CHAPTER 1.48 – FAREWELL TO HIGHBARROW: I
The following day is a mixed bag for the group. Rian is up with the dawn as always, undaunted by yesterday’s injuries. He’s assisting the burly farmers in emptying the red dust from the operational farm room. Once the bizarre well shaft has been filled, the remainder is dumped into the room with the cracked ceiling. While the dust might be benign, the group decided that something must have killed the rabbits. Besides, the village has an abundance of rich dirt to hand and know well how to farm that. The big man would apparently have joined in the effort to fill the plot had the hunters, ever Rian’s fans, not invited him into the forest with them.
Thae, too, was up in the early hours, spending time in contemplation and prayer until respectful villagers politely intruded to beg healing, advice, or spiritual guidance from the ever-helpful soul. Hugo could imagine his modest friend balking at the trust invested into such a ‘lowly acolyte’. But by the time he rose and observed Thae’s growing throng in the dining space, he was certain the half-elf was enjoying serving the community. The cleric could well harbour self-doubt, but Hugo could tell the throng was hanging on Thae’s every word.
Anuk slips in across the table from him, having obviously picked up a similar sense of things. “Happy as a pig in shit” she says with her characteristic decorousness. Hugo looks up from the chords that continue to elude him, ever so close yet not quite there. He expects to see a sneer, some judgement of Thae’s faith, but instead the woman seems happy for the acolyte. As Thae glances in their direction, she smiles, gives a minimalist wave. Hugo feels like his jaw should be on the floor but is happy for the glee in his friend’s face, the slight blush.
He continues to tootle with the lute as the pale girl breaks her fast. Expecting any minute for her to snap at him to quiet down, instead Anuk hums along, suggests modulations as the desired effect remains just beyond his reach. For the moment. He breaks off, still only half-believing the thaw between them. Besides, he spies that his guests have arrived. Anuk looks up, sees the new arrivals and flashes him a tight smile. As he leaves the table, she is already reaching into her backpack. He worries about the pull the book exerts upon the girl, the madness of its contents, but can’t quantify a risk. He knows for certain how any intervention would go, besides could he argue against it from any position of authority? ‘Hey, I stole your book and I think you should stop obsessing about it’? Likely to go well.
He smiles as he approaches the new arrivals. Nina beams back at him, her mother far less demonstrative. Not hostile so much as…cautious. Viv, with whom he has only passed a few words, has raised Nina near single-handed. He hasn’t pushed for details, but through talks with the little girl he knows her father died long enough ago that her memories of the man are hazy. So, single mother of a beloved child. And you say your new friend is how old? He can’t blame the woman.
Hugo hands his lute to Nina, who instantly plunks herself onto a nearby bench and starts picking the strings. He might have expected her to play the song from the feast, but instead the girl jumps into a troublesome chord change unrelated to last night’s performance. Great, perfect in fact! His student isn’t for resting on laurels. She’s pushing herself instead of aiming for ‘good enough’. His grin is genuine as he greets her mother.
He decides the woman can share her thoughts whenever she’s ready; Hugo has more important business. It involves getting Viv onside, but not with him, precisely. He’ll happily remain distrusted, in a village in the sticks which he may never see again. So long as this talent receives active nurture. Thus liberated, he can be all business. “Thank you for coming, Viv, please take a seat.” He makes a show of climbing onto the bench across from Nina, who scooches along to give her mum space. ‘See how unthreatening I am’. But doesn’t care whether that lands or not. “Your daughter has quite a talent and, to be plain, I’m not going to be around to help it grow.”
Nina freezes, fingers deadening the strings, and he has to wrench to look at her face. To his relief, there are no tears in her eyes, although the girl’s mouth is twisted as though she’s biting her cheek. “My friends and I need to go, I’m afraid” he shares, surprised at how his throat constricts. He sees the similarities between mother and daughter, the girl’s face resolute, serious. The woman radiates stability, unbowed by a tough life. From the time he has spent with Nina, Hugo wonders if the father was the comedian, the warm joy in the family. Or whether that lives deep inside Viv, all but extinguished by smothering responsibility.
He discards this pointless speculation as he spots what he wished to see in Viv’s eyes. A resolute frown as though she’d die rather than dim her daughter’s spark. “I’ll try not to take up too much of your time, but could we walk?” He is ready to play up dismounting from the bench, but Viv is on her feet quickly, arm extended to offer him support. Great, he thinks, that’s everything he needs.
As they walk towards the village pond, really just a shallow pool on one of the streams crisscrossing the forest, Viv has warmed. She retains most of her seriousness. She seems convinced of Hugo’s intentions or is at least mollified that he will soon disappear. She’s confessing that she “doesn’t have a musical bone in her body”. There may be shadow to that story, perhaps Nina’s father had the musical bones. But the woman doesn’t dwell on that. She has, it seems, been scouring the village for anyone with instruments or knowledge to assist her child. Sadly, in such a small community so focused on survival, pickings are slim.
As they arrive at the pond, Viv’s face softens, as though in remembrance of happier times spent here. Hugo and Nina leave her to her contemplation, instead hunting for reeds of sufficient length and solidity for his purpose. The girl seems happy to engage in the search without question, but her mother quickly returns from her reverie. He explains that they can make pan pipes, maybe even a basic woodwind or flute. His admiration for Viv’s quiet focus overspills as she identifies an opportunity to help her daughter directly, storming away to their house as Hugo and Nina pluck reeds.
By the time they have amassed a fine selection, Viv has returned with an array of tools. Hugo mourns the subduing effect of the woman’s life as mother and child share excitement for the task, their creativity feeding off one another. He guides them through assembling simple pan pipes, watches Nina‘s understanding blossom that this simple instrument will serve as a reliable tuning tool. His heart might burst as she explains this to her mum, sees the woman look at her daughter like a hero. As the pair, thick as thieves, begin work on a flute, Hugo realises he has nothing more to add.
He waits for a pause in their excited exchange, offers a gentle “I’d best leave you to it” but doesn’t get through the phrase before Nina cannonballs into him, hugging him tightly. He grins, remembers Viv’s concerns late. As he looks up he sees the woman smiling through tears, feels her silent thanks. It simplifies things knowing that Nina has such a fierce ally at home, one who believes in her so fully. And the glimmer, that an older, more light-hearted version of their relationship might be revivified by music. Suddenly, it’s harder to be detached about this. At least, he thinks, he’s left Nina in good stead until his true gifts arrive.
He reaches the village Hall, seeing Rian returning with the hunters. They have what Hugo takes to be a good haul between them. The big man, then in turn Durn and a somewhat pale Marek, wave in his direction. Hugo’s quite surprised that the youth, still walking in the careful manner of the old and infirm, would join the hunt, but his peers are close by him. Should Marek waver even slightly, his friends are monitoring his progress. The sickly man looks happy, though, despite carrying what can only be another offering from the Filthstink goblins.
It’s unsurprising that the little horrors are so dedicated to Rian’s peace plan. The big man had informed the village that any vermin of which they would ordinarily dispose would serve nicely as a goblin’s lunch. As the news filtered through the community, there was a daily boon being collected for the tribe. In response, the ‘Stinkers were redoubling their efforts to make their side of the ‘trades’ remotely fair.
The hunters split off as they near the hall, where Hugo has spotted Thae and Anuk. The pair are across a table from one another, Thae looking flushed and joyful. As Hugo and Rian slide in beside them, Anuk pre-empts his question, her face full of amusement. “Well, you missed Thae here performing a service.” She eyes the cleric, now blushing furiously. Her tone loses her standard mocking edge as she adds “It was very good; very uplifting, Thae.”
The half-elves regard one another, Thae’s face a picture of fulfilment. “Thank you, Anuk. It must seem silly to you.” The diplomat, as ever, mortgaging any possible compliment or merit. The pale girl doesn’t miss a beat, replies evenly “Not silly at all. You believe in the benevolence of your Goddess, and these people could use some hope.” Hugo feels compelled to jump in, if only to be eclipsed less by the normally hostile Anuk. “Besides, it’s not like you’re ramming it down their throats, Thae. Didn’t they come to you?” Rian doesn’t add to the pile-on, simply sits looking uncomfortable as he seems to when the arcane or spiritual is discussed.
Possibly grateful to interrupt the topic, the big man notices that the hunters and Bertak have assembled awkwardly nearby. Thae looks happy to duck back below their scrutiny, despite reflecting pleasure from their support. Durn clears his throat, steps towards Rian as he holds out a plain looking longbow and a quiver stuffed with arrows. The big man radiates scarlet embarrassment beneath his tousled hair and beard, but Hugo feels this humanises Durn’s halting delivery. “Rian, we ‘ave some…gifts for all of you, but me and the boys we…” The other young men shuffle behind him, egging him on while unwilling to be spotlighted.
This social anxiety pantomime seems perfectly suited as Rian takes the (perfectly regular, to Hugo’s eye) bow like a treasure, stiffly thanks the group. Bertak steps forward, Hugo assumes to hand the woodsman another gift. Instead, the smith proudly presents Hugo with a slim metal device. He takes the thing, confusion on his face. The device has a handle wrapped in leather, otherwise seems like a screw with a nut on the end. He smiles, not wishing to appear ungrateful, as Bertak laughs and directs him to Rian as the instigator. The big man grabs the device, demonstrating that the cover, the ‘nut’ has a shaped hole that aligns with a similar slot in the tube. A ball of iron sits, tightly fitted into both rod and slot.
Hugo transitions from bafflement to delight as Rian instructs him to “do the light magic” to the iron ball, then twists the ‘nut’ to completely obscure it. How, he thinks, can this fit with the man’s discomfort with the arcane, with his social ineptitude? This straightforward man designed a compact bullseye lantern, perfect for a magical sneak like Hugo. The remainder of the villagers’ gifts are for Hugo, bittersweet at best. As with Rian’s new bow, he can’t imagine the bedroll, the rope and other practical supplies as anything other than belongings abandoned by those lost to the woods and Thaesurala’s birth pangs. He hopes that he adequately reflects his gratitude for the generosity of the simple community.
He feels a pang of guilt, realising that Thae and Anuk received nothing from this whip-round, immediately rethinks his logic. Thae is beaming as though nothing more pleasing could be imagined nor experienced. Anuk, he worries, looks cagey, brewing anger but he realises she is gazing beyond him. Atheran parts the group of hunters, who cough and filter away as their leader looks to be ready to deliver grim news.
Hugo steels himself.
