We awoke to the plains covered in a blanket of mist, glowing gold in the rising sun. It made me shade my eyes and squint no matter which direction I looked.
Well, no more rain, but all of that moisture evaporating will make for a muggy Summer day. Though I’ll take humidity over cold any day of the week, and twice on Sunday!
After cold potatoes and warm tea while rubbing the sleep from our eyes, packing up took less than half the time of the previous day. Good thing, too, since Yojoti wanted to make up for lost time.
“I had hoped to make it to the tree line before stopping yesterday,” he began, voice hoarse speaking for the first time that day, “but we still made good time through the rain. I want to push harder today, make the tree line before midday. Sound good?”
“Of course, you are the uh…employer?” The idiom fell flat in translation. I wasn’t yet sure whether Ozryn had a word equivalent to “boss”.
Yojoti chuckled and gave me his trademark shoulder clap, “My friend, I am no one’s employer. Come on, let’s get a move on.”
I followed along as Yojoti strode toward the trees. “Yojoti, will the game come out of their burrows now that the rain is over?”
“They sure will!” Yojoti confirmed. “Their warm, dry burrows are still underground and made of soil; they’ll be soggy today now that the rain has soaked in.”
“I understand, I will keep my voice down,” I responded.
“Good man, you’re learning!” He smiled and angled away to set our observation distance.
That’s just as well, my brain was apparently working overtime while I slept. I have more ideas for things to “invent” to make money!
I opened the notes app on my phone to record the ideas along with the one for the tent.The first of which is a portable snare that you should be able to use anywhere, whether there’s a convenient tree nearby or not, even in grasslands like this! It’ll use the sectioned poles from the tent for tension. Multitasking!
I scratched the wiry growth on my face and pondered the second big idea. Disposable razors are a no-go, but what about a single-blade safety razor? I’ll have to find out how thin a sheet of steel can be made, how to punch out blanks, and some way to sharpen a bunch of blades quickly. But making the head and handle should be a relatively simple job of die-casting. That is, after I figure out an angle for the blade that won’t carve my face up.
A weight dropped into my stomach as I typed the final idea. This could easily get me in trouble, if the wrong people get the wrong idea about it: electroplating. I could make a rudimentary battery out of copper, zinc, and citrus juice, if I can find any, and use that to create a weak current. It wouldn’t be fast, but it would give me an even, thin, and shiny layer of gold on another metal. I would NOT want to get in trouble for counterfeiting, so the main application would be jewelry, right? But by the same token, I don’t want to try to pass gold-plated items off as solid, or have someone else pick up the idea to do so. It would be relatively easy to keep the concept of electricity a trade secret, I think, making it difficult for anyone to copy it. Right?
I sighed and put the phone away, and turned my focus to scanning for game on my side of the formation.
-
We did indeed reach the treeline before midday, where Yojoti took over pulling the sled across the more uneven forest floor. He also decided that we should walk single file rather than spread out, to keep me from getting lost. I readily agreed–wandering through the forest in a world with monsters wasn’t something I was eager to try. Yojoti was much better than I was at spotting game anyway, under any conditions.
Up close, the forest was decidedly deciduous, its rich green canopy filtering the summer sun into a cool, dappled glow. Squirrels chattered, birds called, and the underbrush rustled with myriad ground-dwellers. It was impossible to see more than twenty feet in any direction, barred by trunks even if it wasn’t very dark. The difference from the immense, open plains with the horizon cutting a line between green and blue at the limits of the world’s curve, was so great that I couldn’t help but feel a bit claustrophobic. I had grown up in the Southwest among rocky deserts and scrubby mountains, where the only “trees” had spikes or Bible names, and living in Kansas hadn’t exposed me to forests any more than my upbringing had. Still, the viridescent light felt full of life, on top of protecting from even more sunburn, so it didn’t take long to get used to the relatively tight quarters.
Exactly as predicted, it took another day and a half to traverse the forest to Holsworthy, even with Yojoti burdened by the sled full of furs–which had even grown a little after entering the forest. Yojoti had set snares overnight, and managed to add two squirrels, a raccoon, and one last rabbit to the pile of pelts. We didn’t see any deer before reaching town, though; they were likely scared off by my bumbling.
We reached a more defined trail before midday, and Yojoti decided to push through rather than stop to eat. A couple of hours later, stepping around one last tree, I could tell right away that we had arrived. A swath of stumps marked the very edge of Ozryn civilization, leaving a clear view across about a hundred yards to the orderly wooden structures of the town.
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Orderly, eh? In all the stories you read, small towns are laid out haphazardly wherever someone manages to clear enough land to build their house or business, turning everything into a convoluted maze. Respect to the city planner!
The “main road” didn’t actually extend into the forest, but petered out from clear dirt some forty feet wide to a vague, foot- and hoof-beaten track pointing Southward by the time it reached the last row of buildings, devolving further into a wild trail by the time it reached the tree line we had just exited. Amidst the stumps were stakes and lines indicating where the road would continue on as Holsworthyand the Ozryn kingdom expanded.
Across the band of felled trees, I could see people moving within and between the buildings, as well as various yard birds, goats, and dogs behind woven cane fences. The buildings were simple; logs cut from the neighboring clearing mortared together in trapezoidal shapes with wood-shingled roofs like helmets on top. Most had laundry hung from lines between eaves and individual trees which seemed to have been left in place for the purpose. The colors were what you might expect to be typical of working people, primarily earthen tones: tans, creams, and browns, but broken by the occasional warm tones anywhere from light umber to dandelion.
I guess warm-colored dyes aren’t too expensive in this area, if most people have clothing like that. I don’t see any real farms, just small gardens. I wonder where crops and cattle are raised? If I learned anything from teaching in the past, it’s that if I wait, I’ll probably learn the answers to most practical questions.
As we passed the first row of buildings, we began receiving curious looks–though several people did throw a wave, seeming to recognize the hunter walking beside me.
“I suppose they know who you are, Yojoti,” I said, nudging him in the arm.
“Yeah, I’m something of a local celebrity,” he shrugged before continuing. “My father was the first to explore and hunt on the Everburn plains, just after Holsworthy was founded.”
“Really?” I was taken a little aback at the revelation.
“That’s right! Before that, no one dared go out there. With the threat of being caught in a firestorm because of a lightning strike, and the gnoll colony past the plains on the tundra, it’s not a very welcoming place,” He puffed out his chest a little as he finished, “As it stands, I’m still the only person who will go much further South than this.”
I said, “I understand! So that means that you have no competition for game out there. Very smart!”
“You hit the rabbit in the eye, my friend. The grasslands are my own personal honey pot.” He smiled and then gestured ahead, “Welcome to Holsworthy proper!”
The road continued straight North, and a bridge about seventy feet long spanned a river which had steep, stone-reinforced banks. Standing guard at the Southern end of the bridge was an impressive estate with a four-story main building, the wooden upper floors resting on a first floor of mortared stone that looked almost glossy. In contrast to the homes we had already passed, the walls were completely vertical, and covered in what looked like plaster and lye. The two outer wings had simple wooden shutters in any window openings, versus the glass windows in the wing between them.
What seemed like half the population of Holsworthy came and went from the Eastern and Western arms of the u-shaped structure, but access to the central wing, resting parallel to the river, was restricted by a wall of the same stone with a large iron gate at a tangent to the circular drive connecting the three sections–which was paved with more of the same stone.
I turned to Yojoti to ask a question, but he was already speaking. “That’s the lord’s mansion and civic center all rolled into one. That’s where we’ll find the Department of Highway Safety to turn in our gnoll trophies.”
“I understand,” I nodded before asking my second question, “What is the stone that the first floor is made of?”
Yojoti had to introduce a new word to answer, “That stone is called ‘flint’, it’s the primary export of Holsworthy, and the primary reason it exists.” When I nodded, he draped an arm across my shoulders and continued the tour of gestures. “To the West are the shipping docks, and across the road the fisheries go the other way along the river.”
“The round building in front of the civic center is the Divine Hall.” Yojoti indicated a wooden-walled, circular building two stories tall with a roof made of bronze leaves forming a bulbous dome coming to a point holding an eight-pointed star. It honestly looks a little like the spinning vents you see on rooftops on Earth, just bigger and more orange.
Yojoti pointed across the road to the second-tallest building in view, at three stories. Like the civic center, it also had a flint first floor–though no additional wings. “That’s The Knapping Gnoll, the inn I told you about. A much finer establishment than the name implies, haha!”
Rolling my eyes at the pun, I shrugged his arm off and said, “I sincerely hope I do not find a gnoll in my bedroom, either sleeping or making arrowheads.”
Chuckling, Yojoti gestured to a handsome building with a stone facade. “Last–but certainly not least as far as you’re concerned–is the Mercantile, right next to the Divine Hall. Much to their satisfaction!”
“The… what is the word for the people who work in the Divine Hall?” I asked my companion.
“Those are called ‘Priests’,” he supplied for me.
“Priests, thank you. The priests actually like having a large business right next to them?”
Yojoti raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t they? It’s much better to have a lot of people going past every day than being next to, say, a tanner.”
“True, but they are not worried about so many people being ‘of the world’ right in front of them, for lack of a better term?”
“My friend, you have some strange notions.” He shrugged. “You’ll have to direct that question to the priests themselves, though. The only thing approaching a complaint I’ve heard from a priest is disappointment over cases of fraud or usury being tried in the courthouse.”
So the church isn’t puritanical? Freaking righteous! This world might not be too bad, after all.
“Right!” Yojoti broke into a brisk walk. “Let’s get the furs taken care of, then we’ll work our way back toward the main road through the civic center to turn in the gnoll ears, and then head to the mercantile to get you acquainted. After that, the tavern!”