Men and Markets

The following day, a rooster screamed us awake well before sunrise. As the women prepared the morning meal, Omos lent me a pair of shoes. With great effort and greater care, I squeezed one foot, then the other, into them. When I stood and walked about, the leather pinched my toes and forefeet.

They would do.

The meal was leftover stew, strengthened with gruel, eggs and smoked fish. As they ate, the men and women discussed the day’s work.

Three families lived in Omosghortos. Omos owned the land. His family worked the fields and raised the livestock. Keitan’s family fished along the Abver and ferried goods and people to and from the city. The last family was headed by the wife, Kiar, for the husband had been taken by Kwei-beasts five summers past. Kiar’s kin ranged the woods to the east, seeking herbs, mushrooms, berries, wood and small game.

“I will be going with Augus and Guregnos,” I said.

We slurped down the last of our stew and headed outside. Keitan single-handedly carried his ferryboat to the river. Augus, Guregnos and I dragged the fishing boat into the waters. Then we grabbed the fishing gear and climbed aboard.

Guregnos poled us upstream, where the brothers had placed their fishing traps. They had sunken wicker baskets in the waters of the Abver, and anchored them to the riverbed. As I stood guard, the brothers hauled the baskets up on the shore and checked them by lantern-light.

Augus grinned. “We’ve got a good catch!”

There were four baskets. They poured the fish into two. These they tied to the sides of their boat, keeping them in the water. The other baskets they returned to the river.

“Shall we go upriver or downriver today?” Augus said.

“Downriver,” Guregnos said. “The closer we are to the city, the less we have to fear from Kwei-beasts.”

As Guregnos poled us towards Verdwer, Augus showed me how to work the nets and rods.

“We only use the rods if the nets break,” Augus said. “Should that happen, the day is lost, and we must be content with feeding only ourselves.”

The river widened into a mouth. Guregnos brought us into a halt. Augus cast a net into the shallows. Wide and circular, weighed down with stones, it sank quickly to the bottom. I took up the handline and hauled and hauled.

The net came up heavy with flopping fish. We emptied them into buckets and sorted them.

The finest went into the live baskets. These were the plumpest, healthiest, most valued at the market. The smallest, the injured, those that few people wanted, we killed and cleaned.

Augus’ hands flashed. Blood splashed. Scales flew. Guts and bones fell into the water. The cleaned fish lay in between the bottom boards, covered with wetted cloth. Just like that, he picked up the next fish, and the next, and the next.

I was no stranger to this work, yet he had been doing this since his fifth summer. He had a wealth of experience I did not have, and would never have.

As we worked, we shared what tidings we had heard since we had last met.

“I noticed your ghortos has no ward-stone,” I said.

“Ours burst a moon ago.”

“Bad luck,” I said. “That was when the Kwei-serpent first came down the mountain, wasn’t it?”

“I think so. Since then, our neighbors have sighted Kwei-beasts prowling the wilds.”

“The king sent his koryos to patrol the roads in force,” Guregnos added.

“We are far from the road,” Augus said.

“But close to the water.”

“And now Kwei-beasts are in the water too.”

“Next time, when you see a strange-shaped log, don’t cast a net at it!”

Augus chuckled and shrugged.

“You should buy a ward-stone as soon as you can,” I said.

“Yes, we are saving up for one. The fish you shocked for us went a good way towards that,” Augus said.

“Until then, you need a need-fire.”

“Wood for a need-fire is wood taken from our own hearth-fire, or so Uncle says,” Guregnos replied.

“There isn’t enough wood?”

“There isn’t enough time or hands to gather all the wood we need for a proper need-fire, one that would burn day and night.”

“I see.”

We fished all through the morning. The sun showed herself, then grew steadily in strength. When midday arrived, we agreed to head to Verdwer.

Scores of boats were beached on the strand. Fishermen stood on the sterns, shouting prices and holding up their best catch. Traders went from boat to boat, buying fish by the basket. Scales in hand, wives and children and orbha snatched up what was left. Peddlers sold trinkets and supplies to all who came to the market. Nearby, city guardsmen in half-plate kept everyone honest, and watched for beasts and bandits.

Augus and Guregnos found an empty berth at the edge of the market. Guregnos grabbed the largest and fattest of the cleaned fish, planted his foot on the prow, and yelled at the top of his lungs.

“Fresh fish! Cleaned fish! Fish for your family and potis! One granos silver for one pekunos of fresh salmon!”

“I have business in the city,” I said to Augus. “I’ll be back at the close of market.”

“See you later,” Augus said.

Guregnos was too busy shouting to reply.

Reeking of fish and blood, I trudged to the main gate and joined the queue. The guards turned up their noses at me. But they saw my arm-ring and let me pass.

I walked the High Road.

To the side, this time, taking care not to step on the forbidden path.

My feet took me deep within the second ghortos. I headed east, past the pleasure garden, towards the largest forge in the city.

Dhelklew was the favored blacksmith of the royal ghortos and the great houses. I had visited him many times during my time in the king’s koryos. Even after I joined the Godsworn, I still visited him on occasion for smaller pieces that Harim had no time to make.

I heard Dhelklew’s workshop long before I approached, a constant, ringing drumbeat of metal on metal. Thick, black smoke spiraled high into the air. Hot sparks sprayed from the coal-fed hearth.

The man himself was busy hammering a long rod flat against an anvil. Around him, his apprentices tended to the forge, filled tubs with oil and water, worked on smaller pieces.

“ALA!” I shouted.

“I’ll be with you soon!” Dhelklew replied.

The blacksmith pounded away. The apprentices busied themselves with their work. It was as though all the world beyond their workshop did not exist.

At last, Dhelklew set the piece aside. He took off his heavy leather gloves, wiped the sweat off his brow and scratched his ruddy nose. He waddled outside and looked up and up.

“Taran Barak-sonu,” he said. “I’d recognize you a bow-shot away.”

“It’s been two seasons, Dhelklew Blacksmith,” I replied. “How are you?”

“Quite well. I can’t say the same for you.”

“What do you mean?”

Dhelklew rested his fists on his hips.

“All Verdwer has heard of the man shunned by the Striker.”

“He did not ban people from doing business with me.”

“He did not,” Dhelklew agreed, “but there are many eyes on my ghortos.”

“I have much silver on my arm.”

“That is plain to see. What do you want?”

“I seek to outfit myself for a hunting trip.”

“Oh? What are you hunting?”

“The great serpent of the Sky-Pillar.”

Dhelklew’s bushy brows disappeared into a shock of dark hair.

“You? Hunt a great serpent? You don’t even have a belt!”

“Which is why I’m here.”

He gestured at the ring. “I can tell you now that even that won’t be enough for what you need.”

I wished I’d kept the other arm-ring, or at least broken off half of it. On the other hand, Omos might not have trusted a man who gave only half a ring.

“I’ll buy what I need now, and come back in days to come,” I replied. “I expect to visit you regularly.”

“Well then,” Dhelklew said, “if you seek your doom, at least spend all your silver on my wares before you go.”

Laughing, we headed inside his ghortos.

The front of his workshop was stocked with goods. Spears and swords hung on wall racks. Knives and fire strikers and other iron tools were laid out on wooden tables. The blades were sheathed in leather. Common steel plates stacked high in a corner, shaped in different sizes.

I handed Dhelklew my arm-ring.

“I will leave this with you,” I said. “You may take your payment from it.”

My eyes wandered over the weapons. There were so many weapons. Yet, I knew, they were the last things I needed to see.

Instead, I reached for a piece of fire steel.

A man without fire was soon dead. Dhelklew nodded as I set it down on his worktable. Then he measured the ring with his scales, took up a sturdy knife, and hacked off a small piece of silver.

Next was a spoon and an eating knife, sized for my hands. Dhelklew clipped off a larger fragment.

The eating knife was too delicate for camp work. I tested the many knives he had, until I found the one I needed. The blade was thick, the spine stout, and the handle filled my hand. For this, Dhelklew broke off a quarter of the ring.

The axes were stored in a barrel. I pored over them until I found one with a pleasing shape. The handle was short. The blade was a broad fan. At the back was a thick spike, shaped like a beak.

Axe in hand, I threw test cuts into empty air. It flowed from blow to blow. The steel sang was I swung. I rolled the axe around, then threw short, stabbing blows, imagining myself punching through mail with the spike. Now and then I jerked the axe into me, as though hooking and reeling in an enemy.

I nodded at Dhelklew. Dhelklew took another quarter-ring.

I looked at the weapons. Then I looked at the silver. Then back to the weapons.

“With what you have left, you can buy armor and a polearm,” he advised, “but you need pouches and a belt.”

I sighed. “Among other things.”

“Know you where to get them?”

“No.”

“Go three doors down. Tell Einos I sent you.”

He returned what remained of the ring to me. I hung it from my arm. Everything else I carried in my hands. Then I headed down the street.

Einos the leatherworker ran a large workshop. Men and women measured and cut and stitched under his watchful eye. He greeted me with a gloomy face. It lightened when I told him Dhelklew sent me.

“What do you need?” Einos asked.

“A belt. A purse. A pouch—no, two pouches. A waterskin. And… a pair of shoes.”

He looked at the ring. Then he looked at my things and my waist-rope. And then he frowned.

“If that is all the silver you have, you can’t afford everything you mentioned.”

“Tell me what I can buy here.”

“You are a warrior, aren’t you? You hold yourself like one.”

“Yes.”

“Yet you find yourself bereft of gear.”

“I’m buying new gear.”

He stroked his chin. “You will need a belt that will not break in battle. You also need pouches that will withstand the wind and rain. This we can sell you. The rest… you can find cheaper at the market.”

We haggled over prices. He did not push too hard, and neither did I. I gave him the silver. He broke off half of what remained.

In return, he gave me a wide, sturdy belt, stitched from cow leather, so fresh I could still smell the oil. The fittings were common brass, but brass was good enough for a warrior. Attached to the belt were two large leather pouches.

I untied the waist-cord and fastened the belt. I dropped the fire starter into one pouch, my spoon and eating knife into the other. I measured the cord carefully, then cut a short length. I threaded it through holes cut into the sheath of the camp knife, and tied it on to my left hip. I bundled up the cord and tied it to the belt. Finally, I hung my axe at my right hip.

A free man was an armed man. Now, at last, I was whole again.

I worked my way through the market. A lesser leatherworker stitched together large pieces of rawhide around my feet. This he was pleased to call shoes. Then he handed me a rough bag stitched from goatskin. This he was delighted to declare a waterskin. From other peddlers I bought a purse, hooks, lines, needles, a comb, a toothbrush, a fire-carrier with fresh-made touchwood.

When the buying was done, what remained of my silver was the size of half my thumb.

Borrowed shoes in hand, I returned to the strand in time to see the market break up. The sun was tilting low in the sky. The traders had left, and most of the fishermen with them. Only a few stragglers remained. The yelling was done, and all that remained was fierce talk.

Guregnos called out to me as I approached the boat.

“You look like a proper warrior now,” he said.

“Not even halfway close,” I said.

He cast his eyes across my bare arms, then at the mostly-empty purse. He said nothing and neither did I.

We cast off again. As soon as Verdwer was safely behind us, Augus fished out a fistful of silver and bronze. There were three whole coins, and a half-dozen odd-shaped shavings.

“This is your share,” he said.

“I didn’t do much.”

“You helped.”

I thought of the piece of silver in my purse, lonely and small. Then I accepted the bright metal.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You are our ghosti,” he said. “It is nothing.”