Chapter Eight

This village didn’t seem to differ much from the one that became such a home to me. Wooden palisades encircle the buildings, and a gate allows for access to the village proper. Houses are spread out somewhat haphazardly, with a space for activities in the center. I didn’t think my experiences here would prove terribly exciting. That all changed soon into my walk with the drake handler, however. Because while I originally asked him about his creatures more out of boredom and slight interest than anything else, he quickly showed there was immense depth to the beasts, as well as immense heights. So in a large open space, very close to the village, I found myself being proved wrong very efficiently

“Is this safe!” I yell at the handler from the back of a particularly rowdy drake. He shrugs and grins at my plight.

“Should be! Though poor Bertha here didn’t get ‘nuff food lately, so maybe skip the mouth ya hear?” he says, the grin betraying his teasing attitude. While I’m consciously aware that these drakes are well trained and they’re not violent monsters to start with, my body still reacts as if I’m being hunted. Adrenaline courses through my body and my heart spikes. The energy pumping in my veins nearly forces me to laugh, the chuckle that escapes my lips soon turns into manic laughter and I can see the handler shake his head at my antics.

He can go stuff himself, this is terrifying and exhilarating. After a stuffy day of traveling, I don’t mind some exercise, though perhaps this is more than I bargained for. The drake that is so lovingly named Bertha is enjoying our playtime as well, and she’s burning off whatever excess energy she had left. Which turned out to be quite a lot, so I’m now trying to stabilize myself while she’s jumping around like a puppy. Except she’s quite a lot bigger than even a large horse, so I’m jostled around like a sack of potatoes. The big girl is enjoying it though and I’d be lying if I said I hated it. That is, until my foot slips and I’m launched into the air. Now, a fall has never killed someone before, but as I start my uncontrolled descent I’m reminded that the rapid deceleration when hitting the ground is most definitely dangerous.

With laughter still ripping free from my lungs, I act on raw instinct and try to cushion my fall with some blasts of air. My efforts prove mostly successful, but I would have still received major injuries if it wasn’t for Bertha herself catching me with her tail. For such a large animal she’s deceptively nimble. My opinion of her rises, and even more so when I catch her guiltily avoiding my eyes, well aware of the danger her movements caused. How can I be mad at such a tender heart for long, her cute manner of acting melting whatever anger came from my perilous situation.

After all, how many near-death situations have happened in the last three days? I’ve stopped keeping track after the third time. As I just proved I can handle another just fine. It does make me reluctant to climb on again though, but fortunately, Bertha forgives me easily as I rub her chin.

“That was a mite dangerous, huh lad?” he casually states, as I wasn’t one wrong move away from breaking my neck.

“Just a little I guess…” I hesitantly say, unwilling to antagonize a man that works so closely with beasts of this caliber. He guffaws and slaps my back. I give an awkward smile in response.

“I’ll be heading into the village now though, see you soon enough I’m sure,” I tell him and walk off. He makes a noise that’s somewhere in between a grunt and a chuckle. Already busy with Bertha and the other drakes.

My little walk won’t last very long, the village is still close by and the gates will remain open until night anyway. But there’s a chance they won’t let me in after dark and I might even get arrested if they feel like it. Sneaking in after dark is mighty suspicious, although I’m sure the teenagers that live here disagree.

A guard patrols along the palisade and two more are protecting the gate from behind it. A raised platform behind it allows them to take cover easily while simultaneously enabling them to keep watch easier. When I pass through the gate I now see that they each have an unstrung bow next to them. Stacks of arrows are lying in neatly tied bundles under a small roof. Doubtlessly these things would barely give pause to a drake like Bertha, but bandits and smaller creatures could certainly be repelled with some precise aiming. Even the bear whose life I took would not be willing to assault while being peppered with arrows.

The road leads me deeper into the village and the houses start huddling closer together for every meter I walk. The closer I get to the center, the more I find that they built their dwellings much denser than I had expected, this village might have a significantly larger population count than I originally thought.

I never did learn the name of the village I originally stayed in, but Percy called this one Lorvia, and I expect it to have more than four times as many villagers judging by the number of front doors. While it should still be called a village due to its rural location, in terms of people living here it could feasibly be called a town I believe.

Makes me wonder how populated the capital is, and also the size of the city that Percy’s dad runs. If this is still a village then a city must be significantly bigger in every metric I assume. Although perhaps it doesn’t quite work that way either. With a thud, I’m forcibly wrested out of my thoughts and I glare at the ball responsible. The leather construction gives no reaction but the kid that kicked it is shouting an apology from afar.

“Are you okay mister?!” A brown-haired kid runs up to me as he asks this. I wave him off.

“I’m fine, it didn’t hurt,” I say as I smile at the boy. The ball has rolled behind me and I turn to roll it over to him. Unfortunately, he had the same idea and my youthful instinct kicks in when the situation sinks in. A quick movement leveraging my larger legs steals the ball from right under him. I pass it between my feet, hoping he’ll take the bait, but he just looks at me confused. I stop passing the ball back and forth and look at him in turn.

“Do you not know football?” I ask him, the idea foreign in my head. I was never all that athletically inclined but I had never heard of a kid that didn’t even know football. Although I knew plenty that couldn’t shoot a ball to save their lives, I counted myself among them.

“Football?” he just asks quizzically. And my heart shatters at the sound. The poor kid never learned the joy of kicking a ball back and forth with a friend? Or is it just the competition that he hasn’t heard of? I suppose just kicking a ball back and forth isn’t exactly football exclusive. I pick up the ball at my feet and hand it over.

“What were you playing then?” I question. He lights up at the question and starts enthusiastically explaining the game he and the other kids standing further down the road were enjoying. I don’t quite follow the convoluted explanation but I gather that it does involve kicking the ball, just away from other people instead of towards them. Aiming might be a little difficult for them then.

Judging the distance toward the other kids I decide even my lanky body can make that shot. My foot kicks out and the ball flies towards them, unfortunately, my aim is quite a bit more pinpoint than I would have liked and it snipes the taller boy right in the head. I sprint towards him, concerned for his health when he pops back up like a gyroscope. The stars in his eyes are not from the impact but from admiration instead.

“How did you do that!” he screams at me while running full tilt towards me. Not slowing down even as he gets close. He tackles me and attaches himself to my leg. While I relive some flashbacks from doing community service at a daycare he’s entranced with my leg, and the foot attached.

“Hey kid, I can’t show you if you’re glued to me,” I explain and he lets go with some reluctance, acting as though the secret to life can be found in my limbs. By the time I’m untangled a different kid has already deposited the ball at my feet and there’s no escape to be found. Well, it’s not like I am needed elsewhere and I need to pass the time regardless.

“The trick is to use the inside of your foot, not the front,” I explain while I pass the ball between my feet. The simple motion mesmerizes the children until the bravest of the lot, which might be head trauma, takes the ball from me to try himself. He forgot about his friends though and they’re not about to let him have free reign. A fierce fight threatens to erupt but I intervene before any damage is done.

“No violence!” I tell them, “Steal the ball using your feet, and only your feet!” I add to still give them an outlet.

The kids follow my words faithfully and start kicking the shins and feet of the poor ball-owner. My face goes deadpan at the sight.

“No violence means no kicking people! Don’t touch them, only touch the ball,” I elaborate.

Some tongue clicking and glares later I finally have a group of children play a ball game that can be very loosely interpreted as football. My work as an otherworldly invader is done, I’ve imparted the pillar behind children’s games, applying your foot to the ball in a somewhat controlled manner.

I take a few steps back to witness the carnage in its full glory. The competition is fierce but they’re keeping to my words and I don’t see anyone trying to inflict real damage on their opponents. Physical damage that is, because these kids don’t hold back with their words at all. It’s teaching me something about how inventive kids are with some of the playground insults they come up with. Calling someone a stinky poo is one thing, but telling someone they won’t ever feel how soft a bear is cut to the soul. With no reference as to what's appropriate, I leave them be. Until I hear a kid start attacking another boy’s mom. Real men don’t insult mothers, that’s a sacred line. I want to yell to catch his attention but another is faster.

“Timothy John Derter!” a strict-sounding voice cuts through the noise. The kid goes pale at the sound. Another boy snickers. The young lady, who's clearly Timothy’s mother walks over and grabs her son by the arm. With a finger raised and waving in front of his face, I get to witness a scolding that has my own back straightened.

The other kids snicker but not for long, one catches sight of a herd of other moms walking towards them, and most of them start sprinting. Some towards their mothers, others just run away. It’s a glorious sight to see and more than makes up for any inconvenience they may have caused. One of the ladies walks over towards me and I offer her a smile, she returns one in kind.

“Are you part of the merchant’s caravan?” she questions politely and I nod at her words.

“I don’t work for James but I am traveling alongside them, I was just playing with the kids to pass the time,” I explain to her. She relaxes a little bit, I guess it’s always stressful to see your own offspring play with strangers, probably more so in a village. Although this one is big enough that not everyone knows everyone, they all still recognize each other. A stranger in their midst is cause for celebration and concern alike.

While their worries are justified, it’s always a bit rough to be under suspicion like this. Not that we’ll be here long enough for it to matter either. But what twisted soul enjoys making enemies? Or even just leaving a bad impression?

“We were just getting ready for dinner but the children always forget the time,” she says, and embarrassingly enough that’s when I notice the golden sheen in the sky, courtesy of the sun setting slowly behind the horizon. Lunch seems a long way away all of a sudden and my stomach rumbles. The mother chuckles.

“Since you’re a traveler, would you like to join us?” she ventures, but I wave her off.

“Thank you very much for the offer, but I have my own food and I suspect I’m leaving people waiting already,” I say with a remorseful smile. She seems genuinely disappointed at my refusal, what a kind person.

“Well, I wish you the best of luck then. I wouldn’t want to keep you from meeting up with friends.”

And at those words I start walking away, turning back to wave at the kids. They enthusiastically wave back. I wonder who managed to claim the ball in the end? I think back on their contest as my feet take me towards the village’s center. The original destination that I never actually arrived at. Luckily it isn’t far off and when I arrive I see a big tree decorating the middle. The true village center, both physically and spiritually. Although perhaps not quite as accurate for the physical location, from what I saw this village is not spherical and is rather lopsided in fact. A natural consequence of having a single entrance and exit into the village proper I imagine.

James and Percy both are standing at a stall, selling primarily silk and leather. Easy enough to transport I suppose. Part of me expected fruit but that must be very hard to keep fresh, even with magic involved. It’s not like high-level mages would enjoy cooling fruit all day. The cost involved would mean that, aside from potentially some very exotic fruits, it wouldn’t be profitable.

I approach them and wave to Percy in particular, he’s the first to notice me although part of that is James being in a passionate verbal exchange. He’s even distracted enough that he allows Percy to walk away from the stall when he comes over to greet me.

“Where have you been?” he asks curiously, then notices how I’m looking at James’s discussion and sighs.

“They’ve been going at it for at least fifteen minutes now, the other guy is the village chief. It’s about where we can host our feast.” That confuses me.

“We’re having a feast?” I question Percy, he chuckles slightly.

“Technically no, but we’re having dinner with the whole caravan and that will inevitably turn into a banquet of sorts. It happens every time,” he clarifies. When I think back on how much sound came from their side of the walls last night, I kind of get what he’s talking about.

“So the mayor doesn’t want him wreaking havoc?” I ask, it would make sense for a village chief to want to keep the peace at night. Percy’s face twists into a delighted grin. I raise my eyebrows at him but he remains silent.

“C’mon then, out with it. What’s so funny?”

“The chief wants him to turn it into a proper feast and host it right here in the center of town,” he tells me and my face must have turned into quite a spectacle because he’s looking insufferably smug. I glare at him but he’s unfazed at it.

“Why would the mayor want him to hold a feast here of all places? Wouldn’t that be quite disruptive?” Percy knowingly goes along with my subtle attempt at changing the topic.

“That’s the thing, apparently they were already planning a celebration. It’s the chief’s birthday tomorrow and they tend to celebrate those the night before here or so I’m told. The rub of it is that he’s trying to make James bring the goods. He’s framing it as a birthday gift. James is having none of it. Would go against his merchant spirit to suffer a loss like that.”

With the situation now clear to me, there seems to be an obvious solution to the problem. I explain my suggestion to Percy whose eyes widen. I can almost see him doing the math and he’s liking the result. With sparkling eyes, he goes over to James while I watch from the side. It’s rather difficult to get the merchant’s attention but eventually, the young man manages to intrude on their conversation. When he explains my ideas I can see the crafty trader make the same realization as Percy did. The village chief, on the other hand, goes slightly pale but is forced to accept, unless he wants to cancel his own birthday party. His pride won’t allow that, however, and so he acquiesces to their demands.

The merchant and his apprentice waste no time in setting up the grounds for the festivities as I proposed, refining the plan as they go. In no time at all, they have more stalls up and running and workers are gathering the foodstuffs inside a marked area. Drinks are collected much the same and I can see vats of alcohol making their way into the plaza. Deposited safely behind a desk.

Anyone who’s not busy carrying things is set to work with preparations as James and Percy saw fit. With the promise of our impromptu festival as a reward, they work with renewed vigor.