Previously…
On the long road to Farhaven, the party braved a beastmen attack in the hills, and Sepp and Skivor found themselves trapped by a strange, old forest. Now, back on the road, Sepp’s vision in the woods has affected him…
Check out the Chapter Index for all previous installments
Sepp’s mind rose with languid motion from sleep, the line between dream and waking remaining blurred as thought began to flow. He was looking at his dream as it began to fade and pass into memory: winged people leaving clear trails in grey air. There was a final quick rush and Sepp emerged into full consciousness with a thought—a mission, already clear in his head. He wanted to thank that Manatarian sun god.
How best to approach this? In Silverden they had custodian dead, the spirits of their relatives. It was common practice to retain a rapport with them after death as they continued on in their duties as ordinators. Some places, especially further south, were very elaborate. From what he could gather, it seemed pretty similar up here in Voerlund, too, only it was more like being friendly with your neighbours than family. What did Mul Manatar have? Fire and a sun god, that much he knew. Had there been mentions of others? He couldn’t remember, at least not right now. He had seen the Manatarian merchant Saror—there was another thought, learn to say her name right—perform night time rites. Maybe he could do the same? He could get Skivor in on it, too, he did say they owed the deity after all.
As he mused on this, Sepp found himself more than a little surprised at his newfound fervour. He had always been a spiritually aware individual, one had to be in Silverden, it was just how life was, and being an apothecary who spent extended periods of time in the wilds infused one with a kind of awe of the world. In truth, he was primed for it, but S’eth, he had actually seen spirits, wouldn’t that affect anyone? Especially in such circumstances as his?
The wagon was quiet, the soporific spell of the murky winter woods reducing their chatter to short exchanges, and each of them—save their Dunmarrow companion—dozed in and out, until the call came from Captain Karel they were taking a short rest. It had been, apparently, some several hours since the incident in the forest. Funny, thought Sepp, there was a kind of distance to it. Was that normal? The attack on the village...well he wasn’t sure how that felt yet. He left those thoughts behind when he stretched his way out of the wagon and found the caravan in a twilit expanse of thin woodland whose tall, leafless trees reached right up with long, scraggly boughs and rake-thin boles. The grass was long and brown, but not in the way grass dies. With the wispy navy sky behind the trees, this hinterland had a stark beauty that contrasted with the deep, cold green of the forest within. The land fell away into darkness far off, naught could be seen save for the impressions of low rolling hills, whose fragrant scent came on the lazy breeze.
Sepp excused himself as the others sat down to share rations. The bloodless, shock white features of the northmen who stood vigil were wraithlike in the spitting torchlight. Not too far off, a few wagons up, Sepp found the Manatarian. She was seated on a log alongside her companion, Baruch, who gave a short nod to Sepp and continued on with fixing some kind of leather bag. The apothecary leaned in and gave a small, informal bow to the merchant as he greeted her in his best Voerlunder. She seemed quite surprised, and not a little flattered, and bade him sit down. She had clay red skin, quite vibrant in the fire light, short black hair, round, soft features and big gold eyes—Voerlunder eyes. Around her shoulders was a curious mantle with star-like designs.
“You are so polite in the west!” she said with a laugh, in pitch perfect Voerlunder. “In Mul Manatar, we only wave.” She was much clearer in speech than Sepp felt he was. She had spoken earlier in a Merchant’s Tongue that traders often used in his part of Silverden. Merchants needed to know all kinds, he supposed. “How can I help? You have questions, don’t you?”
“Ah, I do,” Sepp said with a slightly embarrassed smile, though he wasn’t sure in himself why he felt that way, “well, first I suppose I would like to know...how to say your name right? I never quite got it,” he finished with an only mildly forced laugh.
“Oh Manatarian is very unique, don’t worry, it took Baruch about, ah, what was it? A month to get it right?” she turned with a teasing smile to the Voerlunder who only glanced up from under his brow and back down. “It’s like this: sahr-oor.” Sepp mouthed the sounds himself, following her example. “It’s much easier for Silverden people to get. In Voerlund they say it like ser-er and it’s too harsh!” she said leaning in with a jovial look, her eyes turned back towards the pale gold man who could be seen shaking his head lightly. “You come looking for language lessons...I don’t think I got your name, actually!”
“My name is Sepp. Or Seppesh. Everyone calls me Sepp, though.”
“So, Sepp! You want to know…?” she trailed off.
“Well, I, uh, I actually wanted to know about the sun spirits—or the sun god.” Her brow raised in interest. “I wanted to give thanks somehow for them helping us out of those strange woods, Skivor and myself not being from your land and all,” he said rubbing his forehead in something like dim embarrassment.
“Oh! No no, our gods do not ask for payment! It is not like Voerlund, we do not have land spirits. The sunmoths,” and Sepp suppressed his surprise at a name so intensely similar to the one he had guessed, “they are beams of the sun itself. So they are guides and teachers. If you want to say thank you, follow their guidance, and learn. Sometimes they are very subtle, but you will see it in time.”
You will see it in time.
The image of a lithe humanoid in the air, and of how it looked back after himself and Skivor, flashed across Sepp’s mind.
“You can ask them for guidance any time, you know! All they ask is you listen. I don’t know how that would work with your Serpent, though, I’m unfamiliar with Silverden faith—but it seems very interesting!”
“Have you been through there much? Silverden, I mean.” Sepp asked.
“Baruch and I, we visited the capital a few times—beautiful! But so strange to us, not like Lundermark. A little more like Baletor, actually. So much faith, everywhere. But there—in Baletor—they have every god. I’m sure the four merchants could tell you about that,” she nodded ahead to where those four were talking and making excited gesticulations. “Have to learn many things to ask and thank the mountain. But it’s worth it, right Baruch?” The Voerlunder gave a deep nod in affirmation, and he meant it. “We never learned enough about the Serpent, do you make offerings? Or have you landwights?”
“Ah, no, we have custodians. Custodian dead. Spirits of our kin. I suppose we do make offerings, but more...well, gifts for family and friends, you know? The World Serpent, no, we say we meditate on the coils—on the world and such, signs and omens. It’s hard to describe. But I suppose it’s kind of like learning from sunmoths,” he said with a smile, and she returned it.
“Yes! Silverden and Mul Manatar, we would get on well, I think.”
There was a pause for a second, as so often happens between strangers on such subjects.
“You know, we have the Serpent back home, but Voerlund’s one. Baruch taught me that. I think it’s the same in Baletor. But again, those four could tell you more. Doesn’t hurt to have gods on the road.”
“I think I’m starting to learn that,” Sepp chuckled. “Have gods on the road…” he said, half to himself, trailing off. The thought flashed across his mind: better than hexes.
The apothecary made a somewhat rushed and fumbling goodbye, but Saror seemed to get the idea, and let him be on his way. Baruch glanced up and nodded. Sepp had it on his mind to speak to the Baletorians—what he was actually going to ask, he hadn’t thought of yet. Learn aught about whatever they had there? And what, become some kind of god-monger? Before he could stop himself, he was already there, and seemed to be interrupting them. They had been sitting on the ground, passing something between each other—Sepp saw now it was a pipe, and from their general direction there wafted a sickly, musty smell. He knew it almost immediately as wine lotus. The four merchants scrabbled around at his approach and began to laugh as they saw him.
“Sorry, my friend! The northmen, we were afeared you might be one!” Sepp could understand why. He himself did not have a terribly positive opinion of the stuff, despite what Silverden’s own colleges and high monastery said. He’d seen more than one case of its use gone wrong. The merchants seemed to catch on rather quickly and a hand bearing a pipe was retracted before something could be said.“It is for Oros rituals, you understand, of course.”
“God of the mountain!”
“Brings us to the mountain, you see?”
They were all chattering away what sounded like excuses, but Sepp thought he wasn’t really one to judge when he was carrying around enough poison to bring a whole village down fairly quickly. So, he raised his hands and laughed in an attempt to dissuade any further apologies.
“May I sit?” he gestured to the short, bare grass beside them. They each said yes over each other, eagerly motioning him down.
Sepp found four pairs of golden eyes—much like Saror had—trained directly on him. They weren’t talking though. They were waiting for him.
“So, ah,” he stammered out, “you heard about what happened in the, ah, the forest?”
“Oh, yes yes, we did, yes!” They didn’t talk quite as well Saror. Clear, but stilted. Sepp found himself speaking likewise. But he was here now, no getting away. “We heard that it was someone lost?”
“It was not the merchant woman from Mul Manatar?” one of them said, the name of the city receiving the full brunt of an accent Sepp had never heard before.
“She was lost, yes, but I was also lost, and so was a friend of mine.” Concerned looks passed between the four. Genuine, he was sure.
“Ooh, bad woods these. Heavy, their air.”
“We needed some lightness, you understand? To feel back at home.” The tone was apologetic.
“Well, that’s actually what I wanted to ask about!” he said, shooting glances to each of them. “I want to know about...Oros, you said?”
“God of the mountain Baletor!” one them piped up excitedly.
“You see, it was sun spirits who helped us leave the forest—when we were lost in it. I saw them.” A different looked was passed quickly around then, and this Sepp was sure was genuine surprise. “Saror—the Manatarian merchant—she said it was good to have gods on the road, and, I know I’m not from Baletor, but I would like to know about Oros.”
This seemed to set the four of them thinking. After a short moment of false starts, one of them began to speak.
“Oros is the god in the mountain. Great god of the mountain. God of all things on the mountain, and around the mountain.”
“Many ways to worship Oros—us from the mountain always try to keep the mountain close, you see? It keeps Oros close to us, and it keeps us close to Oros. Do rites in our heads, which are at the mountain.”
“Foreigners,” a third began, they spoke almost in sequence, “do not usually worship Oros, not that much, only on the mountain. Because, you see, we have every god in the world in Baletor!”
“Saror said you had every god there!” Sepp said, getting a word in.
“Oh yes yes, we have every god in Baletor, all people come to Baletor and their gods are welcome, and we have gods no one else has, like Oros and Imaal.” At that moment, a Dunmarrow had come up to them, and was idly inspecting the enthusiastic spiritual chatter.
“We have great respect for Imaal’s paladins,” said the northman, ghostly face half in shadow. “Righteous warriors, and learned. We in this band have marched beside them in the past. Some Dunmarrow take to the faith when in other lands, but will not say so,” he chuckled oddly.
“Paladins! Yes, good folk, good people, but, ah, bad customers!” one the four laughed with a tinge of nervousness.
“They don’t like the guilds so much, you see?” one said to Sepp.
“Few do,” the Dunmarrow said, not hiding his contempt. “Gentlemen, we must move soon, return now to your wagons. The night has settled and shall not lift.”
Back inside his own wagon, talk flowed a little more freely now that everyone had had a chance to stretch their legs without threat of being swallowed up by strange woods.
“Collecting gods now, are you, lad?” Skivor asked wryly.
“You’re becoming a regular sorcerer, Sepp,” said Barosh with a friendly prod of his elbow.
“Hey,” said the apothecary, sitting up,” “I've been called that once already back in Saumark by what I think was a genuine magician.”
“Really playing up that Silverden holy man stereotype,” Seva laughed.
“If it gets us all help out here on the road-”
“I thought that was what the northmen were for, no?” said Skivor.
“It is, but us, nowhere to go, the more help the better, right?”
“Those Baletor men, they’re an odd bunch,” Skivor said as he gazed out beyond the black wagon canvas. “Just be careful who, or what, you accept help from out here, eh?”