Roots - Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: The Darkest Dawn


Glenn ruffled his curls and leaned back against the wagon. He had sat this way for four days, leaving Denrir to steer the horses from town to town. They had gone to every surrounding town and village alike for miles around in every direction. Mihn, Nomm, and Hyren had seen nothing out of the usual and the frozen wastes of Fryrnill were gated up for the summer to prepare for its oncoming migrations. Hunnenfrer remained as the one nearby civilization they had yet to reach and was their new destination. The city was renowned for their strict rules and harsh punishments and neither Denrir nor Glenn looked forward to entering their iron gates.
The morning sun shone over the mountains, casting a warm orange glow across the corroded walls that still seemed foreboding. Every fiber of Glenn's being told him not to enter and turn away, but they were decided. They must find their friend and cure Muren of his depression. Aldon is the only antidote, Glenn told himself.
The city sat on the coast of the Salted Sea, a major trading route and a prime target for pirating, causing the guards to begin training fast and end it early. Thus leading to many inexperienced guards falling to pirate blades and failing to protect the city under a wave of paranoia. The storm front continued for generations as each boy upon the age of seventeen was forced into the guard for six months. Those who survived were free to work, those who showed promise were promoted and trained a month longer, and those who fell were stripped of existence and the family responsible to pay for any lost equipment.
Despite such challenges however, the city remained a prominent stop for most businesses and had great import and export profits. The citizens knew times were hard on them and reflected it with great will and constant hard work.
Glenn and Denrir passed through the gate under the hard stare of the guards and lowered their gaze. Glenn couldn't help but notice the heavy armor and weaponry they wielded. Another bridge lead to a second gate, this one a portcullis of iron bars topped with arrow-shaped points. Two guards stood atop the wall with crossbows trained on the visitors below.
“Hold yer hands up high and leave 'em there till' we say drop 'em.” One of the guards called as he pulled back the hammer of his crossbow.
Glenn and Denrir immediately did as commanded and watched as the portcullis raised slowly, great gears on each side grinding as the water below churned with their effort. Denrir nudged the steed with his horse and they passed beneath the dripping bars. Glenn shuddered in surprise at how cold the water was here as it ran down his back.
On the other side of the gate revealed a sight neither had ever beheld before. As far as they could see through the misty walls bordering the sea-side of the city, lay a sprawling conglomerate of businesses stacked one upon the other in great stone buildings built in rows. Shop windows held various fish on hooks, netting and buckets sloshing with bait. Ship after ship sat docked in the harbor, swaying in the current as men swarmed about them like ants carrying rope and other nautical tools. The sky was a constant dreary gray like a rainstorm waiting for the opportune moment to burst and the air was chilled, leaving the heavy smell of chum and fish guts to hang low in the people's noses.
The streets were filled with townspeople walking in unison in several directions, colliding into one another and shouting with fists full of items neither the farmers had ever seen. There were great poles of bamboo covered in gears and twine and large blankets covered in barbs, buckets full of pink swirly slop that smelled like vomit and large spheres colored in bright colors hung on a rope through the center.
Upon further discovery they noticed these items often in the icy brine of the sea.
“The Salted Sea was aptly named,” Glenn remarked as he licked at his chapped lips. “The air here tastes like sand.”
“If only it smelled like sand too.” Denrir's nose crinkled.
The crowds split angrily around their wagon as they went then swarmed back together as if to fortify any weaknesses the group had. Several angry voices raised at them in protest and fists were shook around every corner, leaving them little choice in the matter of travel.
“We'll move on foot. This city is too crowded for the wagon.” Denrir decided as he parked the wagon between two shops and tied the horse to a fencepost.
“What should we do with our stuff? We can't leave them here in a foreign place.”
“No, especially with so many people. No, we will hide them beneath the wagon and I'll tie it down.”
Every farmer outside Town created their own knot for security purposes and told only the closest of friends how to tie it and untie it. Denrir learned his from his father and kept the legacy of telling no one other than family alive. The large man removed some rope and tied it around the wagon's piston to the wheel and around the fencepost twice before completing it. When the knot was done it appeared in the shape of a perfect circle without any visible ties or secondary knots on it.
Denrir grinned at his work and cracked his knuckles with a smile.
Glenn shook his head and shoved him.
“Let's go already.”
* * *

“Muren, can you give me a hand?” Garenford called, descending from his horse as easily as if he were a young knight. He swept around to his baggage and removed a large wrap, straining with the weight. Muren rushed over to help him and groaned as they sat it down on his front porch.
“What's in that? My back's achin' already!” Muren griped as he straightened himself with a pop, hand on his back. Garenford looked down at him and shrugged. In fact he did know but wanted to keep it a secret for now.
Muren will find out soon enough, he decided.
“Now, we have matters to attend to. The land is ready for construction but we need more supplies.”
Muren stood and rubbed his chin.
“What do we need?”
“Plenty of lumber and metal. We have enough trees to build it but not the manpower.”
“Perhaps we should recruit workers from Mihn or Hyren? They're always looking for some extra gold.”
Garenford pondered it a while as he drew his old pipe from his cloak.
“Yes, that sounds appropriate. But it will be expensive. This wall is our only stand against the Open Fist, we cannot afford to fail. This town is too dear and necessary for its people.”
“Yes,” Muren agreed, “They won’t leave.”
“Now would I. However,” Muren looked up as Garenford continued. “I am needed elsewhere.”
Muren's world turned on its side yet again.
“What do you mean needed elsewhere? Who could possibly need you more than I? More than your home?”
Garenford smiled soothingly and clasped Muren's quivering shoulder. He calmed the easily tempered man before him and waited for his anger to diffuse. The old one was a wily fellow and as smart as they come, his short friend no more than average intelligence with strong opinions.
Garenford knew this and gripped Muren's shoulder tighter.
“My young friend, have no worries, I shall be there when I am needed here. But that time is not now.”
A few moments later Muren slumped to the ground and sat, head low and hopes even lower.
* * *
Glenn and Denrir emerged from the noisy tavern with a newly rejuvenated hope. A particularly loud man had boasted with news of some 'invader' seen outside the city, and after regaining his memory with the assistance of a few tokens, his brain gave him the name he was looking for.
“Man said to find a Gerosh, near the southern entrance tower.” Glenn recalled as they rounded the corner to the wagon.
A cloaked man passed him and bumped into Denrir before mumbling an apology. Denrir shoved past him and ignored the contact, his mind was elsewhere. He imagined himself finding the bandits responsible for Aldon's disappearance and what he would do when he did.
Denrir rounded the corner and into the back of Glenn.
“What is this run-into-Denrir-day?” He exclaimed.
Glenn turned on him slowly, eyes bleak and jaw tightened. His hands clenched into fists and balled tightly. Denrir looked at him then guessing where things were headed looked past him to the empty wagon. Instantly a pang of anger and guilt shot through him. He rushed to the wagon to check for anything left behind and found only his knot, slit in half.
A deep dread silenced them both as they rummaged through the back of the excavated wagon.
“Even the horse is gone.” Glenn moaned as he kicked at the cobblestone beneath him. Denrir felt the sentiment and sat against the left wall.
“It's my fault. I shouldn't have decided to leave the supplies.”
“It's no one but the thief's fault.” Glenn retorted.
“I take blame as well for my knot's futility. I should have hidden them or stabled somewhere else.”
Glenn shook his head at the uselessness of the situation and dropped his gaze to the street.
“No amount of groveling will replace our supplies. We need to find Gerosh then a way back to Town. We won’t get anywhere far without something to ride and eat.”
“At least we have some..” Denrir froze mid sentence. He stood abruptly then and franticly searched himself, patting all over as if he were on fire. Glenn looked at him with a start then jumped to his feet as well.
“What's wrong?” Glenn asked him, moving closer cautiously.
“I lost it! Our purse, it’s gone!”
Glenn's jaw dropped to his chest, winded and in absolute disbelief.
“What do you mean you lost it? Where could it have gone?”
“I dunno. I had it in the tavern when I bribed that fat guy!”
“Then where could it--” Glenn was cut short as Denrir interrupted him.
“The guy that bumped into me, he pick pocketed me!” Denrir exclaimed.
They stood silent for a long minute staring at each other in amazement.
“Wow,” Glenn said, shattering the silence. “It really is your fault.”