A few days later, Judd was perched on the rooftop that Caste and Giordi had fallen through, laying new thatch to fill in the hole. His companion was one of the villagers and between them they were making short work of the process. Judd was grateful for his assistance as he didn’t know that much about laying thatch but he did want to continue to help the villagers.
“Judd!” He looked down at Aalis who jiggled a water pouch at him. “Here!” He caught it and swigged deeply, handing it to the other man. “How is it going?”
“We’re making progress.” Judd wiped his brow free of sweat. “I think all the damage done will be repaired by the end of today. How are the crops? Have you been able to detoxify the earth?”
“My remedies seem to be working.” Aalis nodded, her dreadlocks hidden beneath a piece of cloth she had turned into a long handkerchief. She had plaited the thick strands then draped the cloth over her forehead and tied it into a knot at the nape of her neck. “Thankfully the orthros did not urinate on the plantations like it did on the trees so we have been able to salvage much of their harvest.”
“Excellent.”
Aalis went back inside the fort and Judd continued to work for several minutes before he heard a snort from below. Verne had a large cluster of sticks and branches strapped to his back.
“Why aren’t Caste and Giordi helping you?” He asked. “They’re the ones that did the damage!”
“Giordi’s attempting to mend his lute and Caste is in the library with Elde.”
Verne rolled his eyes and readjusted his load, taking it into the fort. After clearing out all the evidence of monster occupation, the villagers had lived in the fort, unwilling to inhabit their homes until they felt safe. After the death of the orthros and spider, there was a great deal of work to be done. They had scrubbed the floor of the main hall clean of spider remains and the mistletoe oil and cleared out all the fallen debris. While they could do little about the tiles that had fallen from the roof, they had sealed the hole with a rudimentary patch and boarded up the stained glass window. The two side hearths were always lit and the kitchen was operating, Aalis able to leave the bulk of the preparation to those who had manned it before they’d been sequestered below. She was busy making tonics to help many of the villagers sleep through the nights and treating the earth, trying to save all the trees and plants she could.
Verne was always on his feet, lugging water, dragging wood, hammering nails. Giordi, while usually compliant when told to do something, never offered so it became a chore to nag him. Verne had started to pitch the nearest stone he could reach at the minstrel’s shoulder which usually removed any need to use words to point out something that needed to be done. Caste might have been a permanent guest of the fort library if not for Elde having some sense of obligation, possibly imbued with the thrill of being the highest ranking member of the staff of Fort Sol that remained, lending a hand. His knowledge of the fort was quite impressive.
Stolen story; please report.
Caste was surprised when he found out Elde had only been stationed at Fort Sol for six months.
“I’m older than you by a number of years so we were never in the same class in the Order,” he had explained to Caste, “and when I applied to become a deacon…I was unsuccessful.”
“Did they tell you as much?”
“No. They just assigned me here.” Elde huffed sadly. “It didn’t need to be said when I received my orders from the bishop to be Sir Bobellion’s cleric at Fort Sol. This place,” he looked about at the impoverished library, “was probably rather impressive in its day but has never received the same attention or wealth as the wall forts…not that I think any amount of money or battlements could have stopped that spider.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, where was I…oh yes, when I got here and found that the rumours the clerics had whispered about Fort Sol were all too justified, I decided to try to make myself as useful as possible.” Elde shrugged. “I’m not sure I did any good…I’m not even sure what will happen to this place now. Fort Callain can watch the channel.”
“What will happen to you if you go back to Astaril?”
“Probably be put in historical record retrieval.” Elde shook his head. “I just wish I could have done some good, you know? Something more of note…but I have to say, after hearing about knighthood quest proposition, I was relieved not to be able to be assigned to it. I couldn’t imagine traipsing around the countryside in the company of a middle class gent with delusions about his lot in life…” Elde paused. “Yet without him and those who travel with him…”
Caste knew he was thinking of the pouch of wolfsbane.
It had been a terrible burden to suffer.
Even now, Elde seemed to have permanent shadows beneath his eyes. Caste did not have a good memory for people. This was not because he didn’t have a good memory but rather, he chose to blot them out, to turn them into blurry blobs in his mind. He preferred his facts and dates, his black and white world where grey need not encroach. He didn’t know Elde or any of his cleric colleagues personally but seeing Elde in the real world, O’Dear and Bede too, reminded him that not all clerics were like him, destined to become deacons, possibly to become one of the twelve archdeacons and, then, who knows, the bishop?
Caste felt an uncharacteristic pang of sympathy for Elde and dug through his pack, drawing a book out.
“This is ‘The Second Coming’, a collection of essays and supposition about Andigre’s prophesied return.” Caste cleared his throat and pushed it towards Elde. “For you to read.”
“A new book?” Elde gasped at the offer. “Oh…no I couldn’t…”
“I’ll leave it here, then.” Caste slid it onto one of the shelves, decades, possibly centuries newer than anything else in the library. “Just promise me you’ll take good care of it.”
“I swear…” Elde danced on his toes for a moment before darting to another shelf. “Well, as a thank you…may I offer you this volume?” He held it out and Caste seriously considered declining as it was dusty, grimy and the leather binding was splitting and cracking. “I know it isn’t much to look at,” Elde said, either seeing Caste’s revulsion or anticipating it, “but it is a book on traditional manners, reconciliation traditions and customs and was quite interesting…and amusing. For instance,” he leaned forward, “did you know there was once a limit as to how low the bodice of a woman’s dress was allowed to come down her…ahem?”
Caste’s face flushed. “Are there…illustrations?” He half squeaked.
“Well…as it is so old it was written before the propriety restrictions on explicit content…but even then, it is not detailed.”
Caste wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He took the volume, utterly intrigued where mere seconds earlier he was repelled. He was tempted to flick open the front cover when they heard running footsteps and turned to the library door. A young man, a servant of the fort, appeared on the threshold.
“We have company.”