From inside the iron prison, Pel watched as Shieldy argued briefly with the other two men. In the end, both Bowman and Blowhard hastily finished stripping the skin from the Panther, and shoved it into an impossibly small pouch which Bowman then placed inside a larger satchel. Shieldy tapped on the glass like thunder, pulling Pel’s attention. The man said the same word several times, tapping on the glass afterward. He then held all the fingers of one hand together like he was pinching something, spreading them open quickly and saying the word again.
“Loken! Loken ze elah!” Shieldy shouted through the glass.
“Fuck you, let me out!” Pel shouted back. He switched to English and said it again.
Shieldy shook the box violently, nearly rattling Pel around the interior. Perfect Flight gave him the tool he needed not to crash into the iron around him, but it was a close thing; if he had shaken any harder, Pel probably would have made contact. Shieldy repeated the words and the hand gestures again, indicating what he wanted Pel to do. He wants me to light up? Is that what the reverse pinching gesture means?
Pel increased his brightness slightly, and when Shieldy nodded and rotated his hand in a circular, ‘give me more’ gesture, Pel cranked his brightness up as much as he could. The light shining through the slightly green glass was bright enough to outstrip the torches several times over, causing Shieldy to pull the lantern away from his face quickly with a different shout.
“Ha! Serves you right, asshole!” Pel mocked. His view of the clearing bobbed around as the men cleaned up their tracks and gathered their equipment from the ground. Bowman grabbed the lantern from Shieldy and took lead as he led them through the underbrush and away from the clearing. As their journey through the forest progressed, Pel couldn’t help but wonder if the Protectors were out looking for him. Maybe they think I died when the Party interface disappeared? Surely, they’d be able to fly out a considerable distance rather quickly to search?
The threat of being shaken around the inside of the iron lantern stopped him from acting out. His health was dangerously low, and he didn’t have the ability to heal himself while in mote form. Their lives are more important to them than whatever they’re gaining by kidnapping me. If I started shouting for help, they’d probably just kill me and run.
Bowman seemed to always know which direction was the clearest of obstacles, either because they’d chased the panther this way, or because he had some Skill for running around forests. From what Pel had seen so far, the man looked like a ranger or hunter; maybe he had a Class for it? Having nothing to do left him alone with his thoughts.
I’m so stupid! Pel berated himself as he was carried through the darkness. I shouldn’t have let them walk around behind me like that. I literally just met them, who cares how nice they seemed! Stupid, stupid, stupid! I thought they’d be thankful and kind if I healed them! Pel was remembering now, too late, just how selfish and greedy Humans could be when presented the opportunity. I used to be like them, minus the armor and hunting animals in forests, of course showing them my healing would make me seem too valuable to resist!
Pel could feel the majority of his remaining Fairy naivete slip away except for a small, annoying nugget of implacable optimism. This was the worst situation he’d ever been in, short of his literal death on Earth, but some part of him was pushing to think about the plus sides. He was alive, he was ‘safe’ from the monsters in the forest, and he was leaving The Mother Tree which was why he exposed himself to the Humans in the first place. But it could have gone far better. With less almost melting. Stupid!
Pel expected monsters to jump out at them with every step, but only the occasional snake or owl was startled out of their path. Some larger Presences would occasionally rub up against Pel’s but they never made themselves known to the Humans. Only once did they turn and run from something that sounded like a bird screeching as if it were the size of several Humans stacked on top of each other. Despite the detour, the group eventually arrived along the side of a severely overgrown trail beneath the branches. Shield barked a question to Bowman, who hesitated for several moments before starting left down the trail.
Pel’s light illuminated a boxy shape in the darkness ahead, resolving itself into a cart as they got closer. The width of the wooden cart took up the entire path, and several pairs of feral eyes glowed from between dark metal bars in the back of the cart. Three metal cages held living monsters crammed inside, making growling or hissing noises as the men approached. Blowhard knocked a cage with his torch and shouted, quieting them down. Pel was placed on a hooked pole extending upward from the side of the wooden bench at the front of the cart. He looked down from his position onto two scared looking horses with bags over their heads.
Bowman took the bags off of them, and jumped onto the bench with the rest of the men who began to switch the flanks of the horses to drive them forward. Shieldy argued briefly with the other two as they stuffed the handles of the torches into metal holders at the front of the seating area which prompted Bowman to grab Pel’s lantern and tap on the glass more politely than Shieldy had. He made a closed hand gesture, and a pinching gesture which were held up to his eye as he peered in at Pel until Pel dimmed his light.
The men stood up from the bench, lifting the seat like a lid to a chest and placed the lantern into the interior space beneath it. Pel’s view was reduced to wooden walls, blankets, and what was probably soiled underwear as he was bounced around in the hidden space.
“Well, fuck.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Dale's POV ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Dale finished cushioning the lantern into the corner of the storage box, closing it with the others to retake their seat crammed shoulder to shoulder on the bench.
“I still don’t see why you couldn’t have waited for it to finish healing me all the way before snatching it,” Ken complained. “The skin is pretty much healed, but my fingers still aren’t working right.”
“You said you could make it back to the cart with that hand before the Fairy healed most of it,” George reminded him. “Don’t complain about it now.”
“Yea, well I still don’t see why you’d suddenly risk the wrath o’ the Fairies!” Dale nearly shouted. “You just warned us not to provoke it, and then you up and crammed it into the lantern! What if it’d blasted us with some spell?”
“Did you see its wings?” George asked, “All empty spots. Couldn’t see it until it landed on Ken’s knee, but that’s a baby Fairy.”
“What’s the spots got to do with it?” Ken asked, packing a poultice onto the back of his hand.
“Every Fairy has patterns on their wings. Young ones have empty patterns, and the old ones have filled up patterns,” George explained. “That one was mostly empty, meaning that it was young and without a bunch of Levels to back it up.”
“What about the other Fairies in the forest? What if they come to find us?” Dale asked, prodding the horses to push through the brush faster. I don’t want to meet up with angry Fairies.
“That’s why I dropped monster bait back in the clearing,” George said.
“You bastard! That could have killed us!” Ken yelled
“Shut the fuck up! That’s the only reason we’re still alive,” George punched Ken’s shoulder. “How else could a small group like ours expect to run through the forest twice in one night and not get eaten, huh? We’re lucky that Owlbear was more interested in the smell of that bait than us. Everything for 20 miles of that clearing is headed there right now to fight it out. If the Fairies are out looking for a lost baby, they’ll find a whole lot of monsters running around instead. Besides, trapped in iron, they won’t be able to track it with magic.”
“I still think it was a dumb risk to take,” Dale said his thoughts aloud. “How could it ‘ave possibly been worth it?”
“It was a bonus condition in the contract I signed,” George said after a moment’s pause. “I…couldn’t pass it up. It, uh, the reward for the bonus is worth it. Trust me.”
“What is the reward?” Ken asked, “You won’t hardly tell us a damn thing! A purse of silver up front is nice and all, but for running around the forest for months I probably could have made more money just sticking to robbery.”
“Stop asking,” George waved him away. “Just know that this is a contract that nobody would be able to pass up on. Not even the Grand Hierophant himself.”
Dale recast his [Muted Passage] Skill to quiet the sounds and traces of all movement he caused as everyone lapsed into silence. As he was the one driving the horses to pull the cart, those too counted as sounds and traces he caused. Branches breaking, axle squeaks, wooden groans and knocks, hoofbeats, and other horse sounds were all muffled.
The marks of their physical passing were lessened too. Wheel marks, hoofprints, snapped branches, disturbed dirt were minimized, leaving the overgrown trail looking traveled weeks ago instead of moments. Even their smells would be faded. Best skill for growing up in dangerous places.
By the time Dale ran out of Mana to re-cast the skill their cart had travelled hours down the trail. He handed the reins off to Ken so he could try getting some sleep in as they continued, but the sounds of the cart and forest together prevented more than just a few short moments of shut-eye. Dale estimated they’d travelled 20 miles by the time the canopy above them began to lighten up.
“Stop the cart,” George ordered. “We’ll rest a couple hours here for the horses, but we won’t stop for camp until sunset. The sooner we get out of the forest, the better.”
“Don’t we still have that Blood Frog to find?” Ken asked.
“Forget the damn frog, with a Fairy in hand, they won’t care,” George dismissed.
“Who won’t care?” Dale questioned.
“The contractor.” Was George’s only reply. “Now stop asking questions, and get some rest. Rendezvous with the other group is five days away. The sooner we get to the meeting point, the longer we can rest up before heading South again.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Pel's POV ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Over the next several days of boring travel, Pel had nothing to do but watch the blankets bounce around. The wooden container was opened only when the men paused for rest, fetching their blankets before going to sleep, and again when the blankets were placed back inside each morning. Pel could hear muffled voices above him throughout each day, but through the wood, the glass, the metal, and the language barrier he couldn’t understand a word of it.
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Left alone, he had plenty of time to remind himself of how stupid his original plan had been. I could have tried communicating that I wanted to go with them. I could have followed them from a safe distance until they left the forest, I could have tried flying out on my own. I could have followed the river; it has to go somewhere, right? He could think of a lot of things in hindsight which would have been better than going the overly trusting and naïve route. I can only hope that I was still mind whammied by The Mother Tree and not thinking clearly. Pel hoped that was it, otherwise he’d have to face the possibility that he was actually a moron.
He spent plenty of time thinking about his past life too, trying to catalogue everything that was still floating around in his head. The memory loss most directly affected what he could remember about his family and personal life. Names and faces of the people he’d been close to were gone, leaving only a general impression of who they were and how they made him feel. Names of celebrities, historical figures, and other people were still there, just not what they looked like. The names of places he’d spent time in were gone, but the names of many places he’d heard about yet never visited were readily available in his mind.
Parts of what Pel had learned in college were gone, but he wasn’t sure if that was due to any magical memory loss or just the regular kind. The wagon shook as the men above said something and hopped off the cart. I wonder if it’s another monster? The last time they’d stopped while light was still leaking through the boards above there had been some sort of attack from wolves or something similar. Instead, the lid to the container was swung open, and his lantern was lifted out into the light. Through the glass Pel could see Bowman and Blowhard uncovering crates and bags hidden beneath leaves and branches.
Shieldy hung him from the hooked pole on the cart, leaving him to swing by himself as they went about setting up camp in the deepening shadows of dusk. The small trail was gone, in its place was a much wider, and clearly more worn road. The forest around them had thinned tremendously, no longer making a solid canopy between the ground and the sky. The trees themselves were much smaller as well, normal sized in comparison to the Humans walking beneath them.
The clearing that extended from the road had room for two, maybe three carts around a central firepit which was sunk down inside a ring of large stones. Bowman dusted his hands off from uncovering the stashed objects and returned to the cart to unhook the horses.
“You gonna let me out too?” Pel asked in English. Bowman’s head jerked to the lantern in surprise. “What, already forgot that I can talk?” The man scanned the trees around the clearing carefully before giving one last glance toward Pel and returning to his work with the horses. “You know, I would have followed you on my own. We could have been friends. Not now, though. I’m not friends with people who put me in iron boxes.” Bowman studiously kept his eyes on the horses, eventually leading them to a tree with nearby grass which nearly reached their hocks.
“This is the song that never ends,” Pel started singing. “Yes, it goes on and on, my friends.” All the men in clearing stopped setting up camp for the evening to look at him. “Some people started singing it not knowing what it was, and now they’ll keep on singing it forever just because…” Pel continued singing for his small audience until Shieldy had enough. It started with shouts and waving, prompting Pel to sing louder, eventually leading to the man angrily stomping over to the cart to cram the lantern back into the wooden storage space, completely covering it with blankets. If I can’t get out, Pel thought, I’ll just annoy them until they regret stealing me.
The next time Pel was taken from the crate the sun had long set, and the fire was the only illumination aside from the stars and a crescent moon. Shieldy’s grumpy face stared in through the glass as he made the finger gestures for ‘brighter’. Pel instantly got as bright as possible, blinding the man who jerked the lantern away from his face with a shout. Pel laughed right up until the man started shaking the lantern again and it took all his concentration to stay in the little wooden cup. Shieldy made another gesture, pinching two fingers slowly toward each other but not touching.
Pel reduced his brightness until the man made a stopping motion with an open hand. He was carried across the little clearing and the two other men eating something from bowls around the fire. Pel began to grow a little nervous when Shieldy continued walking into the trees, further and further away from the camp. What’s he planning? Revenge? Torture? The man came to a stop, broke off a low hanging branch from the trunk of a nearby tree and hung the lantern from the stub.
He fiddled with the straps to his lower armor until his pants came loose. Wait, is he… Shieldy pulled his leg armor and trousers down to his knees, revealing a pasty white moon as he squatted over a small divot in the ground.
“Oh, fuck man. This is gross!” Pel complained. “I don’t wanna watch this!” Pel’s vision in mote form was nearly 360°, with only a small section of darkness in the back. “Why do you have logs tattooed on your ass?” The small tattoo was the last thing he saw before rotating his vision so that Shieldy was mostly covered by the gap in his view. It was burned into his sight, one end of the logs pointed forward to show a spiral wood grain, and the small bundle was tied together with a ribbon. “Great, thanks. I’ll never be able to forget this moment for as long as I live.” Thankfully, Shieldy finished his business quickly and returned the lantern to the cart.
“Eerst oo ehg eiben?” Shieldy asked as he looked suspiciously at Pel.
“I don’t know what that means, but yes?” Pel replied, which was clearly not the answer he was looking for.
“Eiben!?” Shieldy repeated, covering his mouth with his free hand.
Oh, is that quiet? Is ‘eiben’ quiet? I can do quiet. Pel pulsed his light gently, which was apparently the answer he was looking for. With a satisfied nod, Shieldy hung the lantern from the hook on the cart and returned to the fire. Look at me, learning! Hooked on Kidnapping style!
Pel remained awake through the night, watching the stars and the shadows along with whoever was up on watch. I wonder how they keep track of the time for watch shifts without knowing how much time has passed? The men seemed to have a good system, nobody was on shift for much longer than anyone else, all without the Fairy ability to count time. Maybe they watch the moon?
__________
Two days passed in camp as everyone lazed around, smoked pipes, and gathered firewood. As dusk crept closer at the end of the second day Pel heard a faint rumbling approach from the north. The Humans heard it too, stopping their activities to pick up their weapons and hunker down beside the cart. A box shaped cart rolled through a curve in the trees pulled by two horses. Two men sat on the bench in front of the box, calling out as soon as they saw the cart waiting in the clearing.
Evidently the two groups knew each other as Pel watched his captors relax and wave back with smiles. The new cart looked like a mix between an old police wagon and a train car for livestock. Heavy looking wooden planks were tightly fit together, banded by thick rectangular bars of dark metal on the sides in an X shape. Long narrow windows near the roof were open along the length of the box with more metal bars running vertically, evenly spaced within the windows.
Several Human faces popped up into the window to peer out at the voices. Of course, the guys who kidnapped me are meeting up with more kidnappers. Or slavers, slavers is probably right. Pel watched as the second wagon was pulled into the opposite side of the clearing, the two men jumped down from the wagon to hug and shake hands with the early group. One of the crates was opened, and several bottles were passed around as they started cooking for the evening. I miss evenings at Berry’s.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Dale's POV ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
With a splitting headache and dry mouth, Dale’s eyes reluctantly opened to the first soft glow of morning light. He groaned, rolling over to kick at Ken’s sleeping form. They’d be leaving today, the start of a long journey to the southwest. The slave cart meant they wouldn’t be able to take the regular roads, which meant no sleeping in beds, no warm taverns, and no good food. For at least a month, Dale thought sourly as he struggled out of his blanket. Maybe longer, dependin’ on what George’s contract says. Maybe they’d keep going, skirt the western tip of Ravel and keep following the river. I bloody hope not, I don’t like getting’ so close to the Shattered Steppes. Damn, do I miss the honest days of banditry. None of this skulking about in forests like a bloody adventurer.
“COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOO MOTHERFUCKERS!” A loud scream cut through the silent morning air. Dale clapped his hands over his ears as the sound dug in with a spike of pain poking right behind his eyes. Everyone around him bolted from their places, hastily grabbing for weapons drunkenly left on the ground.
“What the fuck was that!?” Otto shouted as he slid his sword from its scabbard, still on one knee.
“It’s that sodding Fairy,” Ken spit as laughter rang out from the cart.
Dale looked at the lantern still hanging from the hook on the cart, the light coming from within was pulsing madly with the laughter making it hard to look at directly.
“Well, shut it up!” Otto shouted. “Damn near stopped my heart!”
George threw his shield to the ground and stalked toward the laughing lantern.
“I thought you were going to stay quiet!” he shouted. “Good Fairies are quiet Fairies!” George took the lantern from the hook and started shaking it.
“What language was it shouting?” Kurt asked, still wrapped in his blanket which was sporting two new dagger holes in the front.
“Dunno,” Dale shrugged, “but the night we caught it George said he thought he’d killed a merchant that sounded like it once.”
George set the now silent lantern back on the hook and walked over to gather his blankets.
“Pack it up! strap the crates to the top of the of your box, Otto,” George said. “Should be enough supplies to last us to the border. We’ll go north around Little Lake, so we’ll resupply at Dolsk. No more drinking the wine, either! We’ll need something to pay the toll with.”
Everyone grumbled at that, but started moving. Maybe if we get some wine in Dolsk we can drink again, Dale hoped as he started readying the horses. A week to Dolsk, then another week to Thale over the Ravel border. That’ll be the last town before the tollway. Damn, sounds like we will be skirting the Shattered Steppes after all.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Pel's POV ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Every morning for a month Pel woke the men with a rooster call. Their reactions were never as great as that first morning he had the idea, but their continued unhappiness with it made the occasional shaking totally worth it. He even sang from time to time as they rolled down the empty road. He’d discovered that with his magical voice he had incredible range and was able to hit all the highs and lows from every song he could remember. Pel was pleased to discover that Queen, and Adele appeared to be popular across worlds and languages. The men, however, were not pleased by ‘Who Let the Dogs Out’ and quickly shut him up.
Most of the time they kept his lantern on the hook as they travelled, which was much nicer than riding in the dark with the blankets. It only took three days of shouting from beneath their butts to convince them that despite his singing and rooster calls, the average day would be much more tolerable if he were allowed out. Pel figured out quickly that Shieldy wasn’t going to shake him to death. The one time he’d hit the glass and reverted back to his full form seemed to frighten the man almost as much as it hurt Pel. He was technically safe inside the lantern, which was the worst kind of safe to be in his opinion.
Several times their little group was attacked by monsters or animals. It was difficult for Pel to decide which. The first attack was made by wolves, except they were larger than normal wolves, each of their heads came up to mid chest on the men. Lucky for the slavers, there had only been three, and Shieldy seemed to be pretty good at keeping their attention as the others took them down. After crossing the river nearly a week ago, they’d left the trees behind and entered an area of short grass, scraggly bushes and sandy dirt. They’d been heading nearly directly west for several days now, and the most recent attack had come from the bushes themselves.
Thorned branches and vines had exploded into motion like a botanical landmine as the first cart passed by. The horses were immediately tripped up by the plant, but luckily Bowman was also rather handy with a machete as he leaped over the side of the cart and hacked away at the plants. The horses were fine aside from the scare and some small cuts. Pel offered to heal the horses, but nobody took him up on it.
Blowhard, Shieldy, and Stabby were currently arguing over the open crates they’d pulled down from above the slave wagon. The sun was only a few minutes from setting behind the black mountains peeking up over the western horizon but they seemed more concerned about their dwindling supplies. Bowman and Slaver had left the group with two of the horses to find more supplies across the river, and Pel’s lantern was resting atop one of the closed wooden crates beside the men.
Shieldy and Blowhard both threw their hands up and walked into the brush presumably to look for enough dead bushes to burn for the fire. Fuck. Come back! Don’t leave me with Stabby! Pel had discovered that Stabby, the man whose Presence felt like needles and unresolved mother issues, was the meanest. When the wolves had attacked, he’d kept one barely alive and killed it by slowly sticking his daggers into its legs and torso until it bled out. He’d taken over shaking the lantern for Shieldy, and he liked to talk to the people in the back of the box wagon.
Stabby knelt down eye level with Pel with a sick smile and tapped the glass. He made the ‘brighter’ sign and Pel gradually brightened until the man gestured to stop. The one and only time Pel had tried blinding the man was the second time his lantern had ever been shaken hard enough for him to hit the glass. I can mess with the others, but Stabby is something else. Wait, is that a Pres--
The tip of a sword erupted from Stabby’s mouth along with fragments of teeth and flesh, penetrating through the glass of the lantern, missing Pel by an inch.
“TASTE JUSTICE!”