I made my way back to Tea Loaf and set up to play for the lunch crowd. I always felt weird telling a story in the middle of the day so I opted to sing to the customers. With a somber note I began to strum.
‘In the snowy north
The winds grow strong
Small homes of ice the only shelter
A beast, long and furred
It hunts and tears
Claws red as fire
It sprints as quick as the wind
Deadly as the cold
It grows hungry
In the snowy north
The winds grow strong
Small homes of ice the only shelter
The men gather
Their spears in hand
Their furs thick and tough
The snow was high
A clear day comes
Hunters and hunted
In the snowy north
The winds grow strong
Small homes of ice the only shelter
A battle starts
The cries of rage
Furs are pierced
With claw and spear
Blood is spilt
Of beast and man
In the snowy north
The winds grow strong
Small homes of ice the only shelter
One man stands
The beast is felled
A roar is made
The women come
The harvest begins
A time of peace
In the snowy north
The winds grow strong
Small homes of ice the only shelter’
I was that hunter so long ago. I sang that story to the children as a warning of what can happen.
The people are slowly eating their cold meats and hard cheese pressed together for each bite. Some of the men stared off dreaming of the glory of being the last hunter. The women’s eyes were sorrowful at such a loss of life. I waited for the people to filter out while I kept a somber tone on my strings. When most people had been rotated a few of them walked up and placed quarter bits in my open pouch, I sang again.
Three times I sang that song. Each time watching the men dream of glory and the wisdom of the women knowing what loss would happen. I began to wonder what I would sing tomorrow. There was so much to choose from but maybe my songs from the north would keep a theme in my days.
A small tray was brought to me. A small pile of cold smoked ham and hard white cheese. I ate as the end of lunch came and Mildred approached.
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“You have a beautiful singing voice, I felt like I could almost feel the chill of winter again. Maybe you can sing of spring or summer tomorrow though.” She took my empty tray and looked to me for an answer.
“Whatever you wish, you're gracious enough to give me somewhere to play.” I put my lute away and stretched out my limbs. “I’ll see you all in the morning.” I looked and I earned a total of a bit and a half. It would take ages for me to get enough to resupply for the next town. I could find a caravan to join but they charged if I wasn’t protecting it all. I’d have to go to the establishment Maisy’s daughter had spoken of.
I went to the east part of town and spoke with the guards about the place, they eyed my garb and spoke, “you might want to get into something less formal. The hunting folk don’t take kindly to those of us with money.”
With a sigh I went back to the inn, the man sat behind the counter and gave me a brief nod as he watched me closely. It was difficult to change in the room with such little space and I knocked my elbows more than once. I left my lute upon the cot as I didn’t want to risk damaging it. It would take ages to afford a repair. I returned to the guards and they nodded and pointed down the road.
“There is a small turn off to the right. Go down there and that hovel they call a drinking hole is there. Rowdy bunch, their beer is strong and overly bitter. Don’t know how they drink that swill.”
With a wave I walked and fingered my holy symbols. The road was dry and hard. Dozens of ruts threatened to make it an overly bumpy ride and I regretted I had never had to time to find Gerald a wife. His stay was too short and my days too busy so far. Soon I took the turn and walked into a sparse wooded area. Men lay in the shade of the trees. Some snored loudly enough to saw the trees down around them. A long wide flat building came into view made of rough logs that reminded me of old hunting cabins.
A man stumbled out as I approached and a massive man followed him. “Ye pissed in my bar you drunk fool! Yer lucky I don’t bust yer face in and knock some sense into ya. I won’t let ya back for a fortnight you bastard!”
The drunken man made it three steps before collapsing on the floor and by the smell finished his pissing. I stepped over him into the man’s view.
He had thick scars on the inside of his left forearm. Signs of the use of a powerful bow and arrow. His muscles bulged under a tight shirt as he wiped his hands on a leather apron disgust on his face for having to touch the drunk. He locked eyes with me and sniffed the air. “Yer a fancy bastard ain’t ya. What’ya want?”
“I’m a storyteller and I was hoping to spin some tales to the hunting men of the land. Maybe make a few bits.”
“The men here ain’t too free with coin. I won’t stop ya but I won’t give ya drink unless you pay fer it.” He put out his massive paw of a hand and I shook it, sealing the deal. “Oh, and no pissing inside or yer out in yer arse.”
I looked over my shoulder and laughed, “I figured that out myself.”
The cabin-like pub smelled faintly of piss still and I fought off wrinkling my nose in disgust. Head of animals and furs lined the walls and the barkeep went around and flung out every window to air out the place and postpone needing to light the lamps I saw interspersed throughout the area. I set up by the one grand fireplace and noticed how thick the soot was and the large pile of ashes gathered over the winter.
A couple men started arguing and a growl from the barkeep silenced them in an instant. I sat and wondered where to begin. Another hunter entered carrying a clean white rabbit pelt with sawed off feet dangling from his belt. Placing the pelt on the counter he started to argue about how much beer he should earn for it before being given two pints. I could smell the oats used in the home brew from here and could almost taste the bitterness in the air. Begrudgingly the hunter kicked over a passed out man and sat in his place. I began to second guess my choice but I needed to spin tales.
I needed the strength I got from my tales being known. I could go about the tavern and collect the hunting stories of the people but that often required buying beer to loosen lips. Sighing in resignation and cleared my throat and started with the song I sang all day as an intro to my story. I would tell a tale of my life in the north.
I was rudely interrupted by the man who brought in pelts. “Shut yer trap fancy boy! Bet you’re a buggerer!”
I was stunned, I didn’t know the last time I was cut off and sighed. “Let me tell a tale, it’ll make your beer taste better.”
The barkeep shouted, “don’t ya be calling me beer out without so much as a drink of it! I’ll toss ya right out on yer arse!”
The shouting sparked a primordial rage in the men as many woke from stupor and a fight started. I was charged by one drunk patron and frowned deeply. I didn’t want to hurt anyone but they wouldn’t listen to someone they thought was so high in status.
My opponent's moves were sloppy as he stumbled during his charge. I snapped out a blow to his nose and he reeled back clutching it. Instant tears filled his eyes as I followed it with a quick hook to his jaw putting the lights of his eyes out.
A short brute of a man with the shoulders truly meant to use the strongest of bows slammed into my ribs but I dug my feet in and halted the movements. The man reared a fist back and slammed it into my balls and I fought off the nausea and pain that flared into me. As he reared back to make another blow I shoved down and gave ground. The man began to fall with the sudden movement and I planted a hand on the back of his skull and slammed the man’s face into the hard packed dirt floor.
The barkeep waded through men with powerful punches into their guts and faces. Men vomited their guts out and I kicked the down man once in his gut to knock the fight from his spirit. The pelt bringing man lunged at me and I turned my forehead into his knuckles and felt the bones of his hand crack. He howled in pain clutching it, “that’s me aimin’ hand ya bastard?”
I roared out, “you should have kept your gods be damned mouth shut!”
He pulled a skinning knife out and I dodged a thrust. As he opened up from his ill trained thrust I planted a powerful kick into his balls and he crumpled dropping the knife to the ground. I snatched it from the dirt and tucked it behind my back.
The barkeep and I stood amongst a sea of fallen men. Groans of pain and sickness as someone wretched and the place smelled rank of vomit. The barkeep merely nodded at me, “seems like fancy boy knows how to fight! So shut yer traps and listen ya daft fools!”
I sighed out a breath and pulled the heavy short man away from where I had placed myself and propped him against the wall. “Any of you interrupt me again and I’ll hit you so hard your ancestors will feel it!”
I began my tale.