Serial
14: Fire Sale
November
11th, 32 S.D. 14:56 Shevi, Central Plains
The journey into the Central Plains had so far been a most uneventful excursion. As Brigitte had suggested, Losha, Mesel, and Denze had stayed in the wagon for most of the trip; they only came out as necessary for breaks, meals, and when they slept outside for the night. This was a matter of caution that Losha had no objection to. Even just traveling through the wrong territory with an unfavorable surname was enough to warrant trouble in the Central Plains. The less any of them were seen, the less suspicion they would draw.
For all that concern, however, they hadn’t really come across too many people over the past few days. The road before them stretched out across flat, wild grasslands, yet not a soul could be seen coming or going. They’d passed a few towns, but the roads leading to them always branched out of their way to the left or right, thus they never actually went through any populated areas. Though Losha had little traveled the Central Plains herself, she recognized that the routes were set up this was so that people could go about relatively unbothered by the surrounding clans, as long as those said clans weren’t on the roads themselves. It made their ride that much easier and less stressing. However, their good fortunes were not infinite.
They were going down the road that afternoon without incident; suddenly though, a pair of men on horseback cut across the field from the north. In just a few moments, the two quick colts intercepted Brigitte’s path perpendicularly. As soon as they both hit the road, their horses reared up high and swiveled as they landed.
“Ah shrieks,” Brigitte muttered in frustration as the reins tightened in her hands. The men blocked her path; getting stopped like this was the last thing she wanted on this sales trip. She slowed her horses down to a shuffle as the horsemen approached to meet them. Denze, Mesel, and Barv were playing a card game on the wagon’s floor; they looked up as they noted their change in speed. Losha had drifted off to sleep, her head leaning back against the wagon’s tarp as she sat on one of the four large storage containers. Sensing a change in momentum and a new quietude upon them, she woke up blinkingly.
“Sa, sa?” she said, slightly dazed.
“Keep real low and real still now, you hear me hon?” Brigitte said without turning around. “Looks like we got company, the curious kind too. Barv, move up some; no need to let’em see the kids if we can help it.”
The cards were quickly scuttled as they tried to rearrange themselves inside the wagon without too much noise. Losha swiftly retrieved her awareness, though Denze still pulled her to the back of the wagon with Mesel. Barv looked back once at them but stepped up towards the front. Brigitte and Stephen exchanged brief mutterings; they ceased however as the plodding of hooves grew closer. She stopped the wagon altogether.
“Howdy fellas,” Brigitte said with a tip of the hat. Stephen smiled amicably as best as a foreigner under these circumstances could. The men were both young and dark-skinned, donning pale tan clothes colorfully embroidered around the collar and down the center of their shirts. The first wore a long brown leather coat that had many wondrous patterns of angular intricacy pressed into it. He also bore a hat that was of the same design; it perfectly capped his head like a dome.
“Hello, strangers,” he said deeply. “What brings Gandians to our lands today?”
“Jus’ business boys,” Brigitte responded. “We’re merchants you see.”
“Merchants of what trade?” he asked, trotting his horse right beside the driver’s seat. Brigitte and the man sat eye-to-eye.
“Supplies mainly,” she said. She spied the crossbows strapped to their backs and so considered her answers carefully. “We’re on our way to the Western Corridor to fulfill our contract.”
“So you say, but do we know?” he replied, translating an old phrase from Asten.
“Well, you can check our manifest, travel log, merchant’s map, and whatnot if you like.”
The Asten’s horse huffed loudly as both the rider and creature shifted in place. The other hatless horseman idly strode around the wagon inspecting it.
“I need only check one thing miss, and that is what kind of people you are,” he stated. “All six of you.” He was a bowman alright; his sharp eyes had probably already seen the wagon’s occupants before they could scramble.
“We’re jus’ folks tryin’ to be on our way without botherin’ a soul. The kids we got are customers you know.”
“Be that as it may,” the man said, walking his horse back around to the front of the wagon. “Everyone in the Central Plains is territorial. We of the Shevi are no different. Know that while you may do business with all, we offer no service to the likes of our foes.”
For a moment, Brigitte’s eyes shifted back to the inside of the wagon. She felt a hot wave of a sort wash over her, soaking her face in heat. Nevertheless, her face betrayed nothing. Her mind quickly spun through a host of options she could have employed on the situation, but before she could open her mouth to further stall themselves, Losha spoke up loudly.
“Shevi?” she blurted out before standing up at once and pressing herself around Barv. “Are you of the Shevi clan?”
“Indeed, I am,” the man said, his eyes gleaming with wariness. “And if I might ask, who are you, and precisely of what blood?”
Losha smiled broadly. “I am Losha Holvate Sventa of the Sventa lineage.”
“Honestly hon,” Brigitte said. “I don’t exactly understand all of this clan talk.”
“It’s just like the politics in Felbany,” Stephen said. “Except it has more, er, consequences.”
“I never understood our politics neither...”
Night began to fall as the six of them slowly walked over to a nearby town. A great many lights were ablaze this evening; their glow ousted away the darkness. Even from this distance, they could hear the chatter of crowds. The beat of an unseen drum rhythmically pulsed across the air accompanied by the faint notes of far-off instruments. A cheer or two periodically erupted from somewhere ahead.
“It is simple, really,” Losha said. “This land here is disputed territory between Kolan to the north and Sventa to the southeast. Though we are both major clans, Sventa is far stronger. While Kolan claims this is their territory, they have made no attempt to establish themselves here. Because of that, we have control of these lands by default. However, they were not of much interest to us to begin with. We eventually allowed a minor clan, the Shevi, to settle here as they like. Since then, there has been a strong relationship between our two people.”
“Hmm...” Brigitte considered. “Guess that makes sense. But why all the fuss about us earlier today? I thought minor clans weren’t none too concerned about who was who but big clans like yours were.”
“The Shevi are quite a special case,” Losha explained. “They are fairly larger than most minor clans, yet smaller than all major clans, so land and territory are important to them despite their size. Additionally, they are very private and exclusive to others. That is why they do not live closer to my people in Sventa and instead live out here. It is only natural for them to be wary of outsiders, Gandian or Asten. However, they are still very welcoming to the Sventa, on occasions where our paths meet.”
Brigitte simply shook her head as they drew closer to the town. “Whatever you say, Losha. Jus’ glad we’re all on the same page.”
“What’s with the atmosphere?” Denze asked when they entered. “Is there some sort of festival today?”
“As a matter of fact, there is,” boomed a stout voice. In front of them a tall man emerged from the crowds of bustling townsfolk. He wore clothing strikingly similar to the man that had stopped them on the road, except he had a longer leather coat that nearly trailed the ground. His hat seemed to be stamped with the Shevi emblem as well.
“Tonight is what we call a harvest’s day,” he said, halting before them as he spread his arms wide. “We celebrate the year’s work and the bounty we received. We have no set date for this; the season of a coming winter dictates the time. In that regard, you are fortunate to have arrived today. Sventa and friends, I welcome you to Shevi. I am Akats Shevi, the current ‘mayor’ as they would call me in Gandian. Come all; stay the night and enjoy yourselves. We have plenty of food and entertainment to spare.”
With that, they let Akats escort them into town. It was still rather early, so before eating, their lot of six decided to split up and explore the town. Denze and Losha headed off on their own further into the center. Barv and Mesel paired up and went off to see the variety of games on offer. The two seemed strangely appropriate together; neither spoke much or at all. Naturally that left Brigitte and Stephen to themselves. Losha didn’t know where she wanted to go; she was more than content to simply observe the happenings around her. Denze, however, seemed to have an idea on his mind.
“Hey,” he said, suddenly walking ahead of her. “Is that what I think it is?”
“What do you think ‘it’ is?” Losha asked in turn.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand and leading her forward. Eventually they came upon the outskirts of the town near an open field. Several round targets were set about 25 meters away. A few archers stood in line while one stood at a specified spot and readied her aim. It was apparently a target range. There were several tall posts planted across the field, each burning brightly with two powerful lamps on either side. Though it was yet night, the field remained illuminated by great flames. The woman waited a moment, calculating still more variables in her mind. Then, as simply as unpinching her fingers, she commanded the arrow along its path. With an almost inaudible rush, the projectile bolted through the air, cruising straight upon its target in a mere instant. A thud sounded as those in line and on the sides lightly clapped. She’d struck just right of the bullseye. Smiling, she lowered her bow and returned to the end of the line. The next archer came up to where she had previously stood.
“Tell me, Sventa,” said a voice from behind them. “Are you not impressed by our archery?”
They turned around to see Kladis Shevi, the man who had stopped them earlier and had later introduced them to Shevi. Apparently he was something of an officer.
“We Shevi are master marksfolk, after all,” he smiled, folding his arms.
“You are all marvelously skilled. I can hardly handle a bow. What about you Denze?”
“It’s... been far too long,” he said. His good eye kept wandering over to the field.
“I wish I could take up the sport again,” Losha continued. “I have been learning many other things these past years, but it would be nice to get back into something I have not done since childhood.”
Kladis laughed. “No one is too old or too young for the fine art of pinpointing a good target. That is how it is here. Just look at those shooting now; it is a mix of all ages.”
“Are you having a contest of some sort tonight?” Losha asked.
“Not exactly,” Kladis replied. “It is more like a great, open exhibition. The Vandelbra is in the summer; now we shoot for fun and practice.”
“Vandelbra?” Losha said, puzzled.
“That is our grand tourney. It is a big affair for us. It even draws some skilled archers and sharpshoots from other clans, amazingly.”
“Oh!” Losha didn’t actually know that much about the Shevi, even though they were essentially neighbors with her people. She was nearly as much a stranger here as the rest of her companions even though the Shevi treated her as a sort of honored guest.
“Sa, what brings you of the house of Holvate here this time of year?”
“I have actually been away from home for a while,” she said. In truth, she’d spent more time away from home than living there. “We are heading for Sevia currently.”
The two continued to chat for a while, but Denze’s attention increasingly drifted to the archers on the field. As the targets were moved back to the 30 meter mark, he shuffled around until he could no longer withold his question.
“Excuse me, Kladis,” Denze said after a time. “You said it’s an open exhibition, right?”
“That is correct,” he answered. “Participation is rankless and free to all.”
“Where can I borrow a bow then?”
“You do like sweets, right?” Stephen asked, handing some swirled Asten candy to Brigitte.
“Now, lots of folks will say they generally like this or that, but I wait until I’ve tasted the damn thing first.” She took the treat and bit into it. It was malleable, fluffy, not mushy, not spongy, but almost like thick foam. “I can honestly say this is good, sugah.”
“Of course it’s good sugar. It’s a chocolate pelnore.”
“Pel-know-ray?” she said, trying the word out as its flavor literally rolled across her tongue.
“Yeah, apparently it’s quite popular in this region of the Central Plains.”
“Popular, eh?” she mused before biting down on the other half. “We should start sellin’em.”
“Is that business or your belly that’s talking?”
“Hush it!”
They laughed and continued walking down the street further. They passed a stage where musicians played a tune that they were entirely unfamiliar with from a genre they could not define. Then again, they were Gandians who had grown up on the classical works of Dubenstein, Agaila, and Kampfman. A horse and buggy ornately decorated in streamers and various metal trinkets suddenly came down the road. A person in the rear held a bag and threw out flowers, seeds, and autumn leaves the size of their heads.
“I wonder what the story behind that is,” Stephen said as they moved to the side to let it pass. The street led into a square where people were dancing all together at once, singing something in Asten. It seemed to be the end of one routine, as they scattered and went back to dancing in groups or with partners.
“Care for a dance?” Stephen offered.
“Shrieks...” Brigitte said, pulling her hat over her face as it flushed. “I can’t dance...”
“Why not? Two left feet? Bow-legged? Boots too tight?”
“I ain’t got no rhythm...” she admitted, to which Stephen just laughed.
“You and me both.”
They progressed onward, ambling about with no true aim, taking in the sights few outside the Shevi probably ever witnessed. Eventually, however, they somehow stumbled upon the archery field. A seizable amount of townsfolk were now gathering here, murmuring lowly in Asten.
“What’s this all?” Stephen wondered aloud. Brigitte spotted Losha by herself further on ahead at the sidelines. For a moment, she looked around to see Denze, but she only had to take one good glance to the right to find him. He stood at the marked line in front of several targets roughly 50 meters away. In his hands, a bow was tautly drawn. With the merest slip of his fingers, the arrow flew, straight and unwavering until it pierced the bullseye. If this were not feat enough, he happened to do so while completely blindfolded. Rather than the soft applause that had earlier defined the crowd’s response to the exhibition, the air now filled with cheers, calls, and whistles. Denze smiled, nodded at no one in particular, then sighted up another target, still blinded.
“How on earth is he doing that?” Stephen asked.
“Well I’ll be,” Brigitte said, putting her hands on her hips and shifting her weight.
“It is amazing, is it not?” said Kladis, coming over to them with a drink in hand. “Your little friend is quite the shot,” the man mused.
“How do you know there’s not a trick to it?” Stephen questioned.
“To hit such a target, even fully sighted is no small matter. As for if he deceives us or not...” Kladis quickly pointed to the lamps that lit the field. Two people doused the ones nearest to the target with buckets of water. The mark Denze needed to hit effectively stood in the dark. Nevertheless, he shot his arrow; shortly thereafter a solid thunk resounded. A woman bearing a bright torch walked over and examined the round wooden board. She then excitedly waved her arms, affirmatively calling to the crowd. They burst into strong clapping as some loudly, jubilantly cried out and pumped their fists into the air.
“Bows, crossbows, slingshots...” Kladis enumerated. “He has done it all so far. All that is left is the rifle.’
“You use guns?” Brigitte asked.
“Anything that shoots, we use. Marking targets, no matter the tool, is the pride of the Shevi.”
“Y’all are quite the sports,” she said. She turned to Stephen and whispered into his ear. “Go back to the wagon and grab me the sample.”
“Now?” he asked, stepping back with widened eyes. Hers, however, were sharp and avid, the look she had whenever she felt the odds of opportunity were in her hand.
“Trust me, hon” she said.
In time, someone brought Denze a rifle and showed him how to use it. Rather than the wooden, circular targets, this challenge consisted of several posts in the ground, each with a pot of some variety on the end. These were considerably more distant, some 75 to 85 meters from his position.
“You are clear on how to shoot?” the person who had explained the mechanics asked, turning to leave.
“Point, pull; it’s simple. I just don’t like the bang,” Denze said as he leveled the gun. He took a moment to adjust his stance before firing. He had been using his third-eye series to see in the dark, which basically allowed him to line up his projectiles and the marks perfectly. Losha had noticed this as the work of serialization, yet she said nothing as she observed everything. Perhaps it was no issue for her since no one else could tell what was going on. Maybe she wanted to see how far he could go with it. Denze fired a shot, but he missed. He reloaded thrice more before his fourth shot shattered the middle vase. The crowd raved even though he had not struck anything right away.
“Impressive,” Kladis said. “These guns are not very reliable at greater distances. A better shooter never hits the target until at least the second shot.”
“I reckon anyone could nail it in the first shot with the right equipment of course,” Brigitte said with a smile in the corner of her mouth.
“What do you mean?” Kladis asked, frowning slightly. At that moment, Stephen returned, huffing and hauling a thin case a little longer than a meter.
“What I mean to say is, y’all jus’ need better rifles. Steve, you mind givin’ that to Denze over there?”
Stephen walked to Denze and opened the case. Inside was a rifle of a newer make and model.
“I have yet to see a rifle that could hit accurately past 85 meters,” Kladis said.
“Well, feast your eyes on one that can accurately hit 100-plus meters, first shot no less.”
The posts couldn’t move, so Denze backed up from the shooting line. There was no particular measure of his distance, but he walked some 20 meters behind his former place. He aimed the new gun and pulled the trigger. Instantly, the vase on the left exploded outright. Before the crowd could even react, Denze reloaded quickly and shot once more. The right-most pot broke and collapsed into pieces. Great exclamations rose from the sidelines as the people clapped loudly, fiercely. Kladis himself leaned back in surprise.
“Now I have seen the unthinkable,” he said. “Tell me, miss, how is it possible that your rifle is so accurate?”
“Well,” Brigitte began, tipping her hat back as she looked up at him. “I reckon y’all are using round-ball shots for ammunition, right?”
“Yes, we are, but what else is there to use? Every gun has the same type of ammunition, roughly speaking.”
“Not ours,” she said, grinning. She reached into her pocket and extracted a bullet. Unlike the round-balls, this bullet was elongated and honed to a fine point. “This here, you see, is what we call the ‘conical’ bullet, a sure revolution in ballistics. It’s far more aerodynamic than round-balls, meanin’ shots are more accurate at greater distances.”
Several townsfolk who understood Gandian well enough started gathering around Kladis and Brigitte. At first their faces were merely curious, but soon they were exchanging whispers, glances, and nudges excitedly.
“And these are rifles Gandians all use?”
“No sir,” Brigitte shook her head. “These have yet to be sold anywhere, yet. The Haus Tradin’ Company owns the patents, but we’re actually the first of the company’s merchants to carry a shipment.”
“In that case,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Allow me to be one of your first customers.”
Hearing the liveliness and animation of people on the sidelines, Denze took off his blindfold and looked over to his left.
“What’s happening?” he asked Stephen.
“Looks like she’s nabbing sales.”
It was more than business though, but even Denze’s third-eye could not see that. Hindsight, however, would prove much clearer.
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