Act 2 - Contact

Chapter 31

James

Day 18 of First Landing

Population of Thornhill - 51

The morning air greeted me with a tremulous chill. In the beds provided for us common folk, there’s no such temptation to hit the proverbial snooze alarm and indulge in another hour of sleep.

Our sleeping situation has improved slightly since I arrived. We now rest on boar hide instead of leaves, sharing muskrat hide blankets. Lying shoulder to shoulder with strangers had become routine; choice was a luxury we didn’t have.

Breakfast consisted of fish stew boiled in fish stock, served with a side of roasted fish. It seems our dear, sullen cook has better things to do nowadays than serve food to us commoners. The only thing I look forward to in the morning is a nice, piping-hot cuppa firecracker berry tea.

Oh, goodie—no twigs this time.

Feeling revitalized by my tea, I headed to check on my plants. I know, I know, but there’s something quite magical about watching plants grow from nothing more than sunlight and water. Samar could speed up the process of our plants and potato crops with her ability. Wheat would take about two more weeks until we can harvest, potatoes in a few days. Finally, maybe we can get some vodka and wheat beer out of that. Maybe I can suggest we plant some barley and hops. Get some microbrews going.

On her initiative, Samar has been planting a wild mustard plant she found. She plans to selectively breed it into cauliflower, kale, broccoli, and cabbage. Can you imagine that? One magical plant can be turned into all of that. This world is so peculiar at times. I suggested we find wild grapes to make some wine, but she said she didn’t drink alcohol. My day was all but ruined.

Samar’s farming job extends far beyond just taking care of the village’s farms; she’s also a consultant for many of the other villagers. Many have taken the initiative to start community gardens or private gardens. Anika came to consult Samar about her firecracker berry field, while Roza wanted to learn about making a cotton bush field. With the introduction of the new monetary system, many are consulting Samar about farming, and I suggested she charge credits for each consultation.

Speaking of the credit system, I had to work out a contract with the council for my official position as a diplomat. They can’t expect me to work for free here, can they? On that note, I left Samar and her new assistant, Yu Li, a friendly enough girl in her 20s, to their tasks. As much as I love to toil in the dirt, I had official state business to conduct.

My charge was being chained to a tree next to where they were constructing the new warehouse. The golem creature, Slate, had erected several wooden beams on a rectangular foundation while Marek worked on the base. From the design, it looked like a log cabin-style kura I had seen in Japan, designed for expansion. Cade, our town guard, stood outside the foundations of the new warehouse, watching the prisoner and overseeing the delivery of the contents of the warehouse—what little we had.

I nodded to the old chap. Despite his role as a guard, he’s one of the friendlier warriors. Alex doesn’t seem to consider you at all if you’re not a prospective dungeoneer or an attractive female, and as for Orion—well, I’m sure you can guess what he’s like.

The captive lolled his long frog tongue out. Agony twisted his green, gaunt face. His skin stretched tight over bone. His huge eye bulged from their sockets with every wheezy breath.

“I think he needs water and food,” I suggested to the guard.

“Orion says only one cup of water per day until he spills everything. No food.”

“Listen, I’m in charge of this fellow, and I can’t form a relationship with the bugger if he’s starving.”

Cade shrugged as if he didn’t care one way or another, so I placed water and some leftover fish in a bowl, which the captive ate like a dog, not caring an ounce about dignity. The whole scene was pitiful, but I had to remember this creature assaulted a young lady, and his crew had slain many of us.

“Good morning,” I said in his language, which he referred to as Lokan, “How are you?”

“I want to get out. N̝͕̘̱̺͎̲̮̬͜o̗̱̮͓͉̪͖͔̬̲͔ ̵̨c̢͙̖̗̫ą̦͉̝͉̤͙͍̦̜̦u̩̹̝̩̪͍̹̩̠̲̫͜s̹͎͓͡e̢̱͖͉̯̥̲̹̹̫̟͖͇̠̤ ͏͖̠̘̯͔̬̱̱̼̺̗͙̹̟̯ͅ t🜲𝖔𝖚b𝔩𝔢. Just leave. Get out.” The frog captive croaked.

“You. Talk. Then get out.” I pointed to the mining city next to the lake on the map I unrolled. “Name? City?”

“Kronfeldt,” the frog man croaked after examining the map.

“People like you?” I asked.

The frog shrugged. “Some. Some like you.”

“Like me? I am HUMAN,” I said the word "human" in English.

The frog shook his head again. “You ⬛⬛⬛.”

“I don’t understand that word,” I said.

“Like...” The frog looked around and saw the piglets in the pen. His chin and tongue pointed towards them. “That.”

We talked again and again until I understood all the words. I found the word for pig, but that wasn’t what he called us humans. Not birds. Not fish. No. The word he described for us humans was something in cages, but not livestock-like animals. Something subservient and transferable. My Translation skill leveled up to 2, and I settled on the words I thought he meant.

First: "slave." It was close.

Second: "cattle." It was closer but missed the meaning.

Finally, I hit upon the word he meant to describe humans: "chattel."

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“Why? Why us Chattel?” I asked, dread in my voice.

His chin and long tongue pointed toward my hands. No, not my hands—my palms.

Did he mean the cards?

“You no card have?” I asked though I wasn’t sure if I got the words right.

“Few have. Chattel many. Chattel important.” The frog man wheezed. I gave him another sip of water.

Besides prying information out of him about the world outside this village, I showed him objects around the camp and asked him for the word in Lokan. As he did, my Translation skill and Lokan language skills leveled up. My Dictionary hungrily devoured every new word. My natural skills in translating and memorizing dozens of words in different languages worked in synergy with this world’s magical skill, making the process of being fluent in his language even more efficient. The objects I was most interested in learning about in Lokan were, of course, the various trade goods we would exchange.

Ores, stones, glass, clay, pottery, tea, teapots, medicine—and on and on until I understood the nuances of each. My biggest concern was common etiquette in our first expedition. As our captive was an outlaw and possibly not even from this nation we found ourselves in, it’s possible that what I was learning from him—his speech and manners—might be viewed as crude by the inhabitants here.

In an attempt to get him to open up more, I asked him about where he came from. The captive, Rjakk-jakk, was from a village on an island off the coast of the Hidden Kingdom. The Pirate Isles, or Outlaw Isles, was a group of islands that conducted raids on the major trade routes off the coast of the Azure Reach. Their boat had been chased by mercenary companies west until they reached our waters. It was thought that few lived here, except for a few ruined or impoverished mining villages that had been under constant raids by bandits and wild primitives.

The captain of their pirate company was overjoyed when they spotted a human village, which he referred to as a “farm,” as human or chattel slaves were highly sought after and demanded a high price.

By the time the sun had set, Rjakk-jakk was long past being in a cooperative mood. The warehouse where we had our sessions was half-built, with walls fully erected on three-quarters of the foundation. Slate, the golem, would work through the night tiling the rooftop with clay tiles.

After a late meal, I would repeat my words to the council, and Orion would appear deep in thought. Orion would come to me afterward and ask for tutoring in Lokan. I was less than pleased at having him of all people be my student but always eager to teach another language to the willing. The lovely Sophie, upon seeing this, offered to sit in as well.

Thank you, lord. If I had to put up with Orion alone... You always need some sugar to balance out the bitterness, and Sophie was one sweet, sweet girl.

The two took their lessons seriously, their usual jibes coming to a halt when we started.

“Now, to begin. To learn Lokan, you must know that, like many languages in this world, it shares a common ancestry with the language of the Elders: Eldertongue. Unlike its sister languages, Lokan is a direct language. We will begin with a common greeting...”

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The next day unfolded much like the last, except for one notable difference: the shelters had new occupants.

They were really cramming us in here like sardines, weren’t they?

Lately, I had become pretty rank, so I decided it was a good day to finally have a bath. I found a secluded spot upriver to clean up. After a trip to the outhouse and a quick breakfast—yes, fish again—I went to visit our captive frog. I was eager to start an early session and learn more about the world and the language.

The warehouse was finished now. Cade was nowhere to be found when I arrived at the tree where Rjakk-jakk was chained. I was shocked to find him unresponsive. No air was coming from his nostrils. His chest did not heave. His pulse was gone.

He was dead. Someone had killed him.

A commotion started outside the new warehouse when I raised the alarm by shouting, “HEY! SOMEONE HAS DIED HERE!”

When the villagers saw it was only the pirate frog captive, many paid no mind, and others even outright cheered.

Eventually, Bianca and the camp’s other bigwigs showed up. All of them turned their accusatory eyes toward a bewildered Orion.

“Guys, I’m not stupid,” Orion sighed. “It wasn’t me.”

“Who else could it be?” Bianca asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

“Could have been anyone. Lots of people wanted him dead.” Ethan was examining Rjakk-jakk’s pulse and then his neck carefully. “It looks like someone strangled him.”

Orion examined the crowd of onlookers, then examined the ground, and nodded to himself.

“It’s pretty obvious who it is. It’s Sloane. Good for her,” Orion said and immediately started walking back to work as if the fate of the frog captive didn’t matter a wit to him.

Sloane was more than willing to confess when we asked her about it, even proudly boasting. Most people weren’t keen on punishing her, so the council decided not to do anything about it.

With the captive dead, I returned to the fields. Watching the green leaves stretch toward the sun brought me back to a much simpler time when the world was so much smaller. When my only concerns were within the boundaries of these fields.

“Back so soon?” Samar smiled as she handed me a cup of tea, a twinkle in her light brown eyes.

“Cheers,” I sighed.

I didn’t mind farming so much now but it felt like I was doing something really important for the village by interrogating the captive. It felt for a while like I was a big shot again, an important cog in the machine. Alas... what can be more important than growing food for our village? I thought positively.

“Potatoes are almost ready to harvest.” Samar sipped her tea as we watched the fields. Sweat glistened on her light olive skin, and I felt a flush creep up my neck as I stared impolitely. She twirled her dark brown ponytail, wistfully as she hummed an unfamiliar song.

“Wonderful. We can finally get some chips to go with our fish,” I smiled sheepishly.

“It would be nice to eat something other than meat,” Samar said laughing softly.

“It’s done me plenty of good. No more beer belly, thank you,” I laughed patting my stomach.

“You have gotten more dashing,” Samar gave a coy smile, eying my leaner figure up and down. “It suits your diplomatic status.”

I laughed as well and then added, “As for you—you are as lovely as the day I first landed here. I can’t imagine a better companion.”

That’s when I realized I’d made a mistake. She was joking, and I was being serious. That damned look I always get when I know I’ve gone a tad too far with a woman. If I were back at home, HR would have my ass.

But wait... what is this? Her face is reddening. Maybe?

“I have a husband...” Samar said softly, her gaze shying away from mine. “This isn’t proper.”

“Just a joke,” I backpedaled, trying to deflect. “I’m sure you and your daughter miss him terribly.”

Samar shook her head, wiping away tears. “I was visiting family... Riad stayed in New York, too busy with work.”

“I’m sorry.” I lowered my head, realizing what she meant. Her husband would never "spawn" in here. She was stuck here with her daughter alone.

“Do you think our loved ones moved on or got closure?” Samar asked wiping away her tears with her sleeve. “I wonder if Riad will remarry, eventually.”

“Do you want him to?” I asked, unsure of what else to say.

Samar didn’t answer. She just turned away, her silence heavy as she returned to the fields.