This is Chapter 9-2 of a serial fantasy novel.
His family woke with him early next morning, and helped him pack up. They strolled to the muster point along the river, listening to his father tell a lurid story about the breeders in the Min-sog-say triad. Callum kept asking for clarification. Frix and his mother would provide obvious misinformation, which his father would confirm, which would further annoy Callum.
It was fun.
Part of Frix was glad to be heading out; this way he wouldn’t have to deal with any public ridicule, chirping, or rematch pressure relating to the duel. He was counting on the whole thing blowing over by the time he got back, though he suspected it was going to make for an awkward subject within Mossa’s Seedwind.
A problem for another day—that was his mentality. Right now he had to worry about this trek.
At the muster point, he met his cartmate and escort, a squat chubby man who introduced himself as Mill of Pal Got-ran-pal. He had a bum leg, thus was relegated to steering carts and other such work. The cart itself was standard: a spot for two or three people to sit, a flat place in the back for supplies, and one aged mule.
“I named her Sparky,” said Mill, “on account of her charming personality.”
“She looks like a real charmer,” said Callum.
“She expresses said personality mainly through flatulence!” Mill grinned at Frix.
“Fantastic,” he muttered. Callum punched him in the arm, snickering.
“I’m sure you’ll get used to it in a few days,” his father said, grinning like a fool.
“Like an exotic perfume after a few suns, it’s true!” added Mill. Everybody but Frix was laughing now, but he didn’t mind. This was his family.
“Get outta here before I change my mind,” Frix said, moving to hug his mother. He put his fist to his sternum for his father and brother. “No duels when I’m away, alright?” he said to Callum. His brother stuck out his tongue, but there was a distant, sad look in his eyes as he did so. Frix tried to ignore it.
“I’ll beat up some Tels to make up for it,” his father shouted, as Sparky trotted away. Frix smiled and waved, then settled into the seat next to Mill as they picked up speed and set off into the lightly wooded trail. It was a chilly day, overcast and a little breezy. Frix slung a fur around him, got an inaugural whiff of Sparky’s personality, and tried to steady his mind.
Mill was surprisingly quiet for a while. Frix had pegged the man as a chattery one. But beyond a few quick pleasantries at the outset of the journey, he had been silent. Usually content with letting his own thoughts entertain him, Frix felt he should probably get to know his traveling companion a bit better, especially if they were practically going to be one another’s only company for a solid month.
“Hey so, Mill. You know much about this triad I’m off to see?”
No reply.
“Mill?” Frix looked over, but the man’s face was hidden by his riding cloak. “Hey Mill…?”
Nothing. Frix poked his shoulder and Mill jumped.
“Ah! Hey! What? We there yet?”
“Were you sleeping?” Frix found himself struggling not to smile.
“Of course! Why’d you wake me, that’s rude.”
“Am I that boring?”
“Wouldn’t know,” said Mill. “Don’t know ya much but you’re certainly not singing any songs or regaling me with tales from the Seedwind. So based on current observation, and current outcomes—that being me falling asleep—I’d say you’re less boring than a rock but probably would lose to an affectionate hopjack. I’d rate you as… boring as a good cloud.”
“Well that is a new one,” said Frix. “Might I have the chance to redeem myself?”
“I am a fair man. Redeem away.”
“I figured some conversation might be in order. Nothing too intense, don’t want to pull anything working my way up from cloud to hopjack.”
Mill smiled, crinkling around his eyes. “Wise. Very wise. Proceed, cloudman.”
“This triad I’m off to see. Min-sog-say. Do you know them?”
“Ah. Sparky and I have worked this route for a good long while now. Min-sog-say has been camping at the ten sun mark for about a year now. Smallish camp, only four main triads and not a lot of independents. Min-sog-say is the head triad, if you give me a few days and some more naps I’ll tell you the names of the ones that fall under them. One rhymes with poo, I know that for sure.”
“Ten suns, huh? Thirteen was what Ottrah estimated, at best.”
“Oh ho, well the Head of Root has his roots in camp, now doesn’t he? Sparky and Mill of Pal know all the little tricks to an efficient run down this old trail. And some scenic wonders, ain’t that right Sparky?”
Sparky continued walking in response.
“I’ll take the time back, that’s for sure,” said Frix.
“I sense that this adventure is not one you picked for yourself, young Seedwind?”
“Ha. No offense, but it’s the last kind of adventure I’d pick. Ottrah actually had something else lined up for me, but… guess I’m too risky now what with…” he stopped, not exactly wanting to recount his lackluster duel performance.
“Yes, I heard all about it. The boys, they talk. And the women talk more if you know how to listen!”
“What exactly did you hear?”
“Ah no no, not like that. Never come right out and ask, cloud!”
Frix furrowed his brow, wondering if this was going to turn into a stupid game. But then he reminded himself he had some twenty suns to kill. He thought for a moment, and said, “Tel fighting techniques sure have gotten dirty, eh?”
Mill glanced over, nodding an approval and tipping a generous wink. He said, “The Tels are a prickly bunch, to be sure. Very proud. Very old family. Steeped in tradition. But I don’t know if very many of them would be thrilled to hear about the fighting techniques you mention.”
“Well,” said Frix, “some Tels are more prickly than others I suppose.”
“And others less so. Same with the Bits, and the Alls. Lots of opportunity for spirited debate!”
“Well, I guess I won’t be around to hear much of it,” said Frix.
“Convenient, that.”
Frix thought about it. “I guess. I mean there would have been some drama had I stayed.” He blinked, thinking more about it. “You're not saying Ottrah did it on purpose, this whole trek. Just to what? Separate me and Dreff like a pair of kids?”
Mill gave him an exaggerated look of horror. “I never said any such thing! Just how it's convenient. What with the gathering of this task force and all. So many families contributing, so many opportunities for strife.”
“Yeah I heard about that, some sort of hunt. Stolen artifacts. Lots of ranging crews. Mossa was going to find out more but then she got called away. And now this.”
“You ever hear of a ranging crew that big before?” asked Mill.
“Well isn't it a whole bunch of smaller ones?”
“That all have to work together.”
“I guess that's not the usual. Huh,” said Frix, rubbing his chin.
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