Not Too Far From Home

[Deleted]

Okay, this was harder than he thought.

Only yesterday did he leave Cahalia City. What day was that, again? When did the traders come by from Hek'Cruica? He'd have to watch out for them. Where was he now? He was thirsty. Of course, the road followed the river through the forest. But he didn't trust it, he wanted to save the good water as long as possible. He'd never seen anyone drink river water and survive. Then again, he'd never seen people drink the river water. He'd never really been this far from home, and back home they just drank from the lake.

On the road, the horseshoes and wagon wheels had dug deep and made it bumpy. The road was way too near the river to be good. Too much dirt, no stones. Which way was Northeast? In the morning, make sure the sun was rising in your eyes, they said, but that didn't matter until Hek'Cruica. If that didn't work, always camp on the right side of the road and head right, that way you'll always be in the right. Or camp of the left and go left, if you want to leave. That's how to do it. But the river was always on the right, that's the easiest way to get out of Cahalia and into Hek'Cruica.

And if you ever want to come back home... we'll welcome you back, honey. We love you... bye...

He'd miss them, he'd miss them so much. But everyone needs to leave home. Every boy needs to leave home one day and make it on his own, any fool knew that. Out here, the sun was hard in the day, and the moon made the nights cold. It wasn't like at home, where there was always a fire in the hearth, and he could always have shade available when the forge got too hot, or when the tanner's fumes got too heavy, or when the potter's wheel... Well, yeah, life at home was hard, too. But he'd gotten so many skills. And they'd help him out here.

Out here...

Those skills, maybe they'd help him more in Cruinthe. For now, he just had to get there, and get there alone. He'd always loved nature, and now he had to hope It would love him back. He would treat it kindly, only take what he needed.

He was getting tired... and hungry. But he was in Cahalia, the land of plenty. He'd need to save all the other food for when he got deep into Hek'Cruica.

He saw a bush by the side of the road. He wondered if its berries were any good...

-roll Herbalist I to detect poison-

[Cheph]

The berry is poison!

DO NOT WANT!

[Deleted]

Ohhh, no, those were definitely the wrong berries. He remembered somethin' Greta told him when he was working in her garden, about the little bitty white ones, and how those berries were totally not cool to eat. Something about how those were nature's favorite berries, and She (nature, that was) didn't want people corruptin' them. There was some legend that went along with that story, but he couldn't remember.

Okay, so... no berries for Rigel. These probably grew all around this area, so he'd need to go quite a bit farther to get any good berries. THAT DIDN'T HELP THE STOMACH THING. He looked in his pack. So much good bread, so much deliciousness that mum had packed away with them. Be sure to eat this, honey, we know you sometimes forget, that's what she said. Oh, he wouldn't need to remember just to eat this delicious bread.

He chewed on some of it as he walked down the road. Okay, even just chewing helped.

This wasn't fun. See, journeys weren't half the adventure if nothing fun was really happening. It was utterly boring out here on the road. Oh right! He remembered the story.

Once upon a time, Nature was sitting in her pond eating berries. The birds would fly over and land on her shoulder, sit there and wait, and she would feed them the berries gladly. But when Man came, he waded through the pool, and grabbed the berries from her hands. She cursed the berries, draining the bright colors from them so that they were white. When Man ate the berries, they would drain the color from his insides, and he would die. But Nature gave the beautiful colors to the birds, so that when they ate the berries, the color would balance it out.

He heard a caravan coming down the road behind him. "Hello!" he shouted to the man at the front horse, "Can I please ride with the caravan until Hek'Cruica?"

He looked the boy up and down and decided there was no threat in the statement. He wouldn't have listened, if the boy hadn't've said Please. "Sure," he said, "If you've got something to contribute."

Rigel searched his pockets. "Nothing, sir. But I know how to set up a camp, and I can tell stories by the fireside."

The man smiled. He was touched by the boy addressing him as Sir. He'd never heard that title before; everyone was always rude to the driver. "Well, I suppose we can find a spot for you. Here, ride with me."

Rigel smiled, and hopped up on the horse's back. "Thank you," he said.

(Learning: Relationships, Legends, Herbalist)

[Deleted]

It turned out that the outrider's name was Dale. He was the father of a few children in the caravan; the kids all rode in a few covered wagons near the back, along with the camp mothers. After a few minutes, Dale decided he trusted Rigel enough to take him to the back, slowing down to let the others go by as another outrider replaced his spot. Mostly, other men dragged along wagons of goods, but a few women could ride, too. After some rows, the wagons took them up, and Dale let Rigel swing over to enter the wagon.

He came down between the legs of the other kids, who were somewhat surprised to see him. They helped him up, and he explained all that had happened. They told him of their lives, talking mostly amongst themselves all about camp life, and what they were doing--where they were going, where they came from. He finally told them he was really heading to Cruinthe--and they looked at him like he was crazy. Heading to Cruinthe? "But, Rigey, it's dangerous there," said one of the boys.

He smiled. "I'm tough," he had said, "Don't worry about me." He started regaling them with tales of Old Cruinthe and the nature of the world, and they told him the ones they knew--local legends (which are really just rumors trumped up by ignorance) and their parents' own myths, which mostly were about caravan life. He took the barest details from their story and filled them in, creating lush worlds where all the characters they'd known in their youth were fairytale versions. The old man in the field was a wizard, the windmill his tower; the homeless man who lived by the bridge was a misunderstood troll.

They quickly became friends, and that night, he helped them set up camp. They showed him how. Pitching a tent was easy--just stick a long wooden stake deep in the ground at either end of a big sheet of canvas, then nail the edges of the canvas into the soil with shorter stakes. Bigger tents were more complicated--they had an inside structure. They took the wheels off some of the wagons, and turned them over. Those made "walls". They pulled the other wagons inside the big tent, stuck the longest stake in the middle, and stretched the canvas over the whole thing. Some ropes were tied to the central pole and stretched out to the edges, then were tied around other small stakes lodged in the ground.

They held a calm party inside the big tent, then retired to their tents. Rigel had laughed at jokes and supplied a couple of his own--but mostly, the others did tricks that they knew well, and talked about things they each knew. He began to realize they were really just like a family. If he traveled long enough with them, they would probably let him become part of it, too. If he traveled long enough with them, he could probably start a family there. A couple of girls were his age, unmarried. One was Dale's eldest daughter, Kell. She's given him a couple looks through the day and night that, for the most part, he hadn't understood.

At the end of the night, they all retired to their tents, and he waited in the big tent. He could sleep there, if he needed to. But Dale came over as more and more streamed out. "You know, boy, they won't let you sleep in here," he said. "You'll need your own tent."

Rigel at him, and around the emptying tent. Besides Dale's family, only a few others were there. "My own tent?"

"I think," he said, "You can either have one to keep, or find one to share. Your choice."

Kell stood up. "Dad," she said, "Couldn't I--"

"No," Dale said. His voice was suddenly hard. "No, I think it'd be best if Rigel gets his own tent."

Rigel was confused at whatever had just happened, but it seemed that quite suddenly the mood had shifted. Maybe they weren't as open as he'd thought to welcoming him into the family. Maybe it was true, that this was only an intermission in his journey, and he'd have to continue on foot from wherever they dropped him off nearest Cruinthe. They definitely weren't heading that far...

Dale gave him a canvas and all the stakes he needed, and left the big tent with his family. Kell gave a look right before she left, another look that Rigel really didn't understand. He shrugged, and left the other way. He went to a part of the clearing, found a spot big enough, and threw the stakes and canvas down. But for some reason, he felt like something was missing. Others had been helping him the whole time, and now he would have to set it up on his own. Come on, something was missing. He started trying to set it up, which was much more difficult than when he'd been able to have another set of hands holding things still. The canvas kept slipping off the big stakes. He was completely failing. And something still felt like it was missing...

Of course! He'd need some cushion between him and the ground. Duh. He thought he'd seen some back inside the big tent, so he went back--and Kell was there, alone. She had a blanket in her hands, but looked like she'd been waiting a while. "I thought it was a bit cold." He nodded, and went over to grab a blanket from right beside her. "You know, if you do want to share a tent..."

He froze. Oh, that's what it meant. He didn't understand girls' intentions very well. He stammered. "I... I was just... I needed something between me and the ground. And the canvas keeps slipping." He wanted to let her save some face.

She nodded, rolling with it. "Not going so well setting up by yourself, huh?"

He laughed. "Well, yes." He checked around. "And, besides that, I'd rather not get Dale angry--"

"He wouldn't need to find out."

"He would, you know he would. But I'm not going to stay on the caravan long. It wouldn't be right." The anger in her eyes flared up, then softened with understanding. "But if you'd like to help me set up..." He grabbed one of the hard pads from the wall, and gestured to the blanket she was holding.

With her help, it only took nearly ten awkward minutes to set up the tent. After it was ready for him, she stopped him to talk. "We'll be clearing into Hek'cruica by the end of tomorrow. After that, roads are easier, and we'll reach the City just two days after. Then we'll turn wagons east. So if you're sure, you're sure. You want to go to Cruinthe... even with it maybe hittin' war soon."

"War?" Rigel hadn't heard any news from Cruinthe. "War... well, even if there's a war, I'll go anyway. Cruinthe is where I belong, Kell." He put his hand on her shoulder, showing the distance between them. "Maybe someday, if things are different and your caravan comes up into Cruinthe, we'll cross--"

She stopped him with a kiss. "Oh please. You're not gonna break my heart--and it's not time to say good-bye yet." She left him, and muttered (so he could hear) "...noble fuckin' idiot."

He slept alone, but he slept well, and he was alright with that. When morning came, the road met them gently, and Kell sat beside him, holding his hand as they talked with the other covered-wagon kids.

(Learning: Camping, Relationships, Legends)

[Deleted]

“Why have we stopped?”
 He’d heard shouting outside, spreading from the front of the caravan to the rear, and then a bit further back until all had confirmed. He stood up. “We haven’t yet stopped in the daytime,” he whispered, as the wagon rolled to a stop. All the kids were silent, too, and equally curious.


The canvas was spotted lightly with dim light. Out the back of the wagon—and behind a few others—he could see the road, muddy with puddles, blessed by a few dapples of yellowing light. They hadn’t left the Cahalian forest, but the trees had thinned since that morning. “What’s happening?”


“I’m sure it’s noting,” said Kell. They’d been talking the day away. He’d decided he liked her, but he knew he couldn’t risk falling in love with her. “Come, sit down.” Her voice was so calming. She squeezed his hand, as if she’d never let go.


He stood, and crawled out the back of the wagon. Dale was just there, on his horse at the roadside. His eyes flitted over to Rigel. “Back in the carriage, boy.”


Rigel ignored him. “Why are we stopped, sir?”


“Bridge,” said Dale, “Bunch of bandits control it. Goldsaddle’s bargaining, I’m sure. But we’ve so little to bargain with.”

Rigel nodded. The people were poor, and old Goldsaddle—the caravan’s leader—was a mysterious man, who didn’t nearly live up to his name. He was humble and kind, rode as an outrider in the same vestments as Dale, and never spoke above anyone else. He never had made himself out to be any better than the rest, and had—by their stories—often fasted rather than let a single child starve.


He saw the people in their carts as he made his way down to the front of the caravan, walking along the high edge of the road. Bandits? Where there were bandits, there was trouble, and there was fear. The fear was spreading fast as the name “Greenhood” could carry it.


Greenhood. It was a name that he’d grown up knowing, even back in Cahalia City. The Forest’s Keeper. A man who wore a mask of leaves over his face, who dressed like the trees and hid in them, stealing from the most wealthy merchants and giving to the poor, huddled masses on the streets. He’d heard the tales of a great, clever man, so skilled with a longbow he could shoot the wings off a sparrow from fifty leagues. He’d heard the tales, but this man and the legend did not seem to be the same.


The Greenhood Rigel knew worked alone, and stuck to the shadows and the trees. This Greenhood had an entire band of rough-looking men in green behind him. This Forest’s Keeper was out in the open, speaking with Goldsaddle in front of the little stone bridge that ran across the Cahali River. And his mask was just green cotton.


As Rigel neared them, a large bald man stepped out. “It’s best you don’t get any closer, boy.” He towered over Rigel—must’ve been nearly eight feet, with teeth the size of tombstones. “Greenhood’s not a fool.”


“A fool, sir?”


He crossed his arms. “Not a good idea to creep up on the Keeper,” he said, “He’s a bit twitchy.” Rigel planted his feet, and looked around the big man. “Don’t you know who I am?” he asked. His voice was getting deeper and more gravelly by the second.


“Nope,” said Rigel, “I thought the Greenhood worked alone, to steal from the rich and give to the poor, to protect the forest and all the smallfolk.”


“Well yeah,” the big man said, “I heard that too. When I was a boy. I didn’t believe it, neither, but once I was lost in the forest and he helped me. So I joined him, and now he doesn’t work alone.”


“And now he terrorizes the smallfolk,” Rigel said. “Sad how the legends die.”


The big man furrowed his brow and adjusted his head. There was odd quiet between the two. All they heard was the birds chirping, and Greenhood and Goldsaddle’s argument growing louder. Rigel could see Greenhood reaching towards his belt, revealing a cruel-shaped silver dagger.


“Wait,” Rigel said, and pushed past the big guy. He ran towards the two, just as Greenhood pulled out the dagger. “Stop!” Greenhood and Goldsaddle both turned to look at Rigel—just as the hood’s crew was drawing their weapons.


“Hold!” the bandit king said to his band, extending his hand. Rigel stopped in his tracks. He had fifty bows aimed at him. “Boy, you have done a very stupid thing just now. Explain yourself.” Many more than one hundred eyes were on him.


“I thought you only hunted evildoers,” said Rigel.


“Yes,” Greenhood said, “And your Goldsaddle is one. A great, evil robber baron with a legion of bloodthirsty slave warriors.”


Rigel raised an eyebrow. Well, that was bullshit. “I joined to hitchhike just a day or two ago,” he said, “And haven’t seen a single weapon in that time. You must have the wrong man.”
He saw the bandits lower their arms, slowly.

Goldsaddle looked back and forth between the two. “Just as I was saying,” he spoke, very quietly, “We are simple folk, with little to spare. Please let us be.”


Greenhood stood his ground in silence. Rigel could see his teeth grating, the muscles of his jaw flexing as the gears in his head slowly turned a thousand and one possibilities. He turned to his band, instead. “See for yourself, the great trickery of Lord Goldsaddle.” But they seemed doubtful.

Rigel was about to speak, but found himself interrupted. “You know,” said a gravelly voice behind Rigel, “I haven’t robbed one rich man in the ten years I’ve followed you. They’ve all been…” He gestured towards the dirty caravan-people, “All been poor slave armies, as you say. And we don’t ever take ‘em in or nothin’, we just extort their leader. What’s up with that?”


“They’re… They’re supply lines. Could have spies, don’t want to take them in, they’d overpower us,” he said, “Of course.” But it wasn’t convincing anyone anymore.


“There’s women and children here,” said Rigel. “And nothing more than a couple pitchforks between ‘em. You’re just a bully.”


Everyone turned to Rigel again. Greenhood just spat on the ground, even as his men murmured agreement. “Bully?”


“A jerk!” That came from the big man, who was walking past Rigel and up to the hooded ranger.


“Oh come off it, Tim, you can’t turncoat now. I’ve practically raised you—“


Tim towered over Greenhood by at least two heads, and at least two times as wide. When he punched the man in the face, a ripple seemed to shock through the air, and the birds stopped tweeting. “Shut up.” The old Greenhood lay still as a fallen stone on the ground.


He turned to Goldsaddle. “This is my band now,” he said. “I was raised on the myth of the Greenhood, who stole from the rich and gave to the poor. But it was a lie.” He held the small man down with his foot, and ripped the mask off. Underneath was a perfectly-tailored goatee. “I intend to make good where he failed. You may pass freely.”
 The others did not question him.

Rigel waited at the stone bridge, watching Tim dunk his old master in the river and start telling the others the new rules by which they’d abide.
 As he did, the news traveled faster down the line than Rigel could hear. By the time Dale arrived at the stoney bridge, some change had come over the older man. He dismounted, and shook Rigel’s hand. “You're a good man, Rigel,” he said, “One of the last good men on this earth.”


When he leapt back inside the wagon, they asked him to tell them what happened, and he began. “Once upon a time,” he started, “There was a boy named Robin, who was so skilled with a bow…”

(Learning: Legends, Broker, Relationships)

[Deleted]

As the sun set, the thick forest gave way to a sparsely-wooded plains. They set up camp in the largest space they could find near the road without any major thickets. "We're still in Cahalia, right?" Rigel asked Kell, as the wagon came to a stop.

"I think," she said, as he hopped out the rear. "The border hasn't been so well-enforced out here, you know, but Cahalia extends downroad past the forest a bit." After he helped her down, she pulled himself closer to his body than she had before. "Are you going to try and set up your own tent again tonight?"

He was somewhat at a loss for words. "Yeah," he said, "Would you help me..?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes," she said, "Of course. Here..." they got into the camp, and started helping others set up the big tent, first. The tents seemed to go up quicker that night.

The ale was broken out, and Goldsaddle himself declared the celebration in honor of Rigel's deeds. "To Rigel," he said, "Without you, we might not be here tonight!" They drank, and danced and sang and drank some more. Rigel had pats on the back, and everyone laughed and sang along as a cobbler--who fancied himself a bard--made up a song in Rigel's honor. But the ale was poured thick, and by night's end, most had forgotten Rigel's intervention in the day's affair.

Kell hadn't, of course. Near midnight, as the celebrations were only beginning to die down, they stumbled out. Together, they tried to build a tent, but the alcohol made it quite difficult. "No no no," she kept saying, "Put the stake over there--the beam needs to go here--Oh, Rigel, you've put the canvas on diagonally!" By the time the tent had been set, they fell into each other's arms, kissing and laughing, and...

The blur.

A white stag appeared to him, glowing in the moonlight, and bid him follow. He did, though he knew neither from where he was coming or to where he was going. It took him deep into a glade, which became the wood, and into the densest, lushest part of the forest, somewhere beyond the rivers and hills into its own secret, hidden-away agency. The stag hid among the bushes and pushed aside the white berries, always seeming like he had shaken Rigel off the trail, but always waiting until Rigel had caught up.

Finally, after diving through a thorny thicket, he came into a clearing, where a fairy-ring of alabaster mushrooms surrounded a pool of water, moonlit and milky. A woman rose from the waters, her eyes glowing silver, transfixed on him. The stag rested before her, and turned back to Rigel. He felt himself drawn forward by the aura, by her silvery eyes. She spoke to him. "Now, Rigel, now," said the Lady of the Lake--her voice an echo in his head, pure beauty strung into silk, winding around him like a silver net. Her hands outstretched to him and pulled her closer, and then he fell into the pool. His head was hot as fire, his body pulsing with the ethereal energy of the pool, and he was consumed by the lady of the moonshine.

When he awoke, it was the morning-rise, and Kell was gone.

But something had changed. The world itself seemed different. When her hand interlaced with his on the wagon train, it felt more familiar. And she... she was glowing. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and the other kids of the wagon smiled at them. She whispered into his ear... "I love you."

He could not answer her; his only honest response was to brush the inside of her hand with his thumb. looked out the back of the wagon, as the forest died into plains. There was the life he was leaving behind, Cahalia and the forests. But was he so sure of the path ahead? A pain dwelled in the pit of stomach.

What had the dream meant? Why had the lady of the pool, who he knew to be Mother Nature herself, repeated that otherworldly "Now"? He did not understand what it could have possibly meant. Was now the time to seize his adventure and take hold of his dreams? But, he thought, I'm doing just that! I've left Cahalia already...

So far had he gone already... but still, he was not too far from home.

(Learning: Relationships, Maps/Geography, Direction, Camping, Carousing, Legends)