Another day, and another village to avoid. This would make the second, luckily the people didn't know. Our scouting made it easy to give such places a wide berth and course changes were explained away as being based on the terrain. Between Pastor Collins and myself, our refugees were looking better than ever; he had the food, water, and wine covered, and I managed (with a few false starts) to handle the clothes and shoes.
At least those not already handled by the refugees themselves. Telekineses could weave vines or even grasses much more quickly than people could, and the end result was often more sturdy; the kids all swore by my new sandals, I'd made Ida a pair and she'd shown them off, so of course all the kids had to have 'magic shoes'.
The more extreme health cases were beginning to respond to the combined treatments of the party and recover, and morale was improving.
Like all good things however, it had to come to an end. For this particular event the end came from a woodcutter. A woodcutter from the village we were passing, that lay in our path. My ears were pretty amazing sometimes.
"Are you sure?" Karl asked.
Thom gave him a flat look. "No, it could be a princess on the run from the dastardly clutches of an evil witch. Of course I'm sure it's a woodcutter, don't be insulting. He's cutting wood and whistling while he works."
"Right. any chance we can avoid him?"
Thom shook his head. "Not without a very obvious course correction. We might as well bite the bullet now, since we're going to be coming up on farmland soon."
Karl sighed but nodded. "Damn. Fine, let's do it. Stay the course and I'll handle it if they ask.
Karl was being an optimist, because of course the moment the chopping was heard the refugees all slowed to a halt. I'd have expected one of the village leaders would have approached Karl, but instead the first person to get approached was me.
"What's going on? What is that?" Mrs. Castillo asked. She was holding up, but there were a few kids clutching adults and more than a few adults muttering.
I almost cursed; couldn't they recognize the sound? What did they think it was? Something crashing through the forest? That sounded completely different.
"No need to worry, the scouts just discovered a woodcutter. Apparently there is a village nearby."
"A village? Do you think they'll have food there, or clothes?"
And it begins. "Honestly no, I don't think they will have much to spare, if any. We can ask."
"Do you think they have an inn, or somewhere to stay?" A man I couldn't remember the name of but had decided to butt in asked.
"Unlikely enough for everyone. but again, we can ask."
And we would have to warn the village anyway; there were giants and other unsavory things on their doorstep and they had people out alone just cutting wood without a care.
The whistling had long since stopped, so I was sure the woodcutter knew we were there. As expected, he was leaning up against a tree, one eye on his recent handiwork (a downed tree responsible for the noise) and the other on Thom, who was also leaning casually on a tree a bit further away from the both of us.
Coincidentally cutting off any escape. I almost face palmed, but that would have made it even more obvious. Both of the woodcutter's eyes widened when he caught sight of us. His voice held a note of wary caution under the concern as he asked: "You all okay?"
"Fine now," Karl answered. "Better than we were. Do you live around here?"
The woodcutter pointed. "Pana, set down in a valley over that way. It's not far."
That last was clearly aimed as a warning against violence.
"Is there a bakery there? A restaurant? An inn?"
The woodcutter looked between all of us a moment before responding. "Nah, nothin' like that. The place is too small. That said, we could probably throw something together, mister...."
"Karl. Sorry, my names Karl and I'm on a mission for the king of Oher."
Right, Ohio was officially Oher now. Not that I'd ever call it that. Karl held out the proof of his claim - a medallion that proclaimed him in the king's service. One that only the extremely gutsy would fake. I wasn't sure what the punishment for faking it was, but historically such punishments were draconian. Draconian in such a way as to make the perpetrator pray for death.
The woodcutter squinted at it, and wen Karl took a step closer, he did not object. "Right, pleased to meet you. Name is Archie. So what happened?"
"These people have recently been rescued from... well, from a very bad time. I have orders to take them to the capital as quickly as possible."
Karl waited patiently while some boos rang out before continuing.
"However, I've decided some rest will improve our speed long term, so I was wondering if the good people of Pana could put us up for awhile. Payment should be no issue."
I almost choked at that; the king or the duke would be unlikely to foot any bill we ran up. Karl ignored the cheers with an admirable poker face.
"Well you can ask," Archie stated dubiously. "I doubt any accommodations we can scrounge up will be worth much, but I don't see any reason why we wouldn't do what we can. I guess the tale of how you all came to be on the road can wait on some shade and a pint of ale."
I really wanted a pint of ale, fresh from a tap. Preferably with apples.
"Lead on then Archie, please. A mug of something sounds great."
Archie had lied about how far way Pana had been (but we knew that, and he probably knew that we knew that, etc) but he hadn't lied about how humble the place was. There were fewer than thirty homes, most of those large but unless I missed my guess housing more than one family. There was a central well, and a small meeting place next to it where traders and craftsmen could set up, but there was literally none of the businesses one might expect visible.
For those grumbling about 'getting back to civilization', seeing the truth of the place was enough to bank the flames of even the most ardent. For my part I couldn't really agree more; this was more in line with a farming watering and chatting hole than actual civilization. I doubted they even had a bath.
They did at least have outhouses, but then every home and business given the treatment by whatever had changed the world had outhouses, so that probably wasn't a fair metric to judge things by.
Heck, most of the houses werent even painted or varnished. A few years down the line all that wood was going to rot and warp, but really that wasn't my concern.
In no time at all people were gathering, and I couldn't help but notice that our refugees outnumbered those collecting to meet us.
As was expected, I let Karl take the lead. I left as he began the speel, in search of good liquid refreshment. The search was a small one and complicated by the lack of a bar, but there parked in the shade was an old and shabby wagon filled with small aged casks... much like an old grizzled farmer might store ale in.
The old grizzled farmer, a thin graying stick of a man, tipped his hat with a nod was I walked up.
"Ma'am."
"Sir. Might those barrels be filled with ale or beer?"
"Ale ma'am, made with apples."
Perfect. "Seems a great day for it." I borrowed part of the back of the wagon and leaned back on a cask.
"Yep. A might hot but bright out." The farmer agreed, holding out a mug with a gnarled hand.
I took it gratefully and drained half. The farmer drained at least that much of his. It was good; the liquid hit all the right spots in a way even the freshest spring water would be hard pressed to do. I realized I was swinging my legs in the air and stopped.
"Big to-do over there," My new best friend commented.
"Yep," I admitted. "The change didn't really affect you at all, did it?"
"More than you suspect and less than you'd think." He opined in the way of inscrutable old farmers everywhere.
"Well this one might affect you. There are giants near, and worse."
The farmer turned and gave me the look; the one that said I was angering im somehow. "Worse?"
"Well the giants are territorial, so they probably won't be a problem for you. But we just fought a necromancer a few days walk from here; that's what my group is leading those other people away from. They are all that's left from a town larger than this one."
The farmer spit and made an odd gesture I vaguely recognized. "Sounds bad."
"It was. If the soldiers that rode that way don't get him, he might show up anywhere."
"If I walk out my door in the morning, a bear or wolf might get me," The farmer countered. "Or maybe I'll get them; I been through some scrapes myself."
He had the look, and he was right. Life was harder everywhere. "Good luck."
He nodded acceptance of my luck and raised his mug. "It's too fine a day to worry."
"I'll drink to that," I told him, and I did.
This area was probably too well patrolled anyway; even if it was where the people were.
The voices on the other side of the green were starting to raise; I took another sip to drown them out.
I wasn't entirely successful in that. "Can you spare any space for us at all?" One of our refugees, a Tim-something, asked. He was on the older side and considered himself to be in charge - as if anyone was in charge of this mess. I don't think even Karl would make that claim if asked, though he would admit to being placed in command of us.
The answer, from a man who looked much like my new friend if with a little more padding on him, was hardly surprising. "I said we'd open our doors to you, sir, and even put you up for the night. But we may not have room for you all. Not any of you, all of you."
"If it helps, my party will camp as a whole where we are allowed. There is no need to put yourselves out on our account." Karl stated.
"Thank you sir, that does help. There is a small clearing west of here, still in town. You may set up there." I could hear the relief from here, and so I took another sip as Matt broke away and started towards us.
"Alright. I'll also set up a camp for anyone who wants to or needs to stay with us, provided there is room..?"
"There is." The village worthy admitted.
Matt made it to us and plunked down on the other end of the wagon with a screeching squeak of tortured metal. The wagon dipped and did not rise. My feet still weren't touching the ground.
The farmer smoothly pulled a clean mug from behind him, filled it, and handed it to Matt without missing a beat. Matt, not to be one-upped, just accepted it and drank.
"Fine, then anyone you can't settle in nearby or who wants to can join us there. I'll leave the other housing arrangements to you."
No one missed the slight stress Karl had placed on the word 'nearby' it seemed. Even Mrs. Castillo frowned at him as he bade his farewells and walked off.
He gestured at Phil and Thom, but whatever he said was too low for me to hear from here. I could take a guess though.
"Well, looks like we need to get started." I said.
"Yeah, looks like." Matt answered. He sounded as enthused about the idea as I was.
"In a little bit, maybe." Now Pastor Collins had broken off from the group, and was headed this way.
Those clouds looked nice, and were scuttling their fat white selves across the sky very quickly. That one kind of looked like a dragon.
When Pastor Collins drew up he was met with a mug of his own; my peripheral vision was nice.
He wasn't bought off by it though. That was unfortunate. "You two are needed to help set up a camp."
"In a minute," I told him. "Sit down and watch the clouds with us."
"I'll do that... as soon as the camp is set up. Wow, this ale is nice."
"Thank you. Made it meself." The old farmer remarked idly.
Pastor Collins drained his mug all at once, and straightened up, offering me a hand. "Thank you for the ale, good sir, but we simply must be going."
"Spoilsport."
I allowed him to help me up, and started the long journey back to the West of this small hamlet. Matt followed with a melodramatic groan.
The farmer placed his mug over the small pile of coins I'd 'dropped' without a word or glance, hiding them from the world. That was well and good.
The sun did seem a bit brighter than when I sat down, and free of the shade the heat returned full force. It was early afternoon and if anyone was actually willing, we could make miles yet before we slept. There were no takers though.
I really wanted to hang charms, but I didn't have any suitable for undead or dark magicks. Perhaps later I'd have the time to reason those out, but for now we needed to make a complete clearing somewhat defensible.
Stakes were right out; someone would injure themselves on them in the dark or worse. I'd really like a full palisade, but we lacked time and lumber for that. Tripwires would have to be the way to go, and Phil could do that better than I could. At least when he got back from what had to be a hunting trip.
The thing I could do first would be to set up a cooking fire. We would need to prepare a lot of food. If the villagers of Pana were willing, we could share and maybe make a stew; stew sounded like cheap way in both time and ingredients to do things.
And one kitchen joke, and there would be blood. Just one, and I was waiting for it. Double the blood for a sandwich joke.
I dumped my stuff in the clearing on a nice likely space and moved on to the tree line. First thing was first, I needed a framework of suitable logs to hang a pot from. Matt had followed me into the trees, and when I turned to question he preempted me.
"Shh, I'm looking busy."
Well I could understand that, but I wasn't about to just let it pass. "Lazy ass."
"Guilty as charged," he admitted with a smile. "I figure whatever you're doing will be less work."
I answered his grin, and his own grin slipped a bit. "Just going to set up the campfire we'll need. That and a few tripwires."
"Tripwires?"
"Tripwires," I repeated, before realizing I'd left my spools of wire and twine in my pack back at where camp would be. Matt's pack was still firmly on his back. "Specifically, your tripwires."
Matt's eyes widened. "You were expecting me to come with you?"
"Sure was you lazy bum. You fell into my trap," Never admit to the little screwups in life; everything was always preplanned and I was the new prophet of the era. I was never wrong and knew everything.
Matt sighed. "Fine, I'm going."
"No, no. Right at the tree line, and set them up for noise and nothing else. The last thing we want to do is hurt a woodcutter or someone. For now you can play pack mule."
Matt sighed as heavily as he could manage - which sounded kind of like a giant with a cold sneezing. I was mildly impressed at the amount of noise.
I grabbed the three best branches I could readily find, since the state of the branch didn't actually mean much to me at the moment; I was going to fix it later. They were large enough to make getting them back a hassle, especially with the firewood I'd need, but I had a way around that.
"Don't forget the firewood on your way back Matt!"
"I see how it is! Dirty, Muse, just dirty!"
His fault for thinking I wouldn't put im to work. I dragged my three new friends back to the green and set them aside. Some quick work with my field shovel cleared the fire pit I'd need. hmm, since outsourcing had worked so well, maybe it was time to do it again.
I turned to look for Ida ony to discover she was right behind me, watching. I almost knocked her down but managed to stop at the last moment.
"Ida, can you do me a favor?"
Her face brightened. "Sure."
"I need you to gather some stones from that pile over there. Feel free to get the other kids to help you. I need about two dozen big ones.
Ida nodded and set off, a rather misguided look of concentration on her little face. She got halfway to what had to be a stone refuse pile before Billy intercepted her and they started talking; seconds later Billy was running towards the biggest group of kids in the clearing as fast as he could manage.
"Lady Muse."
"Mrs. Castillo. I guess I shouldn't be surprised; decided you didn't want a roof over your head after all?"
She shook her head and continued to loom. "There were too many asking for space, I didn't feel like adding my own voice to the din. What did you just tell our kids to do, exactly?"
"Oh, I conned them into getting fire circle stones from the pile of rock over there. And speaking of conning, can I get you to do something for me?"
Again with the eye narrowing. Trust should have a greater supply today. "What are you planning, Lady Muse?"
Well polite was something. I could deal with polite. "I'm working on making a proper meal for us all, and I need a few large cast iron pots for that to happen; my own just isn't big enough."
Mrs. Castillo nodded to herself briskly. "Right, I can see that. I'll see what I can do."
She started off. "Don't forget to mention that I'll be aiming to make enough stew for everyone, and I'll be adding my own stock in."
To her credit she knew what I was attempting right off. "I'll do that."
I needed to outsource more often; most of my work was done already. Now the real response to my almost appeal was dependant on our two intrepid hunters.
I turned to my logs and focused my magic. A bit of humming, a snatch or two of what almost could be song, and they were putty in my hands, moving at my mind's direction. The first log became a tripod with a notch in the middle, hale and green despite being dead for months. Rounded, thick and strong, it would be well able to take the weight of cast iron.
It was almost like necromancy in a way.
I shouldered that thought aside and placed the new tripod carefully at the side of the fire circle. The kids had brought the stones, sure, but hadn't placed them; instead they had stacked them haphazardly in a pile, and were now off playing tag. My own fault for not making it clear I suppose.
Mrs. Castillo on the other hand came through with not just one, but two cast iron pots that I could probably bathe in if pressed - not that I was thinking about how much I needed an actual bath - but a small committee of rather put-upon looking women, all sporting clothes which I'd come to associate with the new working class here and differing ages. Most were what could be considered the shy side of attractive, and more than a few were looking at me with disapproval. The women carried the pots themselves, I noted, two women a pot; they set them down in front of me.
But they were here, and they all had potatoes and other vegetables on them. It wouldn't be enough to fill the pots alone, but it would help.
"This is Mrs. Gauglio," Mrs Castillo said, pointing to one of the women in the lead, one closer to her age than mine and in almost matching clothes. "And this is Mrs. Brewer," She continued, pointing to a woman closer to mine and in clothes that might be only a year old. "They own the pots you'll be using."
I nodded my acceptance and went back to my own part in this. "Thank you."
They seemed uneasy when I got vocal again, even stepping back, but I needed to mold the wood.
Once it was complete they all stepped forward as one, eyeing the end result critically.
"Do you think that branch will hold a pot?" Mrs. Gauglio asked.
"It'll hold both," I told her absently as I fit the contraption together. One end of the crossbar had a handle to turn it by, just in case. Everything fit snugly. "It's stronger than it looks."
I pulled the bar and threaded the handled of the pots through them; Matt came up with his first load of wood just in time. "Matt, help me with this?"
"Sure."
I managed to lift my end, happy the pots were empty; when they were full it would be more than some awkward load issue, they just wouldn't move.
"Thanks. More wood please."
Matt rolled his eyes, but got going. All the women turned as one to watch him go, which was more than a little creepy. Especially grouped with the communal sigh; they were all married! I sang a large ladle and fork into existence before my spell ended, and hung those up on the crossbar opposite the handle.
One of the women managed to tear her eyes free of Matt. "Do you really think your friends can find some game out in the forest?"
"I do. If anyone can, they can. Why, have you had problem with game lately?"
Don't let me down guys - Just one deer or a brace of rabbits. Anything like that at all.
The woman nodded. "Game has been scarce of late. We don't mind sharing what we have, but...."
"But you don't want to be left holding the bag and going hungry tonight." I finished for her and she nodded.
"Well, Mrs...."
"Patterson."
"Well Mrs. Patterson, failing anything else, we can make up any shortfall ourselves. This entire idea is basically just to avoid the dependence on our own rather tasteless rations. We can share those if we have to, but the lack of taste is not something that can be underestimated."
And the muttering began.
Mrs. Patterson opened her mouth again, her gaze hot, but Mrs. Castillo preempted her. "Mrs. Patterson, what Lady Muse says is true. It is possible to survive on such fare, as we have. But with all due respect to Pastor Collins, his magical food is less than ideal."
The muttering among the women quieted almost as quickly as it started; it seemed the word magic was the catalyst for the shut down. Normally I'd defend magic on principle, but in this case that would mean defending that tasteless crap.
Besides, any stew we made would keep for days, assuming there was any left over.
I started setting the stones in a proper circle. I'd need water for the stock, and there were many vegetables to prepare. "Ladies, you need not help; I imagine our refugees will be only too happy to help me prepare dinner tonight."
Mrs. Castillo picked the hint right up to her credit. "Of course, I'll go ahead and get that started." she turned and moved off in her usual formidable tread.
I settled the last stone with my foot. "I'll leave some knives here. I'm going to get some water in the pots."
I had a few knives, one part of my normal cooking tools and one for general utility. Mrs. Patterson wordlessly passed over her own knife, and a few others followed. I placed them carefully next to my own two in the grass.
"Thanks. I'll be right back."
I stood up and hurried; I wasn't silly, I knew the rules. A kid would find an unattended knife in two to five minutes, and cut off a finger a minute later. But I'd needed a show of trust; just asking some already wary villagers to hand over what were by any stretch expensive tools and in the worst case makeshift weapons - well, I'd have felt scummy.
With any luck, the kids weren't stupid. I didn't hold out much hope for Billy, but then again, we could fix most problems with healing.
It was already bad enough that I had to borrow two of the buckets from the well. There was no one near the well, which was probably a little odd. Or maybe I was just too paranoid; most people seemed to be dealing with our refugees, and most of the refugees had already gotten their drinks at the local watering hole.
Speaking of, my farmer buddy was still where I'd left him, cloud watching. I waved to him as I sent the first bucket down. He waved back - all was well.
It was a good thing I wasn't weak, I almost felt I needed a shoulder yoke to carry the now full buckets. I wandered my way back; I saw Mr. Peterson come out of someone's house, hair and clothes both wet and freshly scrubbed. He turned back and said stated some thanks which rang as insincere to me at his benefactor, an older woman only slightly bigger than myself wearing a black shawl.
Good for him.
There were a few similar scenes as I made my way back, and the green itself was rapidly becoming packed. I stopped by Karl, entertaining some old men who were fawning all over him. They went silent as I approached, but I'd already heard enough vapid comments to make the judgement call.
"A new look for you, Lady Muse. Quite domestic."
"Ha ha," I deadpanned back. "Just doing my part. And speaking of that, what's your opinion on watches tonight?"
He flicked a glance at the villagers. "We'll have one, of course, but it'll be hard covering the entire village with so few."
The answer we got wasn't what I was expecting. "Do you really think that's necessary?"
Karl played it cool. "Probably not but I'll feel happier with one. I've seen too much already in my short time out in the world; and I'm the one responsible for these people."
"Right, I'll get back to doing my thing."
I didn't want to take my turn at a watch, and I knew I was off the hook. But not having one, or having an effective one, would bother me. I had hoped Karl had seen something I hadn't.
I got back and wonder of wonder, the kids were still well away from the knives. Matt had delivered a second load of wood, and somehow had conned a few people into following him. Mrs Castillo was back with no less than four followers of her own, all peeling vegetables.
"Hello," I added my water to the first pot and gave it a look. That one was basically done as far as water, but I'd need another load for the second pot. "Be right back, need a bit more it seems."
Back through the village, and it didn't look any more interesting the second time. A second wave at my new buddy was also returned, and soon I had two more full buckets. Maybe I could con someone into returning the empties for me.
Another trip and the vegetables were almost done; say what you want, these women were fast.
It was time; I opened my bag and pulled out my own personal contribution.
"What's all that? Eye of newt and tongue of frog?" The question sounded like a joke, and so did the tone, but I answered it seriously and showed them outright.
"Wild onions and a few roots, tubers, and spices picked along my travels for flavor."
"Ah, I see," Mrs. Patterson said with a whistle. "Well that will be handy; wish I could do that myself, but if I take a sojourn like that my husband will burn the house down. Maybe even the whole village."
"Nah, no chance, because my man will beat yours to it!" A woman named Vicki Kessler asserted with a smile.
They all laughed at the joke, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I really didn't want to end up strung up on a pole with a wienie roast under me. I threw my stuff in with some salt; something that might well become very rare and expensive eventually.
Right on cue the intrepid hunters returned, if perhaps a little late - a full deer and two rabbits between them. They had the good sense to butcher the animals first it seemed and were keeping blood trails to a minimum with a sheet of what could only be waxed burlap on the makeshift travois they had between them.
They altered course and pulled up to us; both Phil and Thom knew a cooking fire when they saw one.
"Nice," I told them both as they got close enough. "You two outdid yourselves."
Phil was a bit sour faced. "Stew, huh?"
I shrugged. "Seemed the best idea; we have a lot of people to feed and this will stretch what we have. I take it you're not a fan?"
"Not really. Maybe I've never had a good one."
Right. "Well, you aren't likely to tonight either; I'm no master chef."
"So, who wants to get some more water?"
"What for?" Mrs. Jast asked.
"Cleaning of course. I'm not going to cut up stew meat with dirty hands, and neither is anyone else. That's a good way to catch something."
"Oh," Mrs. Jast replied with a small voice. Seriously, she was older than I was and had probably been cooking longer; had she really just forgot such an important step? I really hoped not. Mrs. Jast took off herself, the empty buckets in hand, and I busied myself with starting the fire; the boil itself would take care of the food for the most part. I said a silent prayer the meat was free of such things that boiling wouldn't kill.
No master chef was I, but it was really hard to screw up stew; maybe Phil just needed to lower his standards a little. When Mrs. Jast got back, panting, I washed up and consigned some soap to the cause, retrieved one of my knives and got to work. By some unwritten consent Mrs. Patterson and a Mrs. Hinkle also broke from their pack and descended; chunks of meat got thrown into the pot with as much blood as possible. I wasn't sure how I knew the blood was needed to both thicken the mix and add flavor, but I did and that was enough.
When we were done the two mighty hunters, who had been watching us the entire time, took the skins and bones and travois and left. My keen ears caught Thom's talk about saving the bones and skins for use or sale, and burying the rest.
Phil's side of the conversation was mainly griping about how he'd have to clean his tarp.
I cleaned up again and set in to stir. Matt came up with some more wood.
You know, when I write my memoirs about this, I'm going to leave in every boring thing I did. Maybe it'll sour future adventurers on the idea of adventuring. Assuming we don't figure out what happened, of course. If we do, no one was going to read the bad fantasy epic of a lawyer.
"Hey - copper for your thoughts?" Matt asked, sitting down with all the grace and clatter of a sinking ship.
"You'd get back change. I was just thinking about how boring I'm going to make all this sound when I write about it later."
"Go for it," Matt told me as he leaned back and put his hands under his head. "The more boring the better. This sort of thing sucks."
I wanted to join him there on the trampled grass, but I needed to stir and the green was now much less so. It was too early to be getting tired anyway. The stew would be a late dinner as it was, the meat would take hours to cook. My fellow cooks were busy debating various random things like the use of pepper or not, and even what stitch to use to make a dress; I felt I was safe in tuning them out.
Phil and Thom both came back after burying (well hopefully burying) whatever they weren't going to use. Odd for them to come back here, and not run off on their own; I smelled Karl's hand in it - or perhaps something more appetizing. They joined Matt in lying back and watching the sun set.
Turning around revealed more people crowding in. Every time I did it, more people seemed to spring up, and they were all talking; it became a murmur, a roar in the background that blended together and drowned out individual speech. It was bad enough that I found myself searching for a quiet corner to hole up in.
I found myself oddly reluctant to leave or hand over my project however. There were many others here who no doubt knew better than I did, but this creation was my own; I tended the fire to maintain the heat, I stirred the mess, and I checked to make sure everything was cooking evenly. It took a bit over my anticipated two hours.
The stew was delicious.