The Ale Run, Part III

Breakfast was blessedly uneventful. Broo Fane Tane gradually stopped sulking and even pushed back his hood. I held my breath then, because it caused another round of uproarious -- and, I think, now forced -- laughter from the table behind us. The woman who had dumped his breakfast on his head was clearly disappointed by his reaction -- or lack thereof -- and still hoped to goad him into action. I glared at her and she stuck our her tongue at me. 

"Bones of Barnok," I muttered. "What is the matter with people?"

"I believe it's a combination of boredom and base deviltry," Seymuhr said, surprising me. "It afflicts us all." After all the time we had spent together, I didn't expect much for an answer and wisdom, any wisdom, from him was like finding a fish in a tree. 

"You may be right about that," I nodded, half-grudgingly. Certainly, Broo Fang Tane attracted that deviltry. I wondered, not for the first time, why the Optimist Monks had chosen such an ill-suited missionary to spread their message of good cheer and patience. 

We left the tavern to see the sun had already climbed above the city walls, throwing long shadows over the cobblestone streets. The nearby merchants had their doors propped open or leaned out their windows, calling to passersby. We fell into step with the crowd, shuffling like the dead, until we were closer to the stables, where our mounts and provisions awaited. 

I climbed awkwardly into the saddle and checked my bags, ensuring I had a good assortment of writing implements and parchment. The book I had taken from the ghost ship was there, too, settled at the bottom and nearly forgotten. It was hard to believe that we had encountered it just a few short weeks ago, before our fight with the mountain witch. I had scarcely glanced at it since. 

Tane wanted to walk -- his order did not believe in subjugating animals -- but I had managed to convinced him that if he didn't take a mount, someone else would and that other person would be by far heavier and, most likely, more cruel to the beast than he ever would be. That was probably true, too, even though it was a bit self-serving. Broo Fang Tane, for all his battle prowess, was lithe and thin. He looked like a reed but hit like a brick, kicked like a mule and could snap a neck or bone easily.

Tane fought with precision, even when he was enraged by some harmless prank or bit of mischief. Seymurh was just a brute. Shorter than either Tane or me, he possessed a prodigious strength that I suspected I had not fully seen on display. 

He walked past the horses, rubbing a hand over his bald head, and soon emerged from the shadows with a rather strange-looking beast. Low to the ground like he was, with massive shoulder, an unwieldy gait, a triangle of long, wispy hair hanging from an moving jaw and two long, ringed horns that curved gracefully away from its forehead. 

"What kind of goat is that?" I asked. Even more bizarre, Seymuhr had saddled it. 

He shrugged. "I hope it's a fast one."

I didn't know how to respond to that. Seymuhr clambered up on to the beast, which swayed slightly under his weight, and gave me a crooked smile. 

"Bones of Barnok," I muttered again. I turned my mount and headed to the southern city gate. We were on the way, at last. 

The Ale Run, Part III: On the Road Again

I always felt a certain wistfulness before I went out on a new trip. It is difficult to explain. Part of me yearned to see new lands, to find new things, to record them and add my little footnote to the annals of history. There was another part, however, that sounded louder and louder as my years advanced and the trappings of a sedentary life felt more like a warm, weighty blanket than a cold anchor. 

I longed to settle down.  

I had never given much thought to finding a husband -- normally, it was task enough to look after myself, let alone take on another -- even though I enjoyed my occasional and all-too infrequent dalliances with men. A home, however, a place you could be reasonably sure would free of many of the things in the world of Korin that would kill you, that was another story altogether. There were many days when I envied anyone who could take care of their morning constitutional without scouting the area, first.  

My thoughts were heading toward that gloom as I looked about my small tavern room for what would certainly be the last time in a long while -- perhaps the last time ever. It had been a tidy, warm place. That night, it would welcome another. 

I lifted myself on my toes and then settled on my heels, testing out my new boots. Combined with a new set of trousers -- I rarely felt comfortable in women's clothes, even when I wasn't traveling -- a thick but soft shirt, wide belt and stuff leather vest, I felt better equipped for this journey than any other. That was one benefit of working with the Ministry for Human Preservation I had discovered: they provided enough coin for some decent traveling gear as well as modest expenses of the road. With a nod, I headed down the stairs. 

Seymuhr and Broo Fang Tane were already at a table, the latter hunched into a hooded cloak. Tane was a monk, an Optimist, whose order was dedicated to spreading hope and reminding the residents of Korin that things were not always as bad as they seemed -- a dangerous message in at a time when...well, at any time in Korin. Our world could be a silly place, but it was always a dangerous one. Seymuhr was licking out his bowl of spider porridge, intent, from the look in his eye, at swallowing every last sodden appendage. Porridge stuck to his sparse beard like lichen when he pulled the bowl away and reluctantly set it down. 

"Fresh from the web!" He said as I sat across from him.

"Wonderful." I never shared his taste for spider -- nobody I had ever met enjoyed them as much as he did. I hoped that Dervan, or the road north, had more plentiful food supply. The tavern wench saw me sit and soon came over with a mug of warm ale. She offered to fetch me a bowl of spider porridge, too.

"Do you have anything else? Eggs, perhaps?"

She brightened. "We have spider eggs! Would you like that, instead?"

My stomach heaved. "I'll just take a muffin, then."

"One spidernut muffin, on the way. Good choice, too. They're very moist."

"Wonderful." I said again and turned to Tane. "Are you not eating this morning?"

Seymuhr answered with a bark of laughter. "He already tried! He had a bowl of fruit in front of him and was about to dig in to it when a woman scooped it up, spat in it and then crushed most of it on his head. Show Mira! Come! Come! Show her!"

When he did not, Seymuhr pushed back Tane's hood. I shook my head; it looked as if the poor monk had rolled down a hill and crashed through an orchard. Still, when I looked around the tavern, I saw no blood. No bodies.

"And you didn't kill anyone?" 

Tane wiped yellow fruit from his head and flicked it on the ground. Behind me, I heard a woman laugh and slap a table repeatedly. Tane shook his head. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. 

"Well, you should be proud then. You are taking another journey toward the peace you long for."

"And you'll have plenty to eat on the way," Seymuhr said. He leaned forward and snatched a chunk of fruit from Tane's ear, sniffed it, then popped it in his mouth. That brought another round of laughter and table-slapping from behind me. Tane didn't say anything. He just pulled his hook back up and hunched further. 

I decided to eat my spidernut muffin as quickly as my stomach would allow. 

Author's note:

Thanks for reading! In his creative writing Masterclass, Neil Gaiman stressed the importance of writing frequently, every day if possible. "You have to get the bad stories out," he said. That's what this blog is, in part. Admittedly, I don't always put a lot of thought into these entries; they are merely a way for me to: (a) test out a few jokes and make fun of the genre; (b) work on dialogue and scene; (c) develop the world of Korin, where my real fantasy stories take place and (d) appear busy while I eat lunch, so I can avoid human interaction. Feel free to let me leave a comment or critique. I always like to know what works and what doesn't. 

The Ale Run, part II: Destination Dervan

"So what do you say?" I asked Sehmuhr and Broo Fang Tane after a long silence. "It sounds like something of interest and it would be nice to do some good for a change."

"Dervan is a long way away," Seymuhr said, after trying unsuccessfully to amplify an unremarkable belch.

I waved away the stench of his breath and gazed around, wondering who the display was meant to attract. I saw no one of any particular interest. "Must you share all of your odors? Is there not one, perhaps two, you would keep to yourself?"

"Wouldn't be fair." He sat back and crossed his arms.

"I think you are alone in that assessment," I grumbled. "What say you, Tane? It would be a long journey, true, but we have nothing pressing to do at the moment. And spending some time away from the walls and crowded streets of Veral Ski would do you -- would do all of us -- some good. I, for one, yearn for the road. Is there a temple there, brothers you would like to check on?"

He shook his head. "I believe they shut...down the Order of Op...timists there and chased all the acolytes a...way," he said in his hesitant, lilting voice. "I would not be welcome there."

He had a point. As I have often said in the past, those who attempt to spread good cheer and hopeful thoughts in Korin faced an uphill challenge and needed to learn to defend themselves.

"Still. Perhaps this would help return your order to good favor. Nothing says prosperity like an open trade route."

He grunted. Seymuhr nodded, then ran his finger around the rim of his empty soup bowl and stuck it in his mouth. "Do they have spiderfat soup there? A journey like that will no doubt build up an appetite."

"No doubt they will. It's settled then. We'll leave tomorrow." It felt good having a goal, even one as nebulous as this one.

The serving girl approached and set a glass of spiderberry wine in front of me. I swirled it around in the goblet, frowning as my stomach spasmed. It looked to be a bit chunky for my tastes. I let out a heavy sigh and reluctantly asked for a spoon.

Author's note:

Thanks for reading! In his creative writing Masterclass, Neil Gaiman stressed the importance of writing frequently, every day if possible. "You have to get the bad stories out," he said. That's what this blog is, in part. Admittedly, I don't always put a lot of thought into these entries; they are merely a way for me to: (a) test out a few jokes and make fun of the genre; (b) work on dialogue and scene; (c) develop the world of Korin, where my real fantasy stories take place and (d) appear busy while I eat lunch, so I can avoid human interaction. Feel free to let me leave a comment or critique. I always like to know what works and what doesn't. 

The Ale Run, part 1

In which we start off on a new adventure and begin to connect the dots in the World of Korin.

We found Seymuhr that evening in a tavern, nursing some spiderfat soup. A flagon of ale sat nearly empty to his left. People were grousing in small groups, looking up occasionally with spite in their eyes, but that was not uncommon in the city of Veral Ski in particular, nor the World of Korin in general. Times were difficult for the working folk, although across the land in countries large and dukedoms small, the ruling elite declared an unprecedented time of prosperity.

Seymurh pulled a dripping, hairy spider leg from his bowl, sucked the broth from it and gobbled it up, flashing me a grin as his uneven teeth broke through the soggy appendage. He gestured toward the empty seats nearby and motioned us over. I led the way, cautiously checking the other patrons for signs of mischief. Despite my earlier reassurances, I was still nervous entering a tavern -- or any public place, for that matter, with Broo Fang Tane in tow. The man attracted ne'er-do-wells, bullies and pranksters the way an open flower attracted bumblebees.

I signaled to the girl near the bar to bring some more ale. She snorted.

"You'll have to wait on that," she said, giving Seymuhr a baleful glare. "We had to make more."

"Ah," I said to her, then turned my attention to Seymuhr. "Been here a while, have you?"

"I am not to blame for their lack of supplies," he said. "I wanted some Dervinian Dark, but they had none. Said nobody did. Their House Ale has all the flavor of old hay and goes down about as well."

I glanced again around the tavern, noting the empty steins and glasses on the remaining tables, the angry glances and a large, unconscious man crumpled in a heap by a nearby table. "It doesn't appear you had any problem with that," I said, and indicated the prone man with a slight tilt of my head. "Your work?"

Seymurh shrugged. "You'd've done the same."

I doubted that, but didn't say so. Instead I hailed the taverness. "Do you have anything else to drink?"

She shook her head. "Not now. I'll have some spiderberry wine ready, soon enough."

"Spiderberry? What's that like?"

She swung her legs off the stool and walked over. Seymuhr watched her hips sway but if Tane paid them any attention, I could not tell. "Old Frolaff is making it up now. Won't be much berry in it. It'd be mostly ground spider. Very fresh!"

"I have no doubt." Spiders, the so-called Chicken of the Web, were Korin's most plentiful food supply. They were everywhere. With the exception of some of the most exotic, southern forms, they did nothing for my appetite. "When do you expect more Dervian Dark?"

She shrugged. "Can't say I do. There have been problems with the trade routs down to Dervan. I hear there had been some upheaval down there, but don't know the particulars." She poked at something in her teeth, turned her head and spat. "The 'particulars' tend to come in with the Dark." She leaned in. "That is to say, they bring news with the beer, you see."

That was interesting. "You say it's common throughout the city?"

"No. It's uncommon throughout the city. Nobody can get the stuff. Or any news from down there, neither."

"Aye. That's what I meant." I looked at Seymuhr, then at Tane, who sat hidden in his hooded cloak. I, too, had heard word of some unrest in the Village of Dervan, which was in the southwestern portion of Korin, near the mountains. That had been before Merrick and his band had abducted me and eventually caused me to join the queen's Ministry of Human Preservation. Perhaps this was a sign, after all. My first assignment as an official agent of the queen. While there, I could document what had happened in the city and, perhaps, earn a few extra coin for that story.

I gave the taverness a sly smile.

"We'll look into it," I said.

A new start

In which characters and author alike seek direction after a long rest.

I followed Broo Fang Tane out of the tavern, scanning the street for any sign of alerted Shieldsmen. If anyone had noticed the fight inside the tavern--or the people who had fled in panic--they made no sign. The street outside was sparsely crowded with the sort of townspeople one would expect in a wealthier area of Veral Ski; there were well-dressed merchants conversing in front of their shops, pretty, clean women weaving their way down the street on their way to or from some errand and very few children to be seen. Times were tense in Korin and fights of all types were common everywhere; apparently that extended to the wealthy district in its mightiest, most prosperous city. too.

Relived, but still somewhat vexed, I tried to find Tane. This time, he had left no bloody footprints to follow and, for once, I didn't hear the sounds of anyone mocking him. I soon spotted his lithe figure walking down Kings Way toward the lower portion of the city and, beyond that I suspected, toward the gate and the road beyond. I hurried after him.

Broo Fang Tane looked up when I fell into place beside him and flashed him a quick smile. His eyes were sad, his mouth curled downward. He didn't slow.

"Where are you off to?" I asked. "Our lodgings are back the other way."

"I have caused...enough death...here," he said in his usual lilting speech. "I mean to re....turn to the road. Perhaps I shall return to the...Temple of the Optimists, where I can seek...counsel."

I tentatively put my hand on his shoulder, trying to suppress a wince. It was meant as a friendly gesture but, if misintrepted, I had just entered the last seconds of my life. He stiffened, but showed no sign of aggression or rage.

"See, then? You don't need counsel. You are not to blame for that man's death," I paused, thinking. He might have been killed. "His condition is not your fault. He started it." Even as I said it, I flet heat rise to my cheeks. I sounded like a sulky child. Laws in Veral Ski--as elsewhere in Korin--were fickle things. Whether Tane had done wrong by brutally subduing the man who had mocked him would be open to interpretation, speculation and, most likely, a few healthy wagers.

"E....ven so. I have lost my pur....pose. I no longer know my way."

I nearly stopped, blinking. That could have been the first time he finished a sentence without pausing halfway through it and, while I felt like pointing that out, I didn't see the need for it.

"Happens to everyone, I suspect," I said instead, with a shrug of my shoulders. "Rich, poor, male, female, merchant or otherwise. If we didn't get lost every now and then, we might never find new things."

I smiled at that, for it sounded wise. I repeated it in my head so I wouldn't forget it and could write it down later. Tane greeted that wisdom with silence.

"I think it's time for you and I--and Seymurh, too, I suppose--to find new things. I, too, feel a bit restless and lost. I think we should take the queen up on her offer." Phaedra had welcomed us, in a sense, to Veral Ski and offered employment in her Ministry of Human Preservation, following the death of one of her reliable agents. "Maybe we can do some good along the way."

He stopped then and looked up at me, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. "And spread some...cheer?"

I glanced down the street, where an argument had broken out and folks had stopped to watch.

"Anything is possible, I suppose." I suspected that would be the hardest of our tasks.

Brief and brutal

Tane knocked away the man's spit-slickened hand, then crouched, spun and buried an elbow into his midsection in one swift motion. The man staggered, huffing, and tried to focus. His hands curled into loose fists and he took an unsteady step forward, a snarl forming on his bearded face, but Tane had already moved aside, kicked his leg from under him with a short jab to the back of his knee, then grabbed his hair and pulled him to the floor. Another kick--this one to the man's jaw--finished him.

He whirled to face any new attackers but this time there were none. I stood in front of him, hands raised in supplication.

"No one else needs to be hurt," I said. "These good people are smart enough to know when not to pester a person, right?" I asked and looked around the room, nodding, to solicit a response.

"Oh aye," several people said.

"I'm not much of a joker, anyway," one man said, backing away.

"I could use a bit of optimism now and then!" A woman chimed in.

"Good, good," I said as Tane sat back down. "See?" I told him. "You are getting better. Only one man on the floor and he...well, he may recover. In time. Under the care of a skilled healer. And perhaps a strong prayer circle."

Tane looked unconvinced. He prodded the bleeding man with a toe, then walked out of the tavern, his shoulders slumped.

Author's note:

Thanks for reading! In his creative writing Masterclass, Neil Gaiman stressed the importance of writing frequently, every day if possible. "You have to get the bad stories out," he said. That's what this blog is, in part. Admittedly, I don't always put a lot of thought into these entries; they are merely a way for me to: (a) test out a few jokes and make fun of the genre; (b) work on dialogue and scene; (c) develop the world of Korin, where my real fantasy stories take place and (d) appear busy while I eat lunch, so I can avoid human interaction. Feel free to let me leave a comment or critique. I always like to know what works and what doesn't. 

At the crossroads

Later, much later, I huddled over a mug of ale and pondered the events of the day.

After initially welcoming me into the Ministry of Human Preservation, Queen Phaedra dismissed us with an invitation to attend her in two days. We were not allowed to stay in the palace until then--a decision I rested on Seymuhr's broad, uncouth shoulders--but given enough coin to afford a respectable inn nearby.

I had a long, hot, luxuriant bath that eased the final pains of our recent travels and scoured my hair enough to make it look somewhat reasonable. I found a new set of clothes waiting for me: perfectly tailored pants made of a soft, yet durable gray material, a shirt that hung well in all the right places--it was not too tight around my bosom, or loose around my waist--as well as a sturdy pair of boots. There was even a traveling cloak, lined with pockets. I felt, for the first time in my life, like I belonged somewhere. Was this my destiny, then? Did that account for my new bearing?

Broo Fang Tane appeared in the doorway, similarly cleaned and also wearing new clothes, although the change in his appearance was not as drastic as mine. He had no hair to wrangle, not even a bear to trim and his monk's robes were simple. The cloth that draped his lithe frame looked much finer than the coarse, nearly threadbare robes that he had worn throughout our recent adventures. He sat across from me and beamed, smelling of lavender.

"A new pair of boots can change the way you look at the world, and the way the world looks at you," I said.

He nodded. "Foot...wear is...the...foun...da...……….tion of any journey," he agreed. He stretched, his fingers clasped together over his head. "My...."

But he did not have the chance to finish that sentence. The door opened and a large man with a bristling beard walked in. His dark eyes scanned the room and lit up when they found Tane, who was facing away from the doorway. A mischievous smile crossed his face and he stomped toward us, already chuckling. Conversation around us trailed off. More than a few people turned to see what would happen next.

"Welllllll, what do we have here?" The man's voice was deep and rough; he sounded like a hound warning a rival away from a bone.

"Two travelers, staying here at the queen's request," I answered, hoping to avoid any violence. I glanced around the room, but saw no one who looked eager--or even willing--to help.

He crossed his arms. "Is that right?"

"It is. My friend and I are awaiting her majesty's next summons. It is important work." I stood up and motioned for the big man to lean toward me. "I see mischief in your eyes, good sir, and I will ask you for forbearance," I whispered to him. "My companion means no harm to you nor anyone else--indeed, he is of the Order of Optimists, and lives only to spread good cheer and happy news. That said, he has a bit of a temper..."

"Good...cheer? Happy news?" He threw back his head and laughed, a robust, hearty sound that caught on with some of those watching the spectacle. When he was finally done -- and I suspected, by then, that he wasn't genuinely entertained because the laughter had a strained, pained tone to it -- he exaggerated it, blowing a fetid wind from his mouth directly into my face. "Has he not walked these lands? Talked to anybody? Looked around?"

"Korin is a strange, dangerous and sometimes silly place, but it surely is not as bad as you think it is."

In response, he pressed a finger vertically against one of his nostrils and, with a scowl, emptied the contents of the other onto Tane's head. A few people winced at the wet sound the issue made when it smacked against the monk's scalp; I felt a few droplets against my cheek.

"Bones of Barnok! Why would you do such a thing?!?"

The man was genuinely laughing now. There was nothing exaggerated or pained about it. He pointed at Tane, who pressed his lips together as he looked for a cloth to clean himself with.

"Sorry, friend," the man said, still chuckling. "Let me help you." He cupped his hand and spat into it, then advanced toward Tane, meaning, I thought, to wipe the mess clean.

Broo Fang Tane would have none of that, though, and my heart sank as I heard the faint battle growl grow in his throat. His eyes blazed and he was suddenly on his feet, pivoting to face his tormentor.

"Broo Fang," I said. "Please..."

"Listen to your mother, little man," the other one said. Tane erupted, and I stepped aside, then dove for cover.

Author's note:

Thanks for reading! Admittedly, I don't always put a lot of thought into these entries; they are merely a way for me to: (a) test out a few jokes and make fun of the genre; (b) work on dialogue and scene; (c) develop the world of Korin, where my real fantasy stories take place and (d) appear busy while I eat lunch, so I can avoid human interaction. Feel free to let me leave a comment or critique. I always like to know what works and what doesn't.