The next day was just as Sam had promised it would be, much to Elody’s surprise. Her experience handling customers and working a shopfront was largely applicable in the end, despite these customers having to point at various items and gesture if they wanted multiples. In the end, only in a handful of occasions did she have to disrupt Hugh’s work to have him translate. In each of the appearances, the unknown form of the young Frostwalker startled the townsfolk. They knew of the Frostwalkers that lived to their south, but almost noone had seen one before, and the ones who had had ventured south to see them. To see one in their hometown was quite the shock.
While Elody was decent at this, she was not excellent as stand-in shopkeep. She was nervous and blundered frequently, earning a few upset looks when she repeatedly grabbed the wrong item that the small Ratkin villager was pointing at. She quickly picked up the local terms for ‘Thank you’, ‘Sorry’, and simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ through context cues and Hugh’s prompting.
After midday, the customers dried up, leaving Elody bored and without anything to do. Throughout the morning, there had been a line of villagers lined up, ranging from many local farmers to local business owners to local clergy. The latter of which required Hugh’s translation, as they were specifically requesting if they had candles. They didn’t, which left the clergy member leaving disappointedly. Now that the line was gone, Elody sat back on one of the crates Sam had noted as “do not sell”, and sighed nostalgically.
Hugh turned to Elody. He had been much less social since being removed from his home, but it had been almost a week. While the pain was fresh, he also knew that Elody’s pain was almost as fresh and cut far deeper. He wanted to become friends with her, even if he was still unsure what kind of a person she was. He wanted to know that; Hugh wanted to know how she operated. In his experience, however, asking that directly was not only fruitless, but often lead to consternation. He thought about how to approach the matter, and, settling on a gentle approach, cleared his throat.
“Are you doing alright?” Hugh asked.
Elody leaned back onto the sturdy crate and sighed again, letting her head loll about.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I mean, no. No I’m not. I'm not sure,” She said, immediately contradicting herself.
“Why were you sighing?” Hugh asked, trying for a slightly different angle.
“What? I was sighing?”
“Repeatedly. Is something on your mind?”
“Oh, yeah. I suppose I was. I was just thinking about my old shop. The customers I had then were nothing like the ones here. I don’t mean like their appearance, though obviously there weren’t Ratkin there, they were Adstrani, like me,” Elody said.
“I wouldn’t presume,” he said.
“I suppose that’s fair. But in Ade, it’s almost exclusively Adstrani. Sure, there’s a few Draconics, but not many. Not any of my customers, though. My customers were all common folk in Ade. Workers, laborers, a few homeless people even. Everyone on the bottom several rungs of the social ladder.” Elody sighed again. “I knew almost all of them by name. All the ones who came regularly, at least.”
“Would you like to talk about them?” Hugh ventured. He was starting to realize that Elody liked to learn about the people around her, and wondered how that might extend to himself and Sam in the future.
“Oh, goodness, where to start? There’s Mrs. Norrich, what a crabby old lady! But she came once a fortnight to complain about how her medicine was awful and made her stomach upset. Every time I offered to give her something else for her headaches, she snapped at me to mind my business and demanded another two week’s worth. Crazy old bat,” Elody laughed.
“Then there’s the Crew! Three brothers, Juan, Mirro, and Andre. They were nothing but energy. All or nothing! The only problem was their sleep, and they all required medicine to sleep. They did all sorts of odds and ends, mostly labor. They did some construction, repair, and even knew plumbing! No idea where they learned that, but they seemed to know a bit of everything. Helped me fix up the shop one time for free!” Elody smiled at the memory. “They were also the ones who got me in touch with what would become the Pothecarians.”
“Pothecarians?”
“Yeah, a bunch of people upset with the way things are in Ade. I let them meet in the back of my shop, since I had the space. Guess that really stuck with them, since they named themselves after it. They were mostly runoff from River’s Bounty, and wanted to start fresh with other, like-minded individuals, and…” Elody trailed off.
“I’m getting off topic,” She said. “I’m sorry.”
“It is no problem,” Hugh offered his best attempt at a smile, trying to be reassuring. It must have worked, because Elody smiled back. “Who else came to your shop?”
“Oh, there was Finneas! He’s only about 15, and a nasty pickpocket. I originally planned on barring him from my shop, given how he gets the money, but Rudy convinced me to let him keep coming by. He said that he really needed the medicine and that without it, he would never be well enough to be a functioning member of society. He also pointed out that Finn could just as easily have stolen the medicine without paying.”
“Rudy was your assistant, yes?” Hugh asked, remembering the prior conversation between the two of them.
“That’s right! He was so good at picking up everything I taught him. He made me promise that I wouldn’t kick Finneas out. It took me longer than it ought to have to realize that he saw a lot of himself in Finn.” Elody’s expression grew dour. “I hope Rudy’s doing alright without me.”
Hugh wanted to say something to try and comfort Elody, but he paused, not knowing what to say. Or rather, he thought of a half dozen things to say, but couldn’t decide what was or was not appropriate to say.
His thought process was rendered moot by the squeak of a new customer at the window. Elody hurried over to discover a new line beginning to form.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
As the light began to wane in the small village, people stopped coming to get anything from the cart. Sam wasn’t back yet, and Elody and Sam weren’t sure if they should be worried or not yet. They instead opted to close up the wagon, now being as good a time as any, and go find him. Just as they were about to set off, a Ratkin robed in what appeared to be maps and letters hurried over to them.
“Sorry, miss, but we are closing for the night,” Hugh said to the approaching figure.
All of the locals had spoken some local dialect, but this Ratkin opened her mouth and spoke passable Adstrani, catching Hugh and Elody off guard. While she clearly carried an accent similar to the one the locals had, Elody could understand her perfectly well.
“I am not here for that. I am here for you, Ms. Kyne,” The robed Ratkin said in a raspy voice.
“For me?” Elody said, pointing at herself as though there were another Ms. Kyne nearby that she might be confused with.
“Yes, you.” The Ratkin said flatly. “I am Brunna, and I serve the Mistress of Messages. I have a message for you.”
The Mistress of Messages was one of the Myriad Gods, figures that embodied and ruled various aspects of reality. Elody knew of them, as did Hugh, and almost every child able to speak and understand language. The Myriad Gods were no secret, but a fact of everyday life. Even the Frostwalkers, as disconnected as they were, were aware of The Myriad Gods. The Myriad Gods made a point to not act directly, but rather acted through their clergy, and sometimes through any worshiper whose feelings or goals aligned well enough.
Many people were worshipers of some of the Myriad Gods without being zealots or proper clergy. Elody herself venerated the Gods of Medicine, Plants, and Remixes in a small altar in her shop. It was where she offered semi-regular thanks and prayed for guidance. Every God offered a suite of discreet Boons to their followers, in accordance with their veneration of the God in question. Elody, as a pharmacist, had her prayers answered a good many times, where a medication was more effective than she had hoped for, or some plants used in a mixture made a larger batch than expected, or she was pushed to try a new combination while she was experimenting. She did not get any of the big or flashy boons some of the more pious members got, something typically granted after an especially lucrative offering.
There were Gods of nearly any aspect of reality, hence the blanket term “Myriad Gods”. Some ruled over mundane, physical aspects of reality, like the Gods of Plants, Stone, or Flame, while others ruled over concepts, like the Gods of Patience, Remixes, or Balance. Others still ruled over actions, like the Gods of Oaths, War, or Messages. All gods that existed had some worshipers somewhere, though some were far more popular than others.
As the cultures of the world mixed and information was exchanged, it quickly became evident that everyone worshipped, venerated, or at the very least acknowledged the same pantheon of gods. One culture might call The god of Scribes just that, whilst another addressed him as the Great Calligrapher, or He With the Mightiest Quill. As cultures merged and more were brought into the fold of the wider mesh of trading and information, as was slowly happening with the Frostwalkers, certain terms became more standardized.
How and why every culture seemed to acknowledge the same set of gods- albeit by different names- was a mystery to scholars and theologians. However, with the gods able to personally verify their identities via their unique, yet discreet boons, it was a simple matter to prove to all but the most pedantic and skeptical.
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Not all pious had the benefit of knowing the identity, or even existence, of the deity they chose. Despite the Myriad Gods seeming to cover all aspects of reality, there were still notable gaps. Worshippers of the concepts of fear, knowledge, and silence received no boons, no affirmation of their prayers and offerings. Why such a discrepancy existed was a topic of great debate amongst theologians. Some thought they were worshipping gods, merely unable to respond. Doomed Gods, or Damned Gods, they were called in that case. Others thought the simplest explanation was the best, that for some inexplicable reason there were no such gods. More still thought that those gods had been banished or punished, somehow.
All gods- or all that blessed their pious with a response- set forth their own tenants. These, however, were not universal, nor unchanging. With the notable exception of the god of Permanence, all gods gave guidelines for their followers to follow, in hopes of guiding them to the outcome desired. The God of Messages had rather lax guidelines, and was largely unchanging. Messages set forth that privacy was to be respected, brevity was a virtue, and swiftness was a blessing.
To have a message delivered by a priest of the God of Messages was a rare event, but not unheard of occurrence. It typically meant that a message was to be made in either utmost confidence, or for all to hear. While the Temple of Messages employed many messengers, most were not proper clergy. Elody didn’t recognize the garb of the priest of Messages at first, and mentally kicked herself.
Hugh began to take out his earring, as a sign of respectful privacy, only for Brunna to shake her head at him. This message was for both of them.
“It’s nice to meet you, Brunna. What’s this message?” Elody asked.
Brunna looked around nervously, making sure noone else was nearby. She handed Elody and Hugh a small note each. Elody's face scrunched up as she read and re-read the note.
Stars has heard you, and you now walk the Path. She will not forget your promise.
“Stars? Who’s Stars?” Elody face screwed up with confusion. She looked to Brunna. “This isn’t some kind of weird prank, is it?”
Brunna’s eyes went wide. “No, I wouldn't dream of fabricating- That would be sacrilege! I couldn’t-”
“Okay, okay, sorry, that was a rash accusation,” Elody said with a placating motion. “I just… I don’t understand. Who is this message from?”
Brunna just shrugged. “My mistress herself gave this to me to pass on. She did not tell me where it originated.”
Elody goggled at the message again, hoping to glean some nugget of information she didn’t pick up the first time. “Stars” was referred to as a person, but that told her nothing. She was well aware what promise that was being referred to, but she was somewhat unsettled by the knowledge that someone else- even if that someone was a God- knew about it, as well as whoever this “Stars” person was. There wasn’t a god of Stars, she would know about that. Nor was there a god of Knowledge to beseech, a fact that many people bemoaned.
“Can I send a message back to your Mistress?” Elody asked Brunna.
“Yes.”
“Will she answer?”
“Probably not.”
“How do I do that?”
Brunna gave Elody a flat look. “You already have. She knows all messages that are to be given.”
“Oh.” Elody said, then gave out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, I suppose that makes sense. By the way, can I keep this?” She said, referring to the note she had been given.
“It is for you to keep, yes. Now I must leave, my job here is done.”
Before Elody could begin to argue, Brunna turned and left, leaving each of them with their ominous notes.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Sam had left the wagon in the care of Elody and Hugh. If he was being honest with himself, he was terrified of the number of ways he could think of them ruining his precious cart that he had spent so much time and money getting a hold of. He could think of even more ways they were almost certainly losing money by making foolish deals, and was absolutely certain they would mismanage customers left and right.
This was why Sam was as honest with himself as with anyone else; not at all.
He smacked his cheeks to hype himself up. He already went over this with himself, the losses were minimal- it was a net gain to have them run the shop while he took care of the big deals with the local shop owners. All net gain. This is what was best for him.
It was a thought that felt as hollow as it ever did. Despite that, it was the only thing that ever motivated him: the thought of self-benefit. It let him do what he did, talk the talk and walk the walk. It let him butter anyone up so long as he saw something in it for himself. It drove his expressions and words to be both so careless at times, and also as carefully crafted as an artisan’s life work.
There was a part of him, however, that knew he should be a part of something more. Something greater, and fundamentally above what he was now. It was a the part of him bordering on a hole that lead into a white void in his heart and mind. This is the part of him that worried, and this is the part of him that ran in the background while the rest of him shmoozed the local businesses.
In fact, while he was having this emotional crisis, he had already talked to the head of town, using common phrases he had long ago learned, and located the four businesses he would want to talk to. The town clerk did not notice his inner turmoil, instead thinking him a rather weaselish man.
Sometimes, Sam wondered if he was really whole to begin with. Was he fundamentally broken? Or, perhaps he was a smaller node that broke off of something larger? Was he one person, or two? Was this part of him that worried a subset of himself, or was it a parasite from outside? Perhaps, its own person? He thought this not with words, or even concrete thoughts, these were passing echoes that rang out in his mind, until they disappeared into the white void in his heart.
The first business was swept over by him as he secured the first deal. He sold a crate of paper, printed in one of the larger Snif cities, in exchange for four crates of goods to trade later. The rush of the deal flooded into him, the knowledge that he nearly flat out stole three of those crates- in terms of relative value- was an intoxicating feeling.
This feeling did not sink into the void.
The other part of him worried still. It asked what the point was? He could make all the deals in the world and gain more money and wealth than he could carry. What then? What would that get him? Kicked out, just like it had the first time, more likely. He knew there was a danger in following this feeling.
He hadn’t always traveled to sell wares. He used to be quite successful in Laskavan, and owned a number of businesses himself. He once laughed at people in his current position. Vagrants and mendicants playing at success, he would mock. And yet, his success brought him too his knees. Now he was on his feet again, walking the vast earth as he too played at success.
The next business was not such a pushover. However, even such a stern man knew the danger of fire- and the value of something that could extinguish it. Sam sold him a mere handful with the promise he could grow more in his fireplace, securing months of food and supplies. The owner had no idea such a thing existed, and profusely thanked Sam for the item that might one day save his store, or perhaps his life.
Once again, the feeling of gaining wealth swelled in him, the rush as good as it was the first time he felt it. The idea that he might have saved the life of someone else, or possibly many others did nothing for him. Those feelings went into the void.
The other part of him cried out, trying to reach out for those feelings. It clung on to them until they vanished, leaving him feel hollow. The feeling of wealth swelled in his heart, and yet the interior of his heart felt only more vacant for the space.
He chased that feeling to the next business. He realized he could pull the same fast one on everyone here, and it worked to great effect! He procured another five crates and an extra barrel of wares, all of it meaningless. Yes, they all had items on his inventory. They were each, in reality, discreet things. But to him, it was just wealth. Weapons, food, medicine, tools, poison, lumber, it did not matter to him.
Despite his avarice, he did not worship Wealth. It was not a principled stand against the God of Wealth, as it would make a lot of sense if he did. It was very common for merchants to worship Wealth. Nor did Sam worship any other gods. It felt wrong, in a way that he never cared to explore. It simply was something that felt bad, and so he avoided. The other part of him screamed, insisted there was more, that he was scared, not simple!
But he liked to be simple. He liked to regard himself as sticking to a few core traits. Not that this brought him any more happiness, but it hurt to consider the alternative- that perhaps, he was foolish himself for doing what he did. He was terrified to consider that he was doing the wrong thing, and he could be right if only he changed the reasoning why he did it.
The other part of him felt that he was doomed, damned to an existence of chasing a simple high, despite having all faculties and ability to look at himself, and then look at the world and just ask the one simple question, “What do I want to live for?”
He never asked himself this question. He merely walked the path to ever growing wealth.
The fourth business owner was not as profitable as he had liked. The feeling was as intense as ever, if only fleeting. Having secured everything he had meant to, he headed back for the wagon.
He was startled to realize that it was already dark. Surely, his business had not taken this long. He was good and quick at what he did. How could time have gotten away from him so thoroughly?
He felt dazed as he walked back, not noticing the figure robed in pale yellow papers covered in scrawlings and drawings. She coughed to get his attention, and Sam slowly looked towards Brunna, his eyes focusing on her.
“Hey, ain’t you one of the Messenger’s lot?” He asked.
“I serve the Mistress of Messages, yes,” Brunna replied evenly. “I have a message for you.”
“Is it good news?”
Instead of answering, Brunna procured a missive from her robes, and handed it to Sam.
“How do you get so good at pulling the right note out of robes like that?” Sam asked her.
“Just read.”
“Arright, arright,” Sam said, and read the note.
Listen to yourself and ask the right questions, and you too shall walk the Path.
“Very helpful,” Sam said, his sarcasm bare. “I’m already on the Path- the path to being absolutely loaded. Thanks for nothing.”
Sam crumpled up the note without a second glance and tossed it over his shoulder.
Brunna bowed, despite the flagrant insults, and left without another word.
“Listen to yerself, hah,” He muttered to himself as he wandered back to the cart. The other part of him pleaded with him, trying its best to scream, but he disregarded it as ever as just another obstacle.