CHAPTER 1.32 - VILLAGE LIFE: II

Hugo wanders down the stairs to the ground floor.  The space is busy, the handful of villagers not involved in preservation efforts having been drafted into food preparation.  A single hunter, of the three who aren’t Durn or Marek, is sat at one of the tables now returned to position.  The room is a dining hall closest to the kitchen doors, the other half open space.  The hunter remains seated but raises his mug in a toast to Hugo.  He smiles at the man, feeling somewhat guilty. 

He understands Atheran’s poor opinion of them, can’t really blame the woman.  They turned up unannounced and have reshaped everything just by existing.  They made the village a target for bandits, they professed some involvement in the forest chaos that threatens the settlement’s survival, and…the thing with the man on the table.  As the hunter returns to his drink, he stretches his back.  His comrades should also be resting, but last night Hugo had heard them dividing up patrol duties.  Perasta’s disappearance bodes ill, not to mention Durn’s warning about noises beyond the strange slab Anuk had uncovered.  As the man spoke with bafflement about something inside the hill, Hugo was wondering how people could be so oblivious.  Their home is named ‘Highbarrow’, what did they expect?  Of course the green-haired woman treated them as though they were fully to blame.

But then, in their plus column?  They had returned the kidnapped children safe and sound.  And thankfully with no recollection of Hugo’s stupidity at the corpse pile.  They had brokered a peace with the goblins, perhaps prevented another tyrant from sweeping in to fill Graasht’s vacuum.  Arguably they’d safeguarded the village for the future.  And they delivered 50 gold pieces into Atheran’s hands, more than half of the gold the bandits had been carrying.  Thae’s healing meant they could still count five hunters once everyone got back on their feet.  That and the smooth (he tries not to think ‘lucky’) execution of his plan sparing every prisoner.  The bandits had been too scared of a rebellion to harass the remaining residents beyond house arrest.

He feels humbled that the group, after agreeing the split of the gold, entrusted their portions to him.  He’s accustomed to Thae’s trust, despite feeling the friction of how little he deserves it.  Rian seems largely unconcerned with wealth, but Anuk?  He can only suppose she’d already reached her decision to remain with them.  For now.  Or possibly was just following some logic of his leading them based on the success of one plan. 

But there’s more to the thought.  To the gold.  There’s precisely too much more.  He tries to get his thoughts in line, his feeling that they’re safe for now.  From Wiln’s account, Perasta went to Rudolf Mentari, the Iron Ram of the Emerald Forest, and paid him to utilise some men.  So those men wouldn’t have been jangling their way through the forest, might not have seen the coin at all.  And for two wasted days?  The first, largest group fruitlessly following Perasta’s device, chasing the strange little man then Rian, the monocle. 

And then the second set, much smaller already, negotiated with old Dolf on the morning the Forest went wild?  Would have cost Perasta, to Hugo’s mind, more money for fewer bandits.  Dolf wasn’t reputed to be foolish, far from it.  And those guys never returned, Hugo has that on good authority.  Not to mention that those guys hadn’t seen the coin either.  The group had had to get going, but had checked the bandits for any obvious valuables.  Certainly no gold coins on them.

Add that together, and Hugo’s mind returned only one possibility.  Perasta could no longer count on the Iron Rams, nor upon favour from their leader.  Maybe he bribed away the few men he brought to Highbarrow.  From under Dolf’s nose, or with the leader’s permission to take whomever he could interest.  Either way, Perasta’s bridge to the bandits was smouldering if not entirely burnt.  Didn’t preclude old Rudi being pissed off at Hugo’s group but given that the bandits’ encampment would likely not have been immune from the forest’s contractions, vanish more than 15 men into the woods and Hugo’s instinct made sense. 

He feels they should linger here for a while.  This is somewhat informed by his deep exhaustion.  Part of Hugo wishes he could skip whatever rustic celebration Highbarrow has in mind.  Given that the villagers were reeling from Thaesurala’s contractions before they arrived, he figures they too need an excuse to cut loose.

He’s entirely unsurprised to find that Rian’s hard at work, helping with the butchering.  For someone so socially awkward, the man seems to have integrated into village life without difficulty.  Hugo watches a couple of country folk manoeuvring a large portion of a cow, largely by grunts and nods, and alters his assessment.  Maybe it’s because of the big man’s reticence.

He looks around for Thae, eager to reconcile with his friend, or to smooth things between the priest and Anuk.  Instead, he makes another unsurprising discovery.  The cleric’s surrounded by a knot of people.  Each of these is waiting patiently as Thae tends to an older man with a large bruise on his forehead.  Their expressions are respectful, chastened as though by the thought they may be wasting the half-elf’s time.  Thae, predictably, is serious, overflowing with caring concern.  ‘Thank goodness you brought this to me’, the cleric’s bearing communicates, ‘it’ll all be fine’.  He catches himself.  ‘It will all be fine’, he corrects himself in Thae’s voice.

He's traditionally only been involved with supper in a ‘singing for it’ capacity, but there’s something to the shifting, chatting mass of people with shared purpose that attracts him.  After trying to find somewhere he could help, and mostly finding himself underfoot, he retreats to the wall of the Hall and picks on his lute.  All his thoughts of bandits return his mind to his project, but he is too leaden, too tired to focus.  Instead, he finds himself aimlessly fretting, literally.  He’s amusing himself picking at notes in time with people he observes working, ad-libbing words to describe them or their tasks.

It feels so free to be doing this, far freer than he felt in his erstwhile home.  It’s the simplicity of the village, he thinks, then damns the thought.  This isn’t simple at all, he realises.  His group put money into the hands of these people, but they can’t eat coin if their food runs out midwinter.  Instead, he sees the community planting their feet and working, contriving to protect what they can and support one another through it.  They could cry for tomorrow or, in Hugo’s experience, blaze up into one another’s faces.  They could declare all lost and lose themselves to drink or fatalism.  He tries to stop himself but inevitably adds that they could rob and bleed each other, then justify it as less mouths to feed.

He stops picking at the strings and gets lost for a moment in people-watching.  Then he hears a tut, turns towards the nearest corner of the Hall.  Spots a blur as a head pulls back into hiding at speed.  For a moment, his pulse races, his mind throwing ‘Perasta’ and ‘bandit’ into the air until he realises the watcher was very close to the ground.  He muffles a chuckle, and begins plucking again, this time a nursery rhyme. 

He focuses on his peripheral vision while pretending to pay no heed.  A moment later he sees a little girl’s face pop out, framed by a halo of unruly brown hair.  He plays on for a few beats to ensure she’s watching, then subtly begins accelerating the tempo of the tune.  He can see her head craning, trying to spy his fingers as they dance on the frets, leaning out from her cover.  Makes the little girl jump as he turns to her, singing the line about ‘how green are the leaves on the branches of the trees’.  Not loudly, but surprising within what had been an instrumental.  The girl pulls back in a flash, but he can hear her giggling behind the corner.  

A muscle in his neck relaxes, and Hugo sighs in this tiny moment of calm.  Then he calls out in a gentle voice that he could show his observer a song if she would really like.  He understands the villagers, he guesses.  There are plenty of problems he could choose, but those are for tomorrow.  And it would be such a waste to waste today.

-x-

As evening approaches, he feels he’s turned full circle.  His little friend, Nina, has managed a passable rendition of a pleasing song that requires only three notes.  Hugo assures her that the pauses as she adjusts her fingering are barely there anymore.  He hopes this partial lie will reassure her enough to play in front of her village tonight and realises that he’s now looking forward to the ‘feast’.  This is helped along by the smell of meat roasting over firepits on the green, as well as smells emanating from the kitchen of the Hunter’s Hall.  The latter suggests the bounty of wild herbs in the forest, and shames him for his assumption the farmers would have plain fare.  Hear ye, hear ye, city boy thinks country folks are stupid, hear all about it. 

After Nina had tired of practice, Hugo had felt his lids growing heavy, certainly lost a little time in the later afternoon.  In between blinks he looked up to find Anuk had appeared under a tree across the way.  Inevitably, the book was in her hands, as ever her pose contrived to camouflage this.  Not guilt, he intuits, but an unwillingness to have it perceived, questioned too closely. 

Rian and Thae seem to have bonded.  Any time he’s seen one today the other has been nearby.  The cleric certainly seems more at ease than earlier, although Hugo questions whether Thae’s ease is a function of how many people are present to observe.  Still, he feels no jealousy.  His friend deserves friends and Rian seems refreshingly free of agendas.  And hopefully the village humdrum provided Thae with the feeling of wellbeing it granted Hugo.

-x-

He feels fit to burst, both with excellent food and with pride as little Nina returns his lute.  The six-year old’s blushing with pleasure as her second rendition of the simple song has gone down even more uproariously than the first.  She beams at him as he tells her she really has a gift, then asks her if she’ll help him out.  He’s going to try a song, and he really wants her to get her friends to begin the dancing.  He frets that it’ll be a bad party if nobody dances.  The girl giggles, uncertain whether she’s being teased, but Hugo’s a fine actor and Nina, very seriously, assures him that she will dance even if he gets the song wrong.

The night’s going well, but at the point where the glut of food (that had to be cooked or wasted) is weighing on top of some truly excellent beer.  This added to the stress of the past few days could have the lights out and villagers abed before 10.  Well, swears Hugo, not on my watch.  He looks for his comrades, spots Rian and Thae in intense discussion with the smith Bertak.  Intense, he would guess, but not negative, nothing critical.  As Bertak speaks to them, Hugo observes his eyes flicking to Atheran.  As ever, the woman has positioned herself on the edge of things, but apart from them.  Watchful over, yet not entirely engaged with, the celebration.  Anuk, he can see, also frequently has her eyes on the elder.  He worries he can see a challenge in the pale woman’s stare, figures that nothing could ruin the evening faster than one of their unstoppable forces meeting the other’s immovable object. 

And so, he begins.  Just in the nick of time, as Atheran spots Anuk‘s glare.  Not quite the trigger he intended, but he has to improvise.  He strums a flourish, jarring enough that he hears conversations drop across the room.  A blur near his eye, and Three, ever his greatest ally, is on his shoulder.  Hears Nina’s little friends squeak with glee at the pet she was stroking earlier.  Of which she was very proud. 

And then Atheran freezes as Hugo’s smooth, confident and very tuneful voice sings her name.

“Atheran

Oh…Atheran…

Sweet lady of the forest…”

Anuk is forgotten as the older woman wheels on Hugo, eyes blazing.  His voice sounds loaded with sarcasm, and he knows she already thinks he’s a rabble rouser.

“I’m sure the bandits will ignore us…

She shot their boss before he saw us…

All thanks to Atheran

Good lady Atheran

She protects us like noooo…other can.”

The woman looks baffled as Hugo wheels, sees Thae twitch a little then relax as he continues seamlessly.

“Bertak’s our smith…

And what a fine smith he ith…”

He cringes melodramatically, sees his little ally interrupt her dancing – mostly spinning in a circle within the knot of her friends - with an amused smile.  She did promise to support him if he mucked up his performance, after all…

“Although the prices that he charges…

He must be taking the pith…”

He sees Nina’s mouth drop into an ‘O’ of surprise at what she heard, giggles rising from the knot of kids dancing around her.  He silently thanks the little girl for the names of all the villagers whose attributes or manners he noticed, plucked from her head while she was practicing.  The crowd’s already laughing and ribbing Bertak good naturedly.  The man colours with embarrassment as he raises his tankard to the room, to Hugo.

Yeah, this night’s going to go just fine.