<b>PART
2</b>
<b>CHAPTER 3</b>
<b>ERAND</b>
<b> </b>A
few weeks
went by like this. Marta and Beizl doing their work,
the days gradually becoming cooler, the
salamander healing and resting, occasionally interrupted by Beizl
playing with it. The takins roved, the yeast fermented wine, the
sigil pot simmered, great horned millipedes dug
their mating pits,
and the deciduous trees shed their leaves.
Marta
was at her quilting frame, faced with a conundrum. She was supposed
to finish this quilt before the middle of winter. Marta
had no need for a quilt, since her sigil pot kept her home warm and
she
did
not travel,
but she would make quilts for the nearby villagers using their cloth
scraps.
The Family Watrkraft was expecting a baby before spring, and they had
supplied Marta with materials.
But
after
many
years of dutiful service, her
cupralum needle broke. A
tiny bubble in the
casting
from which it was cut, and
years
of work-hardening from heavy use, culminated
in the needle snapping mid-stitch.
It
had split
right in the middle, neither piece long enough to form into a
stop-gap needle. Marta had no understanding of metalworking, so had
no way to mend or remake it.
The solution, of course, was
simple. “Beizl!” she shouted, just loud enough to be sure she was
heard from outside. “Come here!”
<sup><i>“Coming!”</i></sup>
Beizl’s quiet voice called back. She made her way to Marta
“Beizl, I need you to go to
the village and bring me a new needle. Can you make the walk?”
Beizl
excitedly nodded
her head, nearly vibrating in place.
Marta looked her up and down, then leaned out a window to check the
weather
and the
firmaments. “Alright. You’ll need to stay the night. Take the
broken needle, go talk to Klovr,
and
come back with a good needle. You
remember Klovr, right?
If he gives you any trouble remind him that I
saved his dog. Be back before noon tomorrow.”
Beizl
hopped a bit in place, so excited
to go to the village, and she was even going alone! She’d spend
some time with the other kids, and she’ll tell them all about her
new pet. She
almost raced out the door right there, grabbing only her shoes and
her robe to put over her shirt and shorts, but Marta snapped at her.
“Beizl! <i>Jacket
and meal or death is real</i>.<i>”</i>
Beizl metered her excitement
just long enough to properly prepare for the coming journey. She
quickly drank a cup of soup, then put on her robe, jacket, satchel, a
water bottle, shoes, and hat. This time she waved Marta goodbye and
set out eastwards. One last look back at the house, and Beizl shouted
to Marta, “Feed my pet while I’m gone! And don’t let him get
dry!” She pointed right at Marta’s face in the window as she said
this, and Marta waved her off, wordlessly signaling “Obviously”.
=========================
For an adult, the journey to
the forest’s edge would only take about an hour. For Beizl’s
stubby little 9 year old legs, it took her twice the time. Beizl
walked eastward for about two hours, taking frequent short breaks,
before she reached the demarcation between the forest and the
farmland of the village.
Behind Beizl, the world was
green and shaded. Ahead of her, the skies were open, the horizon and
the firmaments span uninterrupted but for the clouds and mists. She
could see the horizon rising upwards into the blue, guiding her
bewondered eyes upwards to the firmaments, and the great heavenly
bats soaring amongst them. In all directions but the canopy behind
her, she could see the mountains, rivers, forests, and plains of the
world. She could see telltale signs of far-distant peoples, their
farms, their roads, their cities. Far to the north stood the near
tower, and farther still to the south the far tower. To the east,
past the village, she could see the line of night, the shadow cast by
the rotating firmaments, slowly creeping down towards where she now
stood.
Beizl’s destination was the
village across the furrowed field. She’d been here several times,
but had never made the trip entirely alone. This was a first for
Beizl. She was very happy that she’d managed it, and that Marta
trusted her to go alone. In this village lived three families, a
total of 73 people. A few were even around Beizl’s age, and she
much enjoyed playing with them.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
She wasn’t here for play,
though. She had a job to do, and that came first. She was to find
Klovr, present to him the broken needle, have it repaired or
replaced, and return home the next day. Only after the needle was
dealt with would she begin to play with her friends. She was
determined to not disappoint Marta. She sprinted on her tiny legs to
the nearest dirt path through the field, she ran out of breath about
halfway across the field, and she half-jogged the remaining distance.
The village had a lookout
tower made from three tall tree trunks, crossed halfway up and tied
at their midpoints and their tips. A lookout noticed Beizl
approaching, and blew a simple tune on their whistle to notify the
village that they had a visitor. The lookout waved their hat at
Beizl, and Beizl waved back excitedly. A few adults and children came
to the edge of the field, and when they saw the visitor was Beizl,
several of the kids ran out to greet her.
The first two to reach her
were the twin boys Gus and Gis av Watrkraft. They were 9 years old,
just like Beizl, with short straight black hair and pale freckled
skin. They stopped just short of crashing into her and hugged her
from both sides, jabbering about various things that had happened
recently in the village.
“Beizl you have to see the
snake I found!”
“I ran way faster then Gus
the other day Beizl!”
“Nuh uh! We’re the same
speed!”
“Beizl there was this big wind like <i>WOOSH</i>
and I thought the tower was gonna blow over but it didn’t and
then-!”
While the twins babbled, the
other kids caught up one by one. Tortos av Wilr was next, a tall boy,
12 years old. His hair was brown and wavy, about shoulder length, and
his skin was dark brown and smooth, like good clay. He separated the
twins from Beizl and hugged her himself. He welcomed Beizl with the
characteristic measure and calm that earned him his name.
Next was Nidl av Wilr, a 10
year old girl. She shadowed her older brother Tortos, always
following just behind him. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was tied
in many small braids, and her skin was a light brown, similar to
Beizl’s. She reached out and held Beizl’s hands, and did a little
standing dance with her. She spoke to Beizl with her awkward, stilted
speaking style. “Hi Beizl… have- have you seen any… any wyldmen
recently?”
An older girl flicked Nidl on
the back of the neck, and Nidl jumped back in surprise, rubbing the
point of impact. “Nidl, that is very rude!” The wielder of the
flick was Cupro av Peipr, a 15 year old girl, who frequently took it
on herself to help look after the children. She was on the short side
for her age, with extremely pale, nearly translucent skin. Her curly
brown hair was tied into a waist-length ponytail, with wood rings
along its length holding it tight.
Cupro started ushering the
kids towards the buildings. “Night is coming, kids, let’s get
back inside. Beizl, would you like to wash?”
Beizl replied, “No thank
you, Cupro. I need to talk to Klovr.”
Everyone halted for a moment,
then Cupro spoke. “Oh, Beizl, you… let’s get inside.”
They walked into the village
together. As they passed the adults at the threshold, Beizl looked up
at their faces. Something troubled them.
=========================
For several weeks, the
salamander had healed. It had rested and recuperated. It had slept,
ate, drank, and had noises made at it by its captors. Above all, it
had been plotting. Biding its time. Every night that the smaller of
its captors observed it, every night that the duplicitous warden
feigned weakness by laying on the floor, the salamander was devising
its escape. On this night, the smaller of the jailers had not come.
All was silent. This was the time for the salamander to take action.
The salamander raised itself
on its mantis legs and its langostino claws. It crawled over the edge
of the dish it had laid in for these past weeks. It scuttled slowly
to the curtain that divided the room, and it peeked under the gap. It
kept still and silent for a time, watching for any movement,
listening for any sound. Still nothing. It peeked its head out from
under the curtain, and again lay still, watching for movement and
listening for sound. Again, still nothing.
The salamander made a break
for it. It scrambled towards the window. It slammed into the wall. It
desperately reached for the lower ledge of the window, well out of
reach. It did little jumps on its spindly legs. In its frustration,
it took to simply banging its head and claws against the wall,
hissing and screaming in its tiny voice.
To the salamander’s shock
and horror, the larger of the wardens had awoken. With great strides
it approached the salamander. <i>“How?”</i> thought the
salamander. <i>“I moved with silence, under the cloak of darkness!”</i>
It wheeled around to face its captor, who still appeared to be
rousing from sleep. From it rolled forth a gravelly rumble, which
washed over the salamander as a tide of horror, indecipherable and
deafening.
“Always some kind of
goatshit making life complicated…”
The salamander opened its
mouth and raised its claws at the giant. Hopeless as the situation
may be, it was resolute to fight to its last. With only two fingers,
the giant simply swatted the claws aside and grabbed the salamander
by the throat, lifting it into the air.
“Placid.”
This spoken word, the
salamander somehow understood. It could not resist. It lowered its
claws, it ceased its writhing, and allowed its body to be taken into
the great one’s arms.
=========================