sheath and accompanied by a paper bearing a seal, presumably one of those title permits Lais mentioned. The sheath in particular was covered in tally marks numbering at least several dozen from the side facing up, though some of the tallies curved over and onto the other side, meaning many more were likely unseen. Malkolm looked at me and Kalom, giddy with enthusiasm.
“I can cross a few of the items off this list right now,” he said, lazily dropping the paper he still had on the table.
I glanced over to it and saw it was a bulleted list with bold symbols running across. It was another example of the strange script of the elves, which I realized soon I would have to learn at least somewhat to make life easier for myself. Malkolm picked up the waterskin and held it up.
“This waterskin served me well during the first elfhen wars.” He placed it back down, and then held the scrolls aloft. “And these maps and charts will definitely come in handy.”
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I was confused, “What do you mean?” I asked.
“Oh, well we haven’t had the time to tell you yet, but it’s as good a time as any I suppose.” Malkolm dropped the scrolls back on the table, and one nearly rolled right off. “Kalom, Lais and I have decided to help get you all sorted to survive in the world outside this village. Which includes giving you gear, information and of course sanctuary.”
“Sanctuary?”
“Yes, sanctuary. We couldn’t just let you wander out and into the forests knowing a conspiracy is in play to capture you.”
I was actually relieved at this news, I had worried the other night about the supposed kidnapping plot. But to know that I would be welcome and safe at least until they decided to send me on my way, was one less burden to bear. Though I found it odd they would let me stay, given the risks.
“That's great news, thank you,” I said. “But why help me like that, isn’t it a bother?”
Malkolm sighed, and leered down at the sheathed sword on the table, his green eyes were filled with a longing and sadness. I did not know why he had this gaze at the time, but as I came to learn more about him; I realized more and more that he and I were more alike than not. For I knew that pained look, that dull fading of color which I would often find myself with as I polished my pistol and rubbed my fingers over the etchings and grooves. A twinge of remorse, Almost hopelessness.
Finally he looked up at me, his eyes filled once more with light it seemed, and ever more so. His smile was warm and genuine, but still held back its full strength, a receding memory of some distant thought perhaps.
“We know it is a burden on us, but we in good conscience cannot just practically send you out to your death. So, the least we can do is try to prepare you for the road ahead. So please, think nothing of it, this is just our way.”
I politely nodded my head, and understood. Where I was from we had similar customs, which promoted that kind of aid to strangers or otherwise. It was not always that way though, as many decades prior to my birth were the ‘darker days’ so my grandfather Maximillian had told me. He would ramble on about how I should feel lucky to be born in the ‘age of Hoppes dream” and not a blood-soaked hell like he had lived through. But that is a story for another day perhaps.
“So,” Kalom spoke up, and we looked over to him. “That's a few things crossed off, but we have to go down to the village and get the rest of the items.”
“Very true,” Said Malkolm. “So how about you take Nelson with you and show him the village? I am sure he would like to meet some new people, and not just us three old Cird.” he laughed as he said this last part.
“Cird?” I asked.
“Ah, I keep forgetting you aren’t from here, you don’t speak our native tongue nor read our writing. I apologize.” Malkolm cleared his throat before continuing. “Cird is our word for our race.”
“So you aren’t called elves?”
Kalom interjected, “we don’t usually call ourselves that, no. It’s the human word for us though, so we can’t really complain all that much.”
“So if you have your own language and such, how do you know mine?” I asked, intrigued.
“It is the language of the Imperium,” Malkolm chimed in again, retaking the discussion from Kalom. “After the Imperium formed and conquered the continent, it became the common language across the vassalized states, thus it’s just called ‘common speak’ or ‘common’, for short.”
“I see.” I replied, though my curiosity had not been satisfied, only whetted for the time being.
It was then that Kalom got up and stretched his back with a groan.
“Time’s being wasted, let's let going.” He said to me, before turning to his father and finishing with, “ We’ll be back soon, unlike last night's escapades.” He gave a subtle grin in my direction.
Kalom picked up the list from the table, folded it, And secured it in his pocket. Getting up, he along with me, we headed to the door. Kalom opened it and we both stepped out into the noon sunlight. The sun's rays glinted across far away metal and glass, the village was illuminated as if a fevered dream, forcing me to squint to see. Kalom shut the door behind us and patted me on the back, the wide grin on his face giving away either his enthusiasm or misguided amusement at my struggle.
“You’ll get used to the glare. Been living here most of my life, so the sunlight doesn’t bother me much these days. Come on, let’s get down there.”
Soon he and I were strolling across the path leading from the house, which we had all come up from the night before during our harrowing forest excursion. The road was paved, as I had noticed before. But what I was surprised to see was that it was not shiny stone at all which was laid, but metal. And as we got closer to the main street with the buildings, I could see that it too was laid with the same shiny, slightly blackened alloy. I must not have noticed during the night as we were so exhausted and obviously, examining a road to note its composition was not on the agenda of that night.
“Kalom,” I began.
He turned his head slightly, eying down at me while also trying to look ahead.
“What’s wrong, kid?”
“What is this road made of?”
Kalom pondered for a moment as we walked, then said,
“Starling silver.”
I was sure I misheard him on two accounts. He could not have meant the road was laid with actual sterling silver, and what was more, that he had mispronounced it as ‘starling’.
“You mean, ‘sterling’ silver, right?”
He paused. “That’s a weird way to say it, but yeah. Starling silver is what we use to pave roads in Britona. Why, I'm guessing otherworlders don't use metal to make roads?
“No, we don't. We use tar and asphalt.”
He continued walking, and I followed close behind, trying to keep up as his pace quickened. We passed a well decorated shop, bearing purple banners and ribbons, its symbol sign was that of a bed and a heart above it. Given the appearance, as well as the occasional patron walking out with an air of chipper relief on their faces, I had reasonably guessed it was a brothel. The building's porch was beautifully carved, with figureheads of fairies and deer dancing across a porcelain white fence. Beside the brothel was a bakery, and though less ornate, still captured its own beauty with a pinkish wooden facade and many vertical white stripes going around it, like a candy cane.
“I have no clue what asphalt is, but tar I do know. But we would never use that gunk for roads, sounds ridiculous. Are you sure you aren't just pulling my leg?”
“No, I'm serious, that's what we use it for back home. What do you use it for here?” I asked.
Kalom smiled a little, like he was proud of something. “The best damn tar bombs in the Imperial arsenal.” he said, expounding a sense of pride with every word he uttered.
“So you use it for weapons? I guess that would be useful, but why do you sound so upbeat about that?”
Kaloms pride crumbled into embarrassment, as he became aware of his own outburst of emotion. His face was almost beet red as he spoke.
“Well, I uh- you see” he began.
I tried to urge him onward, “Yes?”
But he ignored me and moved along. He stopped in front of a redwood stall, its beams were not as decorated as the surrounding buildings, but it was certainly well made. The roof of it was a cloth tarp, bearing red and orange stripes, and despite the few holes in it, it was exceptionally well maintained and clean. The wind would occasionally lift the top up gently, giving it a more animated feel. The man behind the counter was another elf, like Kalom or Lais, but he looked slightly darker in complexion. It took me a moment to realize that his skin was actually not darker but covered in gray paint, in a familiar blotched pattern.
“Nelson, this here is my good friend Mael, and Mael,” he said motioning to me, “this is the guy me and my old man have been taking care of, Nelson.”
Mael bowed slightly as a courtesy. “It is a good thing you dropped by.”
His accent was harsh to the ears, nothing like Kalom’s. It was reminiscent of some cruel amalgamation of Scottish and perhaps some French. As he went on, I tried my very best to be polite despite the difficulty I was having even understanding what he was saying.
“I have myself a new stock of goods that need buying and I know you love to see new wares when they come in. Today I got my hands on some Daeg snuff, rare to get these days after the wars. I also plucked a few barrels of coffee and a small table casket of Re?di wine.”
Kalom shook his head, “not today friend, just need to pick up a few bits I saw here the other day.”
“Aww, that's alright. So what be you needing on this fine day?”
Kalom pointed past Mael, to a basket behind filled with clothes and footwear. It was overflowing with pants and shirts and much more to the point where some had fallen out and onto the ground. Luckily the stall had a fur carpet down to prevent dirt and dust from soiling them.
“You should know better friend, the clothes I get are too small for you.”
“I know,” Kalom said. “They aren't for me, but for him.”
The shopkeep eyed me up and down, taking mental notes of my figure. I was shorter than the elves, I only came in at five-foot-six, while they were at least six feet even, so him doing this was understandable. The man turned to the basket, rummaged through it and pulled out a few articles. With a grunt, he gathered them up and dropped them loosely on the stall window, where I saw he had selected some very worn clothes. An battered old yellow overcoat and an equally weather-worn checkered shirt for under it, a pair of brown pants which were well cared for, say for a single knee patch. He then produced a hat that I recognized as a ‘boonie’. I found it odd that such a hat would exist in this world, but it was only a passing curiosity.
“These were once Daeg folk’s clothes,” he said to Kalom. “So they should fit this little guy, seeing as how tall he aint.”
“Good, oh but what about boots?” Kalom looked down at my shoes disapprovingly.
“What is wrong with my shoes?” I asked.
“Remember the forest trip the other day? I noticed that you walk funny in them, obviously you need better footwear for the terrain.”
Mael turned back to the basket, picked up a pair of brown boots and showed them to Kalom. Kalom thought for a moment, and nodded. The shopkeeper placed the boots on the counter with a smile, and leaned on an unused part of it.
“Anything else?” He asked.
“Nah that should be plenty good, so what's the price?”
Mael was lost in thought for a moment and was murmuring to himself. Evidently doing math in his head and coming up with a good number. Soon he stood up, stretched his back and took one last glance over the items before him.
“Five silvers ought to be a fair price.”
Kaloms expression turned to one of intense focus, he squinted his eyes and his gaze dashed between the clothes and his friend.
“Five is a little steep for these, don't you think?”
“How so?” he replied.
“These are obviously pre-owned, and look at them,” Kalom held aloft the overcoat. “This is beaten and parts are threadbare.”
Mael smiled a little as Kalom said this, and snatched the coat from his hands.
“This old thing? Sure it's old, and it's worn and used up, that just be how things go these days for the little folk. If ya be right to ask me I’d say this here is a rarity these days. How many Daegesh coats you ever see in these times?”
At first I thought the two were fighting over the price, but after that comment I understood what was happening. Much like back home, people would haggle for things instead of simply relying on what people called ‘old-school pricing’. Seeing a haggle happen was always a fun and exciting thing to witness. Not only would it help people learn the craft as they grew up, it also for some reason made my heart feel glad to see. Every merchant who managed to get a price raise, every customer who got to walk away happy with a discount, every bit of it was an experience and a happy one at that. Reminded me of better days.
“Rare? Sure it’s rare, but also damaged. And look at those pants, the knees been patched over and shabbily too.”
Kalom smirked, impressed by his own retort. Now the two stared long and hard at each other, not blinking or lowering their guards nor grins. It was like witnessing the standoff between two generals on the cusp of battle, both fighting for something, a goal or desire. Though those two were only after a bargain, not some glorious victory over evil or the hand of a maiden back home; yet still they in their own way were noble in that battle of wits they were locked in. Finally though, Mael cracked first.
“Bah, alright,” he said, blinking over and over to water his dried eyes. “Three Silvers and not once a copper less. Gonna put me shop out of business one’a these days.”
Kalom guffawed in triumph, drawing the attention of a few nearby shoppers. That attention seemed to only last about as long as he laughed, as they soon went about their own business, heeding us no more mind.
“Three Silvers it is my friend, and as always it’s a pleasure doing a good bit of trade with you.” Kalom said this while reaching into his pocket, and producing a small sack which jingled.
It was a sack made of the same burlap as our shirts, but dyed brown and gray, and the purple drawstring was uncomplimentary to the thing. As he reached into it, he pulled out and placed three silver coins onto the counter. As I eyed them, I realized they each had writing on them going around the ring, and in English no less. They said:
“For usage with all exchanges private and stately by law and required as such. Forgery is forbidden under pain of death.”
And in the very center of the coin lay a symbol of a bull's head within an ouroboros, a sword stabbing down through the bull and out the bottom. Underneath was the phrase: “Imperium Semper Victorem”. I found it odd that the ruler of the lands head was not on the coins, as they used to be back home in the old days long before I was born. Apparently kings and presidents would emblazon their visages on coinage as a sign of strength and glory. But not so here I assumed. Mael quickly swept the coins off of the counter and into the palm of his hand before placing them under the counter.
“There we be, enjoy the clothes and don’t be no stranger, come again soon.” He said, still putting on a diplomatic smile.
Kalom picked up the coat and pants and motioned for me to pick up the other things, and then as we began to walk away, he waved goodbye to his friend. As we walked further into the village we entered a large circular plaza, filled with many more vendor stalls and surrounded by many buildings of various varieties. Each one decorated and furnished and painted in different ways. Tailors, pubs and inns, an apothecary with a marble statue of a mortar and pestle on its porch facade. The town was beautiful and nearly pristine, and as we walked I looked around and saw as much as I could. Kalom and I stopped at a few stalls picking up more items along the way, and soon we had all sorts of items which would come in handy down the line. As we meandered down a side street with the things we bought now tucked in canvas bags which we had also bought, I thought it would be a good time to continue our conversation.
“Kalom,” I began.
He said nothing, he knew what I was about to ask. I tried again,
“Hey, Kalom.”
He stopped and turned to me. His face was that of caution, but trying desperately to hide it from me. Needless to say, he was a terrible liar even with his face.
“You never finished your story about those tar bombs, Why?”
He took a deep breath and sighed, and motioned with his head to an alley ahead of us.
“Let’s get off the street and I’ll tell you.”
I was unsure why he was being so cautious, but I agreed and we went down the silver street and into the alley ahead. The wooden walls of the buildings on either side were not good at keeping noise from getting out. I had heard the sound of a customer inside the left one raising her voice slightly so I could partially overhear her and the shopkeep or clerk responding.
“I asked for dandelion root yesterday and you said you would have some by today.” Came the densely muffled woman’s voice.
In response the man said to her, “I am sorry m’lady but if you could just-” his voice grew dimmer as me and Kalom passed out of range and into the depths of the alleyway. We came out the other side and into an opening between the two buildings but also around three others. It was not as noisy as the alley itself, and it was almost peaceful. Kalom sat down on a wooden step at the back exit of the largest building which consumed most of the alley's furthest wall, and I sat beside him, placing my bags by my feet.
“The reason I pulled you in here is because I need to make some things perfectly clear,” he said.
His voice was stern, but not unfriendly, it was more like a teacher sitting a child down to explain something to them. So I listened.
“I understand that you are new to this world and that everything is also strange to you. But we elves do not like talking about our pasts. I don’t have any ill will towards you asking, don’t get me wrong Nelson.” He said, patting me on the back.
“We have a hard history to get over, and have done a lot of things we shouldn’t have. Like the tar bombs, and a few other things ... I don’t really like talking about them to others, though they were once something I was proud of.”
“Why aren’t you anymore?”
Kalom groaned, “Didn’t I just tell you- you know what, fine.” He took a deep breath and began his tale.
