The Roads West of South Jaga City – Year 1344, Month 1, Evening of the 8th. Spring

Olea Munroe

And so it was that I found myself in a strange camp full of strange people while travelling the strange lands of a new world.

‘…Dramatic much?’

“Fine, fine.” I muttered to my inner party pooper, really days of quiet and then I asked a few questions and I inherit a running dialogue of my own inner critic forever. Blargh.

I had spent the last hour or so meandering about chatting with some of the children about whose hats were more awesome or who deserved to win the specific ‘my dog is betterer than your cat’ argument that all unwise children have. The responsibility of being the older voice of objectivity is the same everywhere. I had to settle for complimenting both in a way that made them think their respective creature was better, no one wants to get into a dog versus cat argument. Not ever. Losing battle for all concerned.

I had also learned that while traveling through the day most of these children had been in the wagons receiving verbal lessons from their older relatives, lessons that included reading and writing as well as trade routes and how to read some of the more archaic maps. They would even regale me with some of the finer points such as reading the marking stones and signposts used by the several countries. I asked them about their need to learn the other countries sign usage and then learned that a small few of the caravan members would often cross into the other territories as they reached adulthood and joined on with different wagon trains as they joined into other families. Apparently, they were the world’s equivalent of gypsies. Though probably less the mischievous jongleur and more traveling vacuum salesman.

Afterward I had grown tired of the social exercises that are often involved in dealing with so many people from the same background as discussions would always revolve around only a few topics and without the addition of more than one outside the conversations rarely deviated into something I could easily get behind. I needed to take a walk and get some air.

And so, I started my wandering in a small circle inside the wagons, spying innocently in on these happy folks as they carried on in their practiced routines. I envied them in a way, my own family was missing for most of my formative years. This is not me lamenting some great loss or waxing on the injustice of it all; the fact of the matter is that I never had it to miss in the first place, not until much later. I would rather not get lost in self-pity, down that road lies only more sadness, this I know.

After a little more than one full circle around the inner camp I squeezed on through to the outer ring between a large water barrel and a pile of rope.

“Hey, you. Girl.” Came a voice in the shadow of a nearby wagon.

“Huh, me?”

“Yes, you. Come over here, let me have a good look at you.”

Looking around, I was assured that we were not alone, several of the people whom I believed to be in the position of guard for the convoy were making regular rounds in opposing circles around the exterior of the wagons, just beyond the light of the torches. It would not do for my personage to suffer some injustice at the hands of a creepy old man. Not judging the man, he didn’t seem creepy at all in his brightly colored clothes, but that line of phrase sets off some bells in the back of my twenty-first century mind, old habits.

“What’s the deal?” I asked into the shadows, the lights from nearby lanterns and torches were limited to only lighting his bright pants, shoes, as well as the tails at the bottom of his blue jacket. He was totally dressed like a Barnum and Bailey circus ring master.

“Deal? You knew?”

“Of course, I knew. Your voice told me everything!” I scoffed in mock indignation.

‘Noone believes that…’ came the inner Jiminy cricket.

“Is that so? Well then what do you say to this? I heard you mention you are without means of self-defense, something about a knife, eh?”

“I do seem to remember mentioning that earlier, what’s the point?”

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With great deliberateness the man turned about, exaggerating his movements for either flair or just to not scare the little girl that I was. He flipped a few latches on the side of what I assumed was his wagon and revealed a small rack displaying several shiny blades with hafts of varying thickness.

“I happen to be a procurer of fine blades and weapons of the sharpened variety. Would you per chance indulge me in an offer?” His face split into a wide grin as his show wound down.

“Maybe, what did you have in mind?”

He reached to the lower shelf inside the opened display and pulled out a wrapped sheath with a tanned bone handle jutting from the top. After looking up and around to ensure the attention of my inner squirrel mind, he twirled about with his blue coattails swinging to rap against the side of the wagon causing a drum-like tattoo of sound to emanate from the collision. I was betting this was on purpose.

“I have this. A small knife crafted for use in closer combat, it is made of middle quality steel which while not a selling point does help to ensure that us wee common folk can afford it without signing away our first-born children.” He made to hand me the sheath as he continued. “The bone handle carved from the leg of a boar native to the area; it is strong, durable, and easily gripped. Also, and this is unconfirmed but being that the animal bone was harvested early it should hold well to any enchantment you wish, if you can afford it in the future.”

“Oh?” was my reply as I unwrapped the straps and pulled the blade free. It was a sturdy thing, that I did not doubt. It was also somewhat pretty in a death delivering kind of way, beautifully simple and elegant. The bone handle also fit well in my smaller hands. I sensed some observation skill at work, did merchants have some odd profession skill to size people up or was this just some issue that could be related to a long life sizing up clients. Meh, future pondering required.

His grin became broader as he saw me gripping the handle, I felt like such a sucker as I asked.

“Price?”

“Ahh, a price for that blade. ‘Tis hard to place a price on safety, eh?

“Come off it, it’s getting sold. You already won, what do you want for it?” I never really picked up on the desire to haggle. I might beg a lower price if something was priced far too high but the back and forth never really pulled me in like it could with some of my more fiscally inclined peers.

“That knife there, I can see leaving my wagon for six small silver and one copper.”

I was still new in this world, but I was catching on to the coin of the realm. I was estimating the trade off between worlds put the copper at roughly a dollar. I am saying roughly as I do not think this economy suffers the woes of inflation, no paper money meant that the cost of materials involved was always worth the currency it represented. So, with all that considered I think the price of sixty-one dollars would equal the six small silver and a copper piece. Again, I am no expert, but it seemed close to right as I know a well worked knife on earth could fetch that price at most local Flea Markets. Yes, those traps of society were still around when I left the world.

“That seems reasonable,” I said, “The sheath is included, yes?”

“No, tis a showing piece only. It would cost extra, two more small silver.”

“How about I give you eight and keep my copper, that doesn’t seem unfair does it.”

His eyebrows shot up, probably at my lack of haggling spirit. I was hoping these people were not the kind to begrudge someone who did not give them their haggling fix. Maybe the were awarded some experience for the endeavor, who knew.

“I find the terms acceptable.” He smiled and held out his hand as I fumbled at my belt strap to retrieve the coinage.

After I had fished out my large silver piece and handed it over, he flicked his wrist and made my coin disappear while twisting his other hand around to reveal two small silvers and four copper pieces.

“Uh.”

Seeing my confusion, the man simply smiled again before saying, “It is a small discount, a gift if you will. I confess to hearing more of your earlier conversations. Mana storms cause such problems in the world at times and to be so far from home is always painful and sad, as one who has lost friends to these events, I will make an allowance for this one purchase.”

“Thank you, then. I do hope you forgive me for running off now. I had planned on exploring a bit before I sleep.” I felt almost obligated to stay and hear about some of this man’s experiences but at the same time I really had meant to go explore a little and maybe have some fun. I was sure I would see him again tomorrow and said as much. “We can talk some tomorrow, compare stories?”

“That would be delightful. Look for my wagon then and you can ride up front.” He cast me a knowing gaze as he patted his hand on the soft cushioned rider’s seat above, “I am sure you would appreciate it.”

I was laughing a little as I left, knowing full well that if he had noticed some of the others would also have taken notice of my obvious discomfort. I wondered idly if they saw me as lesser for my lack of fortitude. Bah, no matter!

I walked on, heading for the forest, not directly mind you, I did not want to end up lost in the woods like some two-bit hack in a children’s story. I walked through the forest within sight of the road we arrived on, skirting the edges where the trees were well spaced and small shrubbery thrived.

There were small saplings sprouting up here and there sporting small green and yellow buds as new growth began. The trees overhead were similarly adorned, though some had sprouted fuller leaves by now, a testament to their more established roots.

I would occasionally hear soft hoots or the rustling of leaves, and even the flap of wings in the night. The sun had set only a short time ago, but out here away from the city walls and a good distance from the circle of fires my only source of light came from the riot of stars above and a pale glowing moon.

It was as these thoughts took me that I realized how late it must be and how tired I had begun feeling, it also did not help that the air still had an early spring chill sitting heavily upon it at night.

Why did I leave the warm circle of fires without a proper coat.

I turned back to head for camp then, walking back in the direction of camp when, of course, I heard a branch snap. A branch, not a twig. Great.