fin

This is where it ended, when the word quota was met, though not the story, if there is one to be teased out of this jumbled skein to verbiage.

If you have read this far, thanks for your attention.

The Bone Kingdom’s abject poverty was so dire and contact so limited that the rulers could not imagine that the other cities were not in the same straits. They attributed the relative fleshiness of their visitors to some elaborate disinformation campaign where diplomats were force-fed like livestock for the sake of firm flesh and a sleek appearance. The truth of it was that the emissaries were as varied in size and shape as people come, but paranoia and self-delusion trumped the reality in this, as in many other things.
So the Kingdom struggled to make ends meet, to convince its citizens it was at the expected state of readiness, and to confound efforts to learn about it and to help, extended by the infrequent visitors. If given the opportunity, there were elements in New Destiny who would seek an alliance with the Bone Kingdom against Helle, but that was unlikely to be forged or to succeed. These would-be allies had too little in common and were likely to be less than the sum of their parts and as a result, no real threat. These plotters were driven more by envy and a hunger to despoil what they saw as a city of pampered fat-cats than anything that would benefit either city. The expense of such an assault would be ruinous and there was nothing to be gained. Helle was not so much better off than New Destiny to be worth sacking and it was too distant from the Kingdom to be threatened. The Kingdom would be hard-pressed to supply an expedition to New Destiny, let alone an army.
* * * Therian’s return was greeted with scowls and grumbles by most of the settlement. His feigned attack was still fresh in many people’s minds. Some had yet to wash the clothes they had been wearing at the time, and their presence served as a reminder. But Reckter and Erst had welcomed him and were eager to learn what he had found. I joined them and was glad to see both Anatha and Derwin waiting on us. I felt more than a guest since I had spent some time getting to know them and a little more about their lives here.
Therian squeezed his thighs under the table and gathered in as much food as his trencher would hold. He cleared fully half of it before draining his beaker of the honey brew and then paused as if to speak.
“It was hard work getting back so quickly, you’ll excuse me while I restore my strength.”
And he proceeded to finish off the rest of his pile of food. I could Erst was looking on as stoically as usual, eating deliberately, but Reckter was unable to eat, it seemed. He was a man conflicted with his curiosity overruling his appetite. I was hungry enough and ignorant enough that I could wait for the news but not for a meal. I followed Therian’s example and got my fill before we started discussing whatever it was.
At last, the big man finished, wiped his arm on his sleeve, looked up and winked at the two servants, and prepared to share his tale. He leaned back against the wall, causing some rustling and a creaking sound to come from where the wall joined the floor and ceiling, and folded his arms across his chest, closed his eyes, and began.
“You’ll recall I caught a hint of something amiss out on the plain where those creatures are kept. I was concerned someone had been fooling around out there, playing amateur thaumaturge, or worse, just beating on the compound and working them up. I was relieved, I can tell you to find nothing amiss. But I felt as if something was going to happen, as if I had perhaps been too early to find out what I had felt coming.”
Erst was still picking deliberately at his food, and I could only imagine the torrent of communication between he and Reckter. I was surprised not to see sparks. Erst nodded at Reckter and continued to work at his food.
“What do you think it can mean? I’m sure you have your own ideas, my friend?”
Therian smiled at Reckter’s words, noting the somewhat forced cordiality. He looked at Erst with a twinkle in his eye and smiled at everyone.
“Well, yes, I have my own ideas, as you might guess, though one of them wasn’t to consider us friends, you and I. But no matter. The feeling I got was as I described. It seemed more of a warning of something to come, rather than of something that was happening now. As if I could smell the smoke before there was ever a flame.”
He sat back again. Reckter was all but vibrating as he tried to work out what this could mean. Erst took another mouthful, and pushed his trencher away. He looked at Therian, at me, and then looked away, gazing in the direction of a window on the wall behind Therian.
“Something yet to come. A riddle of some sort. It was well you went, Therian. I fear no one else would have read the sign as you did. I sense a subtlety here that our duller senses would have missed. But what good is the message if we receive it but don’t understand it?”
He paused and we all looked around at each other, as if waiting for someone to reveal a clue to this riddle.
“No, we are all equally ignorant here. You said nothing looked amiss, and there were no signs of anyone having been there. This is good news. It is an old knowing that binds that together and I would be challenged to weave it again if needed. It might be well for me to go there and see what I can learn. I trust your words and thank you for your haste. But there may be something I — we — can do there.”
Therian acknowledged the old man’s courtesies, as if they were equals, and I suppose they had known each other long enough to know how to work together and assert authority or dominion over some subject without giving offense.
Reckter turned to face Erst. “You want to go out there? But why? Surely I can go and spare you the journey?”
“No, it would be best if we both went. There may be something for us to learn and it may take both of us to see it and understand it. Our guest is welcome to come along, as well. It may be of interest to him as well.”
“Well, old one, I can bear you, as I bore our friend here. You would be a lighter burden, I expect, and a less demanding one,” offered Therian, with a broad smile. Erst returned the smile and the offer with a nod and a smile of his own.
“We are in agreement then.”
Reckter’s expression, his creased brow and tight lipped expression belying the gesture, nodded and I was content to let my having been asked without arguing stand as my acceptance.
“When would we leave and what preparations need we make?” I asked. I had no idea where or how far we were going, and hoped this answer would allow me to make a guess.
“It took me little enough time but it will take you, even with my bearing the old one, a day or more to reach the place,” Therian replied.
“So we will need some provisions and some shelter, bedding, then. I can be ready to leave as soon as you like.”
With that, Therian put his hands on the table as if to push himself to a standing position, but Erst waved him back. “We have more to discuss than that.”
Reckter looked more conflicted. He didn’t like the idea of dealing with these creatures, for some reason. From what I gathered they were harmless to us, but could be dangerous if they were to loosed on the world. His trepidation made me curious. Perhaps it was just the unknown or the risk that had him on edge. Erst could handle it, I was sure. I turned my thoughts to a night under the stars and the chance to learn more about this world and it’s many differences from my own.
Erst’s face suddenly changed. “But this is not the time for that,” he added hurriedly. “We will gather at the circle at dusk, and I will tell you then what I think and what I know about this.”
And with that, we were dismissed. Anatha and Derwin appeared and were obviously there to see us out, and Therian and I took our leave. I looked up at the big man’s face to see if anything was revealed there, but he seemed his usual bluff, equable self. We strode off slowly, and looked out over the prairie. I guessed he was looking to see if the smoke he had smelt was rising yet. But he gave no sign that anything was unusual.
* * * Therian showed me some things I had not seen before in my walks around. Closer to the dwellings, there were a few things that shed some light on how people lived. There was a smokehouse, used in the harvest time for preserve the fish that could be harvested from the nearby rivers. It was old and well-used, I could smell it before we got to it, a rich aroma of woodsmoke and fat, refined over years and years.
There was also a dye-works, with some vessels used for working with the dyes that could be extracted from the local plants. I had given but slight thought to how these folks clothed themselves. Therian was content with simple leather coverings he could adapt to his needs, but everyone else was clothed in fibers that felt and looked familiar and were in colors that could only be added by human hands, rich deep indigo blues and strong reds.
There were also work areas where tool makers patiently made implements — axes, knives, spears, even fishhooks — from the materials they was able to find or reclaim. These were open air spaces, and I gathered that when winter came, there was little use for the tools and equally little to work on them.
I began to understand more and more about the choices that had been made when this community had been established. There seemed to be a conscious decision to avoid refinement, to have foods, fibers, and other materials be handled sparingly before use. If someone made something, be it a meal or a garment, they would harvest the raw materials, prepare them, and serve them, either for themselves or for others, but the process would include just one person. That explained why I saw young and old working together in the small garden plots or at the needlework I had seen before, and why I had wrongly assumed the needle-workers were all young women. I saw seeing things through the filter of my own experience and not seeing them as they were. But I was becoming aware of that now. But there was so much more to know.
“Tell me, Therian. You cannot be unaware that your gifts strike me as unusual. The idea of changing shape, of taking the form of another creature, is a fairy-tale where I came from. I wonder if it is based a real experience of some person long ago meeting you or someone like you?”
He didn’t look at me as he answered and his words came slowly.
“I have traveled in your world, but not for many an age. So it is possible someone who became aware of what you call my gifts — and I thank you for that — and used them as a tale to scare the kiddies. The fear of the unusual, of the unknown or unfamiliar, is strong in your world. Many an evil deed was committed by men afraid of what they didn’t know, rather than to put an end to something they understood to be dangerous. I saw some of that, but even as resourceful as I can be, I was often powerless to prevent the savagery of a group setting on an individual for a perceived difference, no matter how slight.”
I waited, uncertain how to proceed. What response could I offer? I could hear the pain in his voice and I wondered if the stories I had learned of brave men defending against powerful enemies were not as clear-cut as that. It was almost always an individual and always a group, a mob, to put it plainly. And the offense and it’s retribution were somehow outside the bounds of established law. Often, the offense was trivial, a harmless prank or trick, but the victim or some other charismatic person had interpreted something else from it and was able to instill a sense of dread. And from there . . . .
“I didn’t realize you had seen some of that. The stories are different, as I heard them. But they would have to be, or who could live with themselves? There always seem to be those who fear what they don’t understand, as you say.
“Can you tell me more about your travels, or something else I don’t know about your past? I still find myself wondering how the solid mass of a horse could become something else so quickly.”
“It’s but the work of a moment,” came the reply, and I found myself looking at a majestic owl, bright-eyed, ears cocked as if to hear my response. I must have started, because next thing I knew, the owl was replaced by Therian in his customary form, chuckling to himself.
“Where does the owl go?”
“Go? It doesn’t go anywhere. It and all the other creatures are in my head, in a kind of gallery of forms. I can see something for a moment and understand its form, its musculature, it’s bones, and create for myself a vessel I can then use. Some things are easier than others, and it’s not possible to make anything other than an exact representation of the creature. The bear I become can’t talk, for example.”
I pondered this. I could imagine the terror someone in my world would feel if they saw someone change into a creature, be it a bear or something as harmless as a rabbit. Or change from that to a human form. It seemed too likely that it would be “kill first, make up a convincing story later.” And why? Yes, anything that could turn into a rabbit might turn into a bear and put an end to your enquiries. But would it not be just as likely it, be it person or beast, would strike first in it’s more horrible form if it felt the same way?
I also wondered what it would be like to be able to choose a form that felt comfortable. Therian seemed to like the bear form, and it seemed a good fit. It was convincing, and he seemed to have taken on some bear-like attributes when in human guise.
But the danger of being seen in a shape that ordinary people were afraid of or wanted as prey was something I was glad to have been spared. It was too easy to imagine being hunted as a stag or some other trophy animal and being unable to assume another shape, even a human shape.
I was unable to ask anything else, curious though I was. It all seemed to underscore a mindless violence that my kind had perpetrated that I had been aware of in my mind but not in my heart. I looked at Therian, but he was again looking out across the grasslands and I was content to let it drop.
Footsteps behind us made me turn and look to see who approached. It was Anatha, her face solemn, her pace quick. “I am sent to bid you come. Erst and Reckter would put some questions to you.”
Therian turned to face the girl. “Come, speak your mind. There is more to it than that, girl. Your masters are quarrelling, I expect. About what?”
She made no answer for a moment, but it was obvious he had hit the point. She bit her lip, and looked down, then replied. “They argue over the place where you have just returned. Erst wants to go, to see if things are as they should be, and Reckter is claiming that as his task, that he wants to go alone, that Erst is too old for the journey.”
“Too old? Reckter would do well to remember his manners. I am making the journey and Erst will be my burden. I expect he will arrive fresher than any of us. No, there is something else here. And I doubt brother Reckter will share it with us, even if he knows it. I often marvel at how people keep secrests from themselves better than they keep them from other.”