The Strange Adventures of Caigh and Melinda (first 10,000 words)

This is the start of a story of two travelers, exploring their strange world and learning about life, the world, and finding their own stories.

Caigh nursed his glass of red wine, the singing and revelry passing him by as he thought seriously about his life. Everyone there was a local, the village wasn’t on the way anywhere so people didn’t just pass through. An old drunk, who could have been any of the old men in the village but happened to be Caigh’s great uncle, staggered over, the watery beer spilling over the mug onto his gnarly paws. He seemed to be trying to engage Caigh in conversation but he didn’t really notice. Something by the door eventually distracted him and he went away.

There was a change in the mood of the place, and Caigh finally turned around to see what was going on. A brightly dressed traveler had come into the pub. She had a red hat, a green coat, a blue shirt and purple corduroy trousers. She had a peculiar device sticking out over her shoulder, and she pushed her way through the crowd of suddenly interested people to the bar.

Caigh’s great drunk uncle whispered to him loudly enough that everyone in the room could hear, let alone the traveler who was standing right next to him. “What do you think that thing is?”

“It’s a guitar” He said, remembering having seen them a few times while he lived in Juxtham.

The traveler turned to him, her bright, interested eyes seeing more that he was necessarily comfortable with. “Actually it’s a bass guitar, but close enough I guess. A glass of wine, please, and another for our sombre friend... “ She waited expectantly, and Caigh let her.

“My name’s Melinda.” She said in a friendly voice.

“Well done.”

“You know, friend, in many places when somebody tells you their name it is considered polite to give yours in return.” She commented warmly.

Caigh glanced furtively at her, and leaned in close as if he too were telling her a fascinating secret “In many places you would be mistaken for a children’s entertainer.”

Melinda downed her wine and leapt up onto to table “No mistake!” She yelled to the surprised pubgoers. “Who knows ‘I’ve got an old tin whistle?” The locals looked blankly at her for a second, perhaps wondering if she was real or they had just drunk too much, then an affirmative roar shook the room. Caigh groaned and hit his head against the slightly sticky dark wooden bar. What was to come was all too inevitable. “And who actually has an old tin whistle?”

Damn, what an unexpected development. “No, uncle Durnkle, don’t...” Caigh began but it was too late, the pickled little man slipped out of his grip like a fish (he had been drinking like one) and soon enough was up on the table next to her, his battered whistle to his lips. “One, two, three four!” The popular folk song began. The bass notes from the guitar thrummed the room, uncle Durnkle’s whistle holding up the infuriatingly catchy melody. Like all the most popular songs, the melody one had one phrase and just kept repeating it. This rubbish was going to keep him up all night.

A couple of the customers started doing a reel between the tables, clapped on by those around, who were by now singing verse one of however-many-score verses there were. Melinda shouted out over the din “Hey sour-face! Come dance!”. Caigh pretended not to hear her. “You know I’m talking to you!” Yes he did. Well why not, what harm could it do? He guzzled down the mediocre wine and headed to the floor.

Instead of grabbing one of the other customers to dance, he went to the table and helped Melinda down. She put down her bass, soon to be picked up my an aspiring multi-instrumentalist, and joined Caigh to dance. They whirled about doing kicks and spins and hops and claps. It was more fun than Caigh had had in weeks, months even. They danced wildly, almost but not quite hitting the people around them, who just looked on with some mix of enjoyment and confusion. Caigh’s black clothes and Melinda’s colours stood out among the earth tones of those around.

After the dance they were both sweaty and sore, but still a little giddy. They called the publican to get them some cold food, and they brought fresh bread and ham and cheese, carrots and cucumbers and tomatoes, apples and some berries. They munched, the music too loud to talk properly, and enjoyed the ambiance. Caigh beckoned Melinda toward him. “Caigh” he said, loudly enough to hear.

“What’s Caigh?” She seemed slightly puzzled.

“Haha, it’s my name. Caigh Darkwood.” She smiled a bit. Caigh didn’t know if she was flirting with him. He didn’t really care, either. She was fun. That was pretty good.

The music continued and spilled through the open door out into the warm summer night. A big man came into the pub and ordered a large beer. At the sound of his voice, Caigh was dismayed. It was Arthur, the miller’s son. He was an absolute douchebag. Once it was served, he downed it in one, and belched. They called him Arthur Brain, but Caigh thought that was too generous. The nincompoop thudded his was over their table, and Caigh looked him levelly in the eye. “What do you want, Arthur?” He asked in a way he would have described as politely, though the jury was out.

“Piss off Caigh the Gay. I’m talking to this little girl. You got company tonight?” Bloody hell. It seemed like Arthur was trying to break his record on how quickly he could make people want to kill him.

Suddenly Melinda was on her feet, and a dagger had appeared from nowhere and now pointed at Arthur’s throat. S**t! Caigh thought I didn’t mean that literally. Oh wait, I didn’t say that out loud. The music carried on and people seemed oblivious to the confrontation taking place in the corner of the room. Caigh couldn’t see this going well for any of them.

Melinda’s voice lowered as she menaced the big man. “Do you know how many ways I know to kill you right now? Here’s a clue: it’s at least one, and that’s all I need.” Arthur smirked, and snorted a bit, then surprisingly fast his arm snapped out to grab Melinda’s wrist that was holding the dagger. He looked about to strike her, when she closed inside his reach, turned, and with apparent ease threw him over her shoulders sending him crashing to the hard ground, whipping her big red hat off in the process.. Like a lightning bolt she was at him. The thud has got every-one's attention and they rushed in, staring at the confrontation. Melinda, apparently unaware, was terrorising the half-stunned man, but Caigh got his wits together and swept up Melinda, her hat, and her bass, and carried them out of the public house. He pulled her up onto the roof where they probably wouldn’t look, and got her to calm down.

“Why did you pull me out? I had him!” Melinda was full of fighting spirit, trembling with adrenaline. Caigh just looked at her seriously.

“When you threw him, your hat came off. They saw your ears, Melinda.” She seemed to understand. “And why is there blood on your dagger?”

“I carved the word ‘DICK’ onto his forehead.” They laughed quietly, already hearing people leave the inn, voices raised in anger and confusion.

“No seriously” Caigh asked between bouts of laughter.

“Seriously, I did.” Caigh’s  gaze was incredulous. This woman was unstoppable. Then he carried on laughing. “Do you really think people are going to have a problem with me being an elf?” Melinda asked skeptically.

“No, but I know they will have a problem with you being an elf and trying to kill the locals.” She tried to protest but he interrupted her “Ah, all that matters is how it looked to them. And you did carve him up.”

“Won’t you get in trouble?” Genuine concern seemed present on Melinda’s face.

“No, I can just say you overpowered me, or threatened me or something. But you have to go. I can help you find your way out safely, children’s entertainer outfit or no.” Melinda busily turned her coat and hat inside out. They were now dark brown. He bet she had found good use of that trick on many an occasion.

“You were saying? Besides, you owe me one anyway, I was defending your honour.” Melinda boasted proudly.

“I don’t have a problem with being called gay.” Caigh muttered, slightly miffed at the implication that he couldn’t fight his own fights, though it was probably true.

“Of course you don’t, but you should never have to be victimised because of your sexuality.” Melinda had adopted a somewhat preachy tone.

“I guess the point still stands, but I’m not actually gay.” Caigh didn’t know why he felt it necessary to point that out. Perhaps it was because Melinda had a pretty face and was the most interesting person he had spoken in... ever. Yes, that’s right. Ever. He really had to get out of Big Elm. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m leaving Big Elm with you. You can stay at mine, we’ll leave before dawn.”

“You’ve changed your tune. But won’t they check your room?” It was a fair point. “And what kind of a name is Big Elm?” Caigh figured he probably didn’t have to answer that.

“They already did: it’s upstairs in the pub and I heard them shouting down there. Come, we can go in off the roof through the window.” Caigh could tell she had questions. They should probably stay quiet now though, and they would have time to talk on the road. When they got in, he packed up some of his things: some spare clothes, also black. Food, money, water. General ‘supplies’ type stuff. His viola, so Melinda wouldn’t think she was the only talented one. He thought about her dagger, and sort of wished he had some kind of weapon, and knew how to use it.

He undressed, forgetting about Melinda, and went to bed. He was shocked to discover she was already in his bed. He flushed slightly, glad for darkness to hide his embarrassment. He tried to act cool, and just lie down next to her. Her smooth arm snaked over him, and she rested her head on his shoulder. She was wearing nothing but a small nightgown. He didn’t know when she had changed without him noticing. He put his arm around her, wide awake. She was a lot more attractive than the women in the village, he didn’t really know how to deal with the fact that he might actually give a damn what she thought of him.

She leaned in close to him, and kissed him on the lips. He didn’t know how to respond, and couldn’t shake the feeling she was toying with him. He held back his instinct to kiss her full on, and returned the kiss tranquilly, not intense but hinting at hidden depths. His caution was rewarded as she said “Good night” in what was definitely a caring, but sleepy, voice. What if he had returned the kiss vigorously? Then would she have said something other than ‘good night’? Something better, or something worse? Caigh decided he didn’t really care than much, what was done was done, and thus quickly fell asleep, the eccentric elf cuddled up close to him on his little bed.

The two travelers stole away in the pre-dawn grey, slipping between the little houses of the village, only the occasional dog’s bark or drowsy farmers bumbling around punctuating the birdsong. Nature’s sounds were all around as they set off down the country lane, which was the only way to Big Elm. They made Caigh feel a little uneasy. He missed the noise, and dirt, and unpleasantness of the city. He had fit in there. They were well out of sight of the village by the time the sun came up, and Caigh figured it was probably about time to pop the question.

He bunched up his nerves. “So,” he started hesitantly “where are we going?”

Melinda had a big old grin on her stupid face. Caigh could tell she was about to say something irritating. “This way, of course!” Caigh decided to let it drop. The dafty apparently didn’t have any destination in mind at all.

They were wandering along a narrow path, with tall sunflowers reaching up either side of them, heads ponderously following the sun. Somehow the presence of the plants, the life, the pollen, the insects, the closeness, served to make one feel uncomfortably warm on what was otherwise an hospitable day. Something odd was a little way ahead. Some brown mound was in the middle of the paths about a furlong from where they were. Neither of them showed much reaction, but Melinda’s hand went under her robe, to where Caigh knew she had her dagger, just in case.

As they got closer, the figure resolved as a person and then, more clearly as a specific person: Caigh’s great-uncle Durnkle Darkwood. Apparently his revelries had continued long into the night, because now he was asleep in the middle of a field in the middle of the day. Caigh nudged the bundle of old man-flesh with his toe. “What do we do with the heap?”

“Aw he’s cute, can we keep him?”

“He’s not cute, he’s an arse-ugly son of a b***h.” Suddenly beset with guilt, Caigh checked the old sod was breathing. He was. Good, he could be as mean as he wanted now.

“Down’t you listen to him boy.” Melinda goo-good at the sleeping man. “He’s just jealous because you’ve got character. I haven’t the heart to wake him up, let’s lunch here and when he awakes we can send him home.”

The man woke up. He didn’t know where he was or how he had got there. His vision unblurred a bit, and he saw a clear blue sky, framed with sunflowers all around, and looking down on him was a beautiful woman in a red hat.

He was in heaven. “No Durnkle, you’re not in heaven”, came a sarcastic remark. Crap it couldn’t be heaven, unless by some stroke of luck his great nephew was also dead. Not that he wanted to be dead, it’s just that that would have meant he got to be in heaven. “No great uncle, I’m not dead. And I didn’t take that the wrong way. And no, you didn’t say that out loud, your face is just very easy to read right now.”

“My boy! You came to look for me! Such a sweet boy, you were always my favourite.”

“No uncle Durnkle, you’re mistaking me for somebody else. You should head home, it’s that way.” Caigh pointed back the way he came.

“I don’t want to go home! I want to come with you!”

“No uncle, you can’t do that. We’re traveling: there will cold nights, hard days, cold food and infrequent toilet stops. You’ll need to go home.” His mad uncle, however, was not to be budged. Apparently he had some odd concept of ‘adventure’ and wanted to see the world. They would have to be more subtle.

“We’ll just have to be more crafty” Melinda whispered to him, echoing his thoughts.

Seeing no point in arguing, they beat a swift march to Hoggin, the next village, which had the singular honour of being the place you had to go through to get to Big Elm. Which was why mostly you didn’t see many people passing through there. The little old man kept up with the pace, walking as fast as his little legs could go and occasionally catching up with a little run when he inevitably got left behind.

At their brisk pace they were in Hoggin by mid afternoon, where by the sounds of it strange things were afoot. A crowd had gathered. Caigh asked an onlooker what was going on. Apparently one of the local youths had been out walking and had been kidnapped by goblins. The shepherd (it was always a shepherd) who saw from a distance ran immediately back to town to tell the parents.

A hysterical voice called them out “You three! You’re new in town! Are you adventurers? that old man must be a magician. I’m his mother. Can you get him back.”

Melinda had a look on her face which said ‘this sounds like fun’, but Caigh waved her down. “Sorry, we’re not adventurers. Anyway, violent confrontation probably won’t help, certainly not in the long run. You should send a couple of people to negotiate, they can almost certainly be reasoned with.” Melinda looked at him with a certain respect, tinged with mild disappointment.

Then a young man in the crowd ruined it. “If these strangers are too afraid to go, I will go! Who will come with me?”

The crowd was silent. They weren’t warriors, they knew there was a good chance they could be seriously hurt. These were serious, sensible people. Well, most of them.

“I will go with you, even if my companions do not!” The drunken old sod yelled out. Well, they were only goblins, how much harm were they going to do to an old man? This way they could sneak off while he was preoccupied.

The two daring fellows, one with his sword and the other with his beard, set off into the hilly forest.

“Why is it always swords?” Melinda asked.

“It’s a phallic symbol. The think if the ladies see they have a big sword they will want to sleep with them.”

“Then why don’t you carry a sword around?”

Caigh shrugged a little. “It would be too much effort.” Melinda couldn’t tell if he was talking about the sword or the ladies. He looked to her. “We left Big Oak in a bit of a rush, should we see if we can buy some things here?”

They went to a market. It wasn’t really so much a market as a market stall. They managed to pick up some food that would keep a little while: dried fruit and the like, and an efficient looking all purpose knife for Caigh to have. They didn’t have a huge amount of money, but mostly it was the weight that stopped them taking too much. Melinda got a couple of things as well.

They were almost ready to head off again when the young man from earlier came racing back into town. His clothes were torn, his nose bloodied, and unless someone had urinated on him, he’d suffered a recent bladder malfunction.

Caigh demanded to know what had happened. “They outnumbered us. They beat us up, and they took the Grand Magistar. Gods know what they plan to do with him!” So old uncle Durnkle was now the Grand Magistar. Interesting. Well, not really.

The two travelers both thought the same thing. We’ve got to get him back. He was a ridiculous old twit, but he was Caigh’s uncle.

They braced themselves, and set off up into the woods. Neither of them were particularly good at tracking, so they just called out Durnkle’s name and followed the general direction the ‘adventurers’ had gone. It wasn’t too long before they were greeted with the arrows and spears of some very pissed off goblins. One of them had a fairly nasty looking cut on his shoulder and it wasn’t too difficult to guess where it has come from. Bloody swords. Caigh put his arms up, and Melinda followed suit, apparently curious as to what Caigh was going to try.

“We’re unarmed” he said in Common.

“Come peacefully or be killed.” The lead goblin said seriously.

They were curious creatures, the goblins. Stereotypically skinny, that was just because the goblins humans came across were often undernourished. Well-fed goblins had no need to venture into human lands. They had lived in these parts for centuries, relying primarily on foraging and hunting. They had plenty of knowledge of agriculture but their anarchic social structure was better suited to their traditional modes of existence. They were mostly a peaceful bunch unless threatened, save for the odd tribe here and there who were exceptionally warlike. These didn’t seem to be among them, their weapons obviously having been intended for catching game.

They were marched back to the goblin’s fort, a solid-looking wooden thing treated against fire that housed the whole of the tribe during winter or wartime, and taken to be interviewed be at the chamber of  elders.

The goblin men and women that sat before them on well-carved wooden chairs with abstract geometric patterns on their high backs were old, very old. The air smelled of wisdom and healthy living. Where most goblins had hunched backs, these sat very erect, so that it seemed stance was more a matter of dignity than physiology.

“Why have you come here, travelers?” One of the elders asked. Her voice was loud and clear, somehow discordant with her wrinkled face. “And why shouldn’t we just lock you up like the others who came here to attack us?”

Melinda took off her hat. There seemed to be some surprise at her clearly elven ears, apparently her race were not often seen around here. “We’re not from here, we have no preference for either side in this conflict.”

Caigh continued “We’ve come to seek the release of the old human man Durnkle, who may have called himself the Grand Magistar, though he is no such thing. I have also come to check on the condition of the boy you captured by the river so that his mother can be reassured he has come to no harm.”

“Durnkle came here as part of an aggressive force. He and his companion inflicted injuries upon one of my people. Why should we release him?”

“I’m sorry, elder, but how many clashes have there been this year so far?” She told him there had been five. “And what were the casualties on each side?”

“Two of our people were slain, and four humans from Hoggin.” There was no pride in her voice.

“Why do you keep fighting?” Caigh asked, though he already had a suspicion of what the answer might be.

The elders spoke quietly to each other in counsel for a bit, then their spokesperson gave what seemed a fairly reasonable answer. “The main reason is a matter of resources. They often graze their herds by the river, which is also where we go to get water and we have some domesticated animals that we sometimes graze there. But there is also the matter of their irrational fear of us. Goblins have always had a place in human folklore as being dangerous, crafty, evil even. This is probably because we look quite different to them, and have a very different society. Also our hunting implements make us look threatening to them, though we mean them no harm unless they attack us. Which they often do.” That seemed a pretty good summary of the situation. Caigh was thinking about some of the histories he had read, trying to think of a solution. He spoke to Melinda quietly for a second to try out some ideas.

“I think I may have a solution, though you might not like it. In the long run, it’s probably the best option.” Caigh explained his plan to them, and though initially suspicious they made some suggestions, and eventually decided to go with it.

The villagers were gathered at the edge of the village. Somebody had seen a group on their way back from the forest, and everyone had come to see what was going on. Among the group was a child. The mother from the village rushed toward it, crying out “My boy!”, but when she got closer she reared back in terror. “What is the meaning of this!?” Shouting erupted as word got round her son was still missing, and the goblins had come to the village

Caigh tried to keep an even temper. He stood atop a rock and shouted down the hubbub. “Everyone quiet! Let me explain what the deal the goblins are offering is!” Soon enough the frightened villagers stood listening.

It was quite simple really. A goblin family would come here to live with the villagers for a year, and the boy would stay with the goblins, to be joined with his mother and father. With both sides holding hostages effectively there would be a greater incentive for peace. In addition, the goblins would forgive the act of aggression on the part of the village, at this point the sword bearer looked ashamed, and would meet in a week to discuss a treaty regarding the use of the grazing land by the river, and discussing possibilities for trade.

Most of the village looked pleased with the settlement, but the mother was wailing. “I can’t go! Not after what they did to my poor boy! How could I live among such beasts?”

Now Caigh did lose his temper. He got down from his rock, and walked right up to the woman, commanding her attention. “Shut up! Six lives have been lost just this year because of this damned conflict. Six! Do you think anyone here gives a damn about your stupid prejudices when there’s a way to end the bloodshed? You are going for one year, willing or not. Then you will be replaced by another. The boy was playing with the goblin children when we collected him. He wasn’t locked up, they left him playing. There will be a treaty, and you will live peacefully.” Now he addressed the crowd again. “Elsewhere the world, humans and goblins live together in great cities. We fight side by side in wars, we count one another friend. In those places, imagine how you look. Imagine how backward how primitive you look to them with this little feud over grazing rights. It is embarrassing that you couldn’t fix this yourselves, this has been going on for generations. You will accept this settlement” Caigh had an idea. “Or you will face the full fury of the Grand Magistar!” He pointed to Durnkle. Durnkle drew himself up, looking imperiously at the gathered villagers. “Now this is the goblin family that will be living in your village. Treat them well, and they will treat yours well. Invite each other to join you for your feasts and festivals. Let there be the exchange of gifts, and learn each others languages. Mother, you are leaving to the goblin fort tonight, if you have a husband you may take him with you. These two will escort you back through the forest, and you will be reunited with your son.”

There was a buzz of activity as the arrangements were made, and the goblins welcomed hesitantly but quite warmly into the village. The mother departed, and good riddance, and Caigh and Melinda sorted out a room for the night in the inn. They ate well, but the night was already mature and they had little energy left for music and dancing. They retired quickly to their room, and made ready for bed.

Melinda looked at Caigh appraisingly. “You did well today.” She said, thinking it could be very interesting traveling with him. She had not got very involved that day, preferring instead to get the measure of Caigh and to see what he could do. She was quite pleased with the results, she would have done things very differently but they had come to a very satisfying conclusion.

He smiled, accepting the compliment, and closed the distance between himself and the elven women in her light night-dress, her long dark legs going out the bottom all the way to the floor. “Thank you.” He put an arm lightly across her back, and kissed her.

It was a good, warm, intimate kiss, but when it broke off Melinda’s big dark eyes were alight with what seemed something like regret. “No, I’m sorry. You’re incredible but I think this is a bad idea. I’m elven, I’m probably not you’re type, and besides I suspect you might not exactly be my type either. I want us to travel together, and I don’t know if it can work if we’re entangled, at least it would be a better idea not to rush-” Her worrying was interrupted when he put a finger to her lips to shush her, and gave her a proper ‘it’s okay’ hug. They stood there for a bit, and then bundled into the little bed, snuggled up close out of necessity but also out of preference.

In the morning they made ready to depart. In the village there was something of a different mood. People were cautiously optimistic as they realised they had begun a new chapter in the life of their village, one full of challenges and surprises but one which could potentially be a lot better than the last. Caigh and Melinda felt pretty self satisfied as they left Hoggin.

They were marching across grass covered hills dotted with sheep, along what passed for a path, when they turned back and saw a pair of figures departing the village, one big and broad with a sword swinging from his side, the other old and bent. They had successfully got rid of Durnkle, but it looked like he was going to get his precious adventure after all.

They strolled over the green hills, but Caigh was somewhat disturbed. His dreams were not usually very clear or easy to remember, but when major changes were taking place in his life he tended to have more intense, visceral dreams. Melinda noticed he was unusually sombre and asked what was up.

“It was this dream I had last night. There was an enormous frog, biggest damn thing I ever saw. I was on a piece of rock jutting out from a cliff, and the frog was in the canyon below. All around everything was grey. It was looking up at me. It spoke to me, it’s voice was surprisingly smooth, welcoming even. So anyway it said to me ‘Come, jump into my mouth’ and it opened its mouth. It was huge, it could have swallowed that goblin fort whole. But I was scared, well, you would be.I told it ‘I don’t want to jump, I could die.’ and it said ‘You might. But if you stay out there, death is certain. Jump, and possibly you will live.’” He finished. They kept walking a bit. Finally Melinda could refrain no longer.

“Well? Did you jump?”

“I’m not sure.” He really couldn’t remember. Maybe it had ended before he made a choice. “What do you think about that anyway?”

“Well on the surface it just seems like a pretty obvious metaphor. You’re leaving your home, out into the big wide world. It’s less safe, but to remain behind would have been the slow death of mundanity.” She seemed quite pleased with her analysis. Caigh found some of its presumptions troublesome.

“There doesn’t have to be anything mundane about a peaceful life. The vast majority of people will go through their lives with nothing much remarkable going on. But they will work, and celebrate, and have children. They will witness the beauty of the changing of the seasons, and they will see the world change as their generation retires and the new generation inherits their world. In that simple little life, there’s a whole... theatre to it. Of life and death, change and permanence. I think its a mistake to completely write off that whole existence.” Caigh was speaking but he wasn’t entirely sure he believed what he was saying. He felt it important that it be said, though.

“Maybe” said Melinda “maybe not. I think this is just one of the questions that has no answer. Certainly the ballads and stories would have you think that only inside the frog can you live a life of colours.”

They walked on, both lost in thought for a while. Caigh was unsure whether it was better to think about these things or to just leave them be. It was too late now, anyway.

The next place they would arrive at was a town called Ryker’s Ridge. Neither of them was quite sure who Ryker was, or why they deserved a ridge. The weather was still holding up well, and with their new supplies they were in a confident mode as they strode on toward whatever was next.

They walked until midday, where they stopped for lunch by a good sized stream that flowed out of the huge lake to the north-west called Baby Ocean. Not knowing when they would next get the chance to wash, they splashed about a while in the clear, shallow water, then drying out in the sun.

As they lay warming themselves, the wind stroking them pleasantly, Caigh watched the river run by. A fish jumped up out the water to catch an insect. The little creature had never stood a chance.

They strolled on, refreshed and well lunched, heading roughly south-west, where they would intercept the wagon road from Janath to Ryker’s Ridge. The road was in site as the sun sat heavily over the horizon, when the hill they were standing on started to move.

At first they thought it was a trick of the mind, then an earthquake. Caigh stumbled to the ground, and Melinda lowered herself in a somewhat more coordinated fashion. They were both too shocked to react immediately, and the circumstances seemed relatively harmless, if bizarre. It was moving in an irregular, jolty fashion, at a surprisingly quick pace.

“What should we do?” Caigh asked, deferring to the more experienced traveler.

“We can just sit here: it’s going in the right direction!” Caigh laughed with happiness. This was among the better things he had done in his life: he was riding a hill. It went at about two thirds of walking speed. After about half an hour, taking them just over a mile, the hill stopped. They were about to get down off, and have a quick, careful inspection, when a huge snake came out of a cave just in front of them. Shocked, they leapt back, crouched to escape. The snake reared up, opened its mighty beak, and swept down, pulling up a tuft of grass from the hill. The travelers eyes went round, and they stood transfixed at the creature. There was something about the way it moved... it wasn’t a snake coming out of a hole, it was a neck! They had been sitting on top of a giant reptile.

Melinda laughed as she too realized what had transpired. She walked up and reached out a hand to stroke the big, scaly head, ready to snatch her hand away if it tried to bite her. It continued munching contentedly, and she stroked it, it seemed happy somehow but that could just be Caigh projecting his feelings about the situation. Melinda beckoned him over to touch the creature, and he approached it cautiously, suspicious that the woman just had some sort of elven magic or something. He tried to stroke the creature, and just as he got close the head lifted up and it snapped at the air just in front of his hand. He fell back onto his bum in shock, then the head came closer, seeming to beckon him to stroke it. He reached out and touched it, the smooth, dry scales odd to the touch but not at all unpleasant. As he was stroking it, the creature snapped lazily at him again, and he almost fell over again. Then it looked at Melinda and it’s eyes seemed to smile.

She burst out laughing, apparently sharing a joke with the damn creature. Caigh felt miffed, and said “fine”, and got up as if to set off again. His companion just sat there with the creature, both laughing at him. He felt a bit miffed for a second, but then was overcome with the wonder of the whole thing, and he joined Melinda and their new friend, laughing together.

The sun was going to go down soon, and Melinda thought there was a way station not too far ahead, and they made to say goodbye to the hill, but as soon as they set off it followed them. It seemed pointless walking when the hill was moving that way anyway, so they rode the hill until they were in sight of the way station on the Janath Road. The hill was wary of going too close, so they bid it goodbye. Caigh gave it a little kiss on the cheek before they left, he had really bonded with it after it had stopped teasing him.

They entered the way station. It was called Ryker’s Rest, and the sign outside had a picture of a fearsome dragon covered in flowers. It was a curious juxtaposition, but Caigh and Melinda supposed that an attempted image of their new friend, painted by someone who knew of them more from folklore than any experience.

They ordered food and wine from the publican, and when the food was brought through, the publican, a big round man with short brown hair, a big bald patch on top, and a huge moustache. His red nose glowed and little eyes twinkled in the firelight as they chatted. He had some land that kept his family well, but they got plenty of traffic headed to Kiddareth and Nuetown for trade and travel. Tonight all the other guests had gone to bed, and he liked to have a chat with a glass of wine of an evening. His name was Murray. They asked him about the namesake of his establishment, rykers.

“Ah! That is your first mistake. You see there is only one Ryker, or flower dragon. It lives around these parts, hiding in meadows. We know about it because of all the reports from the shepherds, who have seen a great and fearsome beast come from nowhere and eat their sheep. When I painted my sign they told me that was just the thing. Myself, I don’t know if its real, but it’s good to have a local folklore and such isn’t it, and it helps to know for when people ask ‘why are they called Ryker’s Rest and Ryker’s Ridge?’”

Melinda and Caigh didn’t let on that they had seen the ‘flower dragon’, which in fact far more closely resembled a tortoise, or that they doubted there was only one as it seemed like a fairly natural animal, and they tended in the main to be born of parents of their species and to have offspring of their own eventually.

What they did discuss was the meaning of the legend. Caigh thought it said something about the way people relate with their world. “It’s about the relationship between man and nature. We appreciate its beauty but in the end we still feel threatened by it, we wonder at the dangers hidden in its great unknowable expanses. We feel small, and cautious, in a world which is always just a little beyond our understanding” Caigh was saying, his theorising lubricated by the fine red wine, imported from the ancient vineyards around Kor and Wind-Weston.

Melinda had a different take on the whole thing. Her words slurred only slightly, as there were only partway through the second bottle, as she described some of the similar stories she had heard before on her travels in the south and east. “It’s very similar to the island-turtle adventure which is often found in variations of the dashing pirate stories. You could see it as danger disguised as beauty, or the mystery of the natural world, but really its about how we understand our world as being something which is alive. Take the world-bearing tortoise stories that you hear sometimes” the truth was the other two, being less well traveled, didn’t know these stories, but they took her word for it. “It’s about our...” she struggled for the word “appreciation of the dynamic, vivacious nature of our natural environment.” It was funny how she had struggled for appreciation but dynamic and vivacious were no problem for her. You could take that in more than one way...

They continued their sharing of thoughts and stories, Murray making excellent company. He was a rare man who loved to talk about his wife and children, and about his business, and about his life and thoughts. He was a thoughtful man, and the two travelers liked to think he was a backbone of civilisation, speaking to everyone he could and in some small way sweetening the nature of society.

After they had said their good nights, back up in the room Caigh wasn’t quite managing to sleep. He couldn’t but wonder at what he had seen the past two days. Sure, he had been familiar with goblins and even a few elves from his time living in Juxtham, but he’d never met them like this. He’d seen the goblins’ social structure first hand, visited their settlement (under armed guard, but that hardly mattered) and negotiated with them. And the next day, he had tricks played on him by a hill.

As he lay, Melinda’s soft breathing and the wind the only sounds, he thought about the dream he’d had the night before. He thought about the expected oblivion of sleep, but how it sometimes brought not oblivion but passage to another world. It was a world of the mind, sure, but what was to say there was any other? In a moment his pondering ceased and was lost in sleep, as he returned to the world of dreams.

His dreams didn’t tend to follow a proper narrative, and this was no exception. Flashes of pink and purple, strange sounds, and the giant frog was back. This time it didn’t want him to jump, it was standing next to him. Again it invited him into its mouth, but this time he could see inside. Inside was full of lights and sounds and strangeness. Caigh considered going in, but was worried that it might be a trick. Then the dream ended.

They were heading to Ryker’s Ridge. Neither of them had ever been that way before. Caigh had only been to Juxtham, a large town where his parents had sent him for some schooling with his uncle, and Melinda had been to... well a bunch of places. Presumably including wherever elves came from. He would ask about that later, he didn’t know why she had decided to hit the road and if she didn’t want to talk about it that was up to her.

He thought a bit about the way she had spoken the other night. “Melinda” he said “remember when you were talking about dashing pirate stories. It seemed like you’d heard a lot of them, and they were all pretty similar.”

She nodded “It’s a stock character. You might think it says something about the way our civilisations see the world, since it’s a character that comes up in the stories of all the human and elven lands I have traveled. Maybe people heard it somewhere and it’s just lazy storytelling.”

“How is it lazy?”

“Well when people are telling us stories, they are sometimes trying to create worlds in your mind. It is easier to use the inventions of other stories for your own if the audience have heard those stories already, so that people will already be familiar the the ideas involved. It saves you the trouble of explaining every single thing.”

“But doesn’t that just mean you have the option of adding more things to the tradition of storytelling that you are working with?” Caigh asked, immediately seeing various sides to this puzzle.

“It’s a tricky thing. It would be great if that’s the way it worked, but there’s some concern that most of our storytelling conventions come from just a few great books. T’he War of the Seven Brothers’. ‘Princess Joanna’, ‘The Elves and the Sea’. Stories like that.”

“But I’ve never read any of those. I’ve only even heard of ‘The Elves and the Sea’. If I was a storyteller, how would my stories by influenced by them?”

Melinda put the last nail in. “Because even if you haven’t read or heard those stories, you have been told stories by people who have read them, so the ideas get through to you anyway.” They walked in silence for a bit. Caigh had some things to think about.

At about mid-morning they came across some fellow travelers. They weren’t merchants or anything, they had stopped by the road because they were giving a ventriloquist's dummy a funeral.

They were traveling entertainers, on their way to the city of Kiddareth to perform at some big party. There were five of them, they had a gaudy wagon being pulled by a disappointingly normal looking ox, and once their little ceremony was over Caigh and Melinda went over to speak to them. There was a contortionist, two jugglers, a gymnast and a magician. The dummy had belonged to one of the jugglers, who was learning ventriloquy, who was also trying to learn to make the dummy juggle. It didn’t go very well when they tried with knives. Head was cleaved right in two, the weeping juggler sobbed.

It was somewhat odd company, but the decided they would walk with the mourning entertainers. Melinda fell in with the less grumpy juggler and Caigh with the magician. The truth was, he was fascinated by magic, illusion and conjuration and escape artistry. And he wanted to be able to cheat at cards. They walked side by side. The magician was an old fellow, and like all old magicians he knew all of the classics, plus a few extra special ones that Caigh hadn’t the faintest idea how he did, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell. Some of them involved card counting, some false shuffles, or hidden cards, or just mathematical wizardry. Caigh pondered the meaning of magic as they strode, but didn’t want to miss out on the learning and so kept his musing to himself for a bit.

Melinda had really hit it off with the juggler, they were getting on splendidly. It helped that she had some experience, and that she was a bloody likable sort. Caigh felt a tinge of jealousy at her giggles, it looked like they were flirting. Still, they were traveling together, and like she said it would probably be a good idea if things didn’t get too intimate between them. He forced himself to be happy that she was having a good time with that other guy.

Caigh was a quick study, and wanted to learn some more things, so he started on coin tricks and other small, concealable objects, learning to swap things between his hands rapidly. Well, clumsily, but he would have time to practice. He was more interested in learning the techniques, he could refine them later.

The ox was slower than the two had been walking, so they didn’t reach Ryker’s Ridge before sunset like they had wanted to. They would have to sleep by the road. They swapped stories by the fireside, and pooled their food to come up with something tastier than either company would have done alone. They were good folks, and made a welcome change of pace after the two days of walking and riding hills they had had so far.

The magician, the oldest of the troupe and something of a leader, was telling one of his favourite stories. He fiddled with his elaborate facial hair briefly before starting. “This is the story of the girl who fell down the well. She was fetching water one day, when she heard a very faint sound coming from the well. Afraid there was someone stuck, she leaned over, and called down ‘is anyone there? Do you need help?’ but the response was still too faint to hear. She leaned in a little further, then fell down, down into the well.” It was a good story, Caigh could tell why it was his favourite. It confused him a bit though. Talking to Melinda about stories had got him thinking about them in a different way. The fact that she was a girl, the story implied she was almost but not yet a woman, suggested that falling into the well and finding the strange and sometimes scary world down there was supposed to be a metaphor for sexual awakening. The dark, wet and tunnel-like nature of the well was probably supposed to elicit subconscious comparisons to a woman’s private parts. But why was a girl falling into a woman’s private parts? Was it supposed to be about lesbian romantic awakening? Was it her own body she was falling into, making it a journey of self-discovery in more ways than one? No, there was something else to it. Ah yes, the well was the womb of the ‘great mother’ of life itself. For such a great change to occur, she would need to be reborn, this was captured in the story as the fall to the bottom of the well. Once inside, it was not the womb as one might think, but another world she had been born into, one in which she would become an adult.

Caigh was stuck thinking about this, thinking about the idea that we go through different discrete staged of life. He wasn’t quite sure if he bought it. It might be a better way of looking at things to consider ones life as consisting mostly of gradual changes, rather than sudden catastrophic ones. Certainly that was more how he saw his own life.

It was getting late, and he was slightly irked by Melinda's flirting with the juggler, so he decided not to irritate new people, and instead to use his new-found skills to vanish to bed. Apparently he didn't do very well because he was noticed. Melinda made her excuses and retired with him. They had three tents, but were lending one of them to the travelers for the night, which was an unnecessary kindness but most welcome. Apparently the troupe quite liked their company too.

Caigh was about to say something about assuming she was going to stay up with her juggler, but she cut him off before he even began.

“I don't like him like that, Caigh. And I don't like you like that either” she said, but she snuggled up extra close to him when she said it, which made him wonder all the more whether they had suppressed their emotions out of convenience. No matter, they had only known each other... what, two days? It seemed so much longer. “And I know what you're thinking. Don't think. Let's go to bed.”

He had the dream again. He wondered if he kept having it because he kept thinking about it, and he kept thinking about it because he kept having it. It was similar to the night before, except this time it seemed more menacing somehow. The frog seemed to be insisting: come into my mouth. I won't stay patient forever. Caigh was still wracked with indecision, however, and couldn't make u his mind, and so for the time being, stayed outside. Flashed of colour and sound leaped out of the frogs mouth, beckoning him to come hither, but still he declined.

The next day the juggler, the magician, Caigh and Melinda all walked together. It was slow going, and Caigh wasn't complaining, but made a comment about the pace at which they were going. It was just a comment.

“Do you ever think about horses?” Melinda asked him, almost out of the blue.

Caigh didn't know what to say. “My family... wasn't one of those families.” He had met horsey people. No-one else had teeth quite like them. He wondered if there was a reason for that, and quickly decided not to ask.

“No I mean for traveling. We could get around faster, is all.”

Caigh could tell she wasn't from an agricultural background. “Do you have any idea how much it costs to keep a horse? In the old cities of the south, they used to divide their populations into social classes, and one of the criteria was whether you had enough wealth to keep a horse. That's how expensive they are. Peasants labour the land, sweat 'til dusk, to pay the taxes that keep their lords' horses, or their employers if they live in a place without lords. There's two kinds of people who should use horses: farmers, and messengers. Anyone else, well they can just get there a little slower. It's not worth the toil.”

“What about soldiers?” The juggler asked. He was a broad grinned, skinny fellow, with long elbowy arms. Each arm had to have at least four elbows, they were so knobbly. It probably helped his craft if he could bend in different ways. “You don't think they are a waste.”

“Well firstly they don't strictly need horses, and secondly if none of us had soldiers, none of us would have to have soldiers! Big Elm never had soldiers. It does just fine.”

Melinda guffawed a little. “Caigh! Do I detect a note of...pride?”

Caigh hastily denied it, backtracking to clarify his meaning as being that Big Elm was one of many examples of successful, broadly self-determining communities which survived adequately without a professional military.

The juggler still wanted to tussle. “Yeah, but these communities are poor, they don't have anything anyone wants. That's what protects them.” He seemed to think that ended it.

Caigh was back quickly.”Well in that case, it doesn't look like there's much benefit in amassing so much material wealth.” That did end it. Caigh knew his position was untenable in many ways, but was an important one that had to be made. The view that more wealth was always better was a view that needed to be challenged, especially when as just demonstrated it could be such a potent cause of violence.

They arrived at Ryker's Ridge where they were to part ways. The troupe went north to cross Baby Ocean by boat. Melinda and Caigh would carry on west, stopping only to resupply.

Before they left, the juggler and the magician spoke to them briefly. “Listen, well I don't know where you're headed in the end” the magician was saying “but you two are good folks. You've got talent and a boat is as good a place as any to practice. If you're in need of the keep, you're welcome to join us for Kiddareth. We-” he fought back a tear “we lost one of our own just before you met us. What I'm saying is, there's space for you, if you want it.” Melinda and Caigh were touched by their kind words. Only Melinda had the words to reply.

“Thank you so much for the offer, it means a lot, to both of us. We have also enjoyed journeying by your side. I think we will be finding our own road though, and we wish you the best of luck on yours.”

The goodbyes were heartfelt, and Caigh was amazed that these people, who must meet so many strangers all the time, could still have the heart to so quickly befriend them and welcome them among them. They made to say goodbye, but not before they gave them a couple of parting gifts. The juggler gave Melinda some fine juggling knives. They looked functional as knives as well as being perfectly weighted for throwing. The old magician gave Caigh one of his spare decks of cards. They were fine things, brightly coloured with detailed pictures and gold leaf, though it was rubbing off in some places which only added to their charm.

They were in town, and ready to shop, when Melinda briskly took him to the side and spoke to him in a matter of fact way. “Caigh, I stole your purse briefly this morning, don't worry I gave it back, and with what's in mine as well I am afraid to say we don't have much money left. We have enough to get us to Nuetown, which is big enough that we should be able to find a spot of work, but after that it's a long way to anywhere and we'll need some more serious supplies. I'm talking coats, a tent perhaps, hunting gear. I didn't want it to come to this, but I'm afraid you're going to have to sell your body.”

Caigh was incredulous “But I'm not... who would possibly want to... ?”

“No, sorry, not like that, though I can think of a few who wouldn't mind a quick tumble. No, I mean menial work. You any good at manual labour?”

Caigh nodded in what he thought was a businesslike way, if there was a businesslike way to shake your head up and down. “Of course I am familiar with manual labour. I've worked on farms most of my life. I'm going to go and play magic tricks on people in the tavern.”

Author's Note

As yet it is very much unfinished. It is building towards a simultaneaous intellectual, emotional, and narrative climax. I'd like to know if I'm barking up the wrong tree, or whether there is some value in the approach I've taken.