Chapter 16: Stonecrow (Patreon)

The Stonecrow tavern was even louder than Elliot had expected. Its granite exterior was squat and round, but where Breka’s home barely had room for her few pieces of furniture, this space was packed with people. Small windows let in a pittance of natural light, supplemented by glowstones jutting from the ceiling. A disorganized jumble of wooden tables sprawled across the floor, and the granite bar at the back flowed smoothly into the walls as if they had been sculpted from one piece of clay.

Elliot’s first reaction was a slight wince. The smell of ale and roasted meat hung thick in the air, and although neither was unpleasant, the intensity combined with the noise of the crowd was a huge shift from the quiet, evergreen-scented walk over. He still was far from excited about a night out drinking and meeting strangers, but Yehi had seemed so happy when he’d said he would come. Scanning the tables, he quickly caught sight of her half-feathered face—a spot of red and gold in the far corner.

He moved toward her, slipping past suddenly pulled-out chairs and the occasional outstretched arm. It didn’t take much in the way of acrobatics, but after his morning with Hadrian, anything beyond a slow walk in a straight line was a challenge.

Drawing closer, he caught his first clear view of the table’s two other occupants. One, dressed in thick furs despite the spring weather, was a huge man with jet black hair braided all the way down to the small of his back and a thick, wild beard. There was a large sword hanging over his shoulder. The other, sitting with her back to the wall, was a bald woman in a light blue wrap with what appeared to be a giant brass ring hanging from her belt sash. Small black beads were threaded along the metal, moving freely as she shifted.

His heart had started to pound. What’s wrong with you? It’s just a few people. Calm down.

The woman in blue was the first to see him, and she straightened in her chair. “Is this the outlander?”

Yehi, who had been facing away from the door, turned her head and smiled. “Yes it is. Be welcome, Elliot. Sit with us.”

“Thanks,” he replied, smiling in turn. Just relax. Be normal.

An unoccupied chair between Yehi and the bald woman, across from the giant of a man, and Elliot pulled it out and sat. “It’s nice to meet you both, I’m Elliot, like she said.”

“Olivia,” replied the other woman, offering a vague smile that passed quickly. “And this is Hrolf.”

The man in furs extended a hand across the table, stone-faced, but his grip was surprisingly gentle when Elliot accepted the offered greeting. 

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Elliot said. “Yehi told me this was a good place to meet other people who are far from home. I come from the far south,” that being the story he’d decided to go with after Yehi’s assumption. “Where are you both from?”

Hrolf stroked his beard with one hand, grunted, and looked over at Olivia. She touched the ring at her belt, the gesture seeming almost unconscious.

“You have to ask?” she replied.

“Farther south than you guess, priestess,” Yehi said. “Friend Elliot does not know much of our lands.”

“Far indeed, then,” Olivia replied. “Forgive the confusion, the both of us are well-marked by our homes. Most would know our origins at a glance.”

“I spend too much time confused to be annoyed at anyone else’s confusion,” Elliot said, shrugging.

She smiled. “I am a priestess of the Bast temple, of Rhodea.”

He cocked his head.

She laughed. “Even so? And thus my hubris is answered. Far enough south to not know of Rhodea is far indeed. The Bast temple is a guardian order, founded in the kingdom of Rhodea, east of here and past the Broken March. We were a proud and independent people when the nations of the March were nothing more than baronies.” She gestured to Hrolf. “He struggles with Common, but his home is the steppelands, to the east as well, but farther north.”

Elliot’s eyes darted over to the giant. This was his first evidence of other languages, and he felt a burning desire to know if his ability to speak would carry over, or if it was limited to what he now knew was called Common.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hrolf.” He paused, trying to hear the words being spoken, but it still felt like he was speaking standard English.

Hrolf grunted again and dipped his head in Elliot’s direction. He certainly didn’t seem like he’d been shocked by any unexpected fluency. 

“Fortune to you,” he said, voice gruff and almost scratchy, with an accent that reminded Elliot vaguely of Russian.

“Would you mind sharing a bit of your native tongue?” Elliot glanced over at Yehi, unsure if his meaning would be taken, or if the question was too rude. “I’d be interested in hearing something I’ve never heard before.” Is that a weird thing to ask? Probably.

Hrolf was silent for several seconds, and Elliot almost apologized, but then he opened his mouth and spoke. “Hvandar met udnow, kelt varys kin.”

Elliot frowned softly. So it didn’t apply to all languages. But at the same time, something itched at the back of his brain. It felt like he should know what the man was saying, like someone was speaking English with a thick Scottish accent, and if he could just parse out the words correctly it would all snap into place. “That’s lovely. Would you say just a bit more?” He’s going to think I’m crazy. Well actually, I’m imagining learning a foreign language in less than a minute because of something an extradimensional sadist mentioned in passing. Maybe I am crazy.

The man let out a rumbling chuckle. “Rowth, tem an indawary. Kairn faar met vindar, crynap—“

And then suddenly, as if he’d been smacked on the back of the head and something rattled loose, the words changed.

“—mountains of my youth. And I think that’s enough of that.” Hrolf sat back in his chair, holding up a hand as if to ask if his audience was satisfied.

Elliot gaped. That had been English. Did that mean the translation had kicked in? What language would come out if he spoke now, Common, or whatever Hrolf had been speaking?

“The steppefolk are known for the beauty of their star songs, although I do not think you could convince Hrolf to demonstrate,” Yehi said, eyes twinkling.

Opening his mouth to reply, Elliot could suddenly sense a choice. The sensation was difficult to parse, but he imagined a flock of starlings in his lungs flying among rocky crags. If he let the birds out when he spoke, it would be Common, or whatever he’d been speaking for days. If he let the crags out, harsher and harder, it would be the new language instead. He chose the birds.

“I believe it. And I would never ask that of you Hrolf,” he said, smiling. “It was kind enough of you to speak your language for a curious stranger.”

Hrolf snorted. “Isn’t that the Mother’s own truth.”

Elliot contained a start. That time it just made sense immediately. He could tell the other man was speaking a different language now that he was focused. What a fascinating system. He wondered what the steppelander would do if Elliot whipped out a fluency in his own language. Maybe beat me up for what would look like an annoying prank.

“How did you all meet?” he asked, realizing he’d been staring for too long.

“I met Hrolf on the road in Remmir,” Olivia replied. “He had run into trouble with a local guard, and I aided him. Rhodea borders the steppes, and I know a few words in the steppe tongue, although far less even than he could claim for Common.” She grinned for the first time since Elliot had sat down. “There was a difference of opinion about the ownership of some chickens.”

Hrolf rolled his eyes, and spoke in broken Common, “Farmer cheats me. No one believes.”

“The Bast temple doesn’t command the same respect in Remmir as it does in Rhodea, but it was enough for me to smooth things over.”

“And I came to them after we’d arrived in Bastogne,” Yehi added. “We shared a campsite, and felt kindred enough to keep our tents together since.”

“Good cook,” Hrolf opined.

“Yes, the quality of the food Yehi offered, and the generosity of spirit shown by the offer, certainly won us over right away. Goddess only knows why she puts up with us,” Olivia added. “She told me how you met, Elliot, and I’m curious how you came to be here, considering your unusual origins.”

Elliot tried to order his thoughts. Don’t say anything strange. “Well, that’s a great question. I come from very far away. There’s nothing much where I live—lived, I guess. No real crazy powers or particularly famous people by your standards, but I lived with my sister and we were happy.” He paused, feeling a slight hitch in his throat, and smiled to disguise the feeling while he waited for it to pass. “Something changed recently, and we were displaced. A powerful man scooped up my sister and I, like it was a game. He put me here, and my sister somewhere else. I’m just trying to get my bearings, and then my only plan is to try and find her.”

“What?” Olivia asked, looking affronted. “That’s ridiculous. Who would dare? Which nation do you claim citizenship with? As a Bast temple guardian I myself will lodge a direct complaint with the Conclave, and you should let the Sunsguard know too, since they’re here already. That kind of sadistic behavior cannot stand.”

“I’m so sorry, Elliot,” Yehi said softly. 

“How strong?” Hrolf asked.

“I don’t know,” Elliot replied. He sighed. “Very. That’s all I can say.”

“What about your parents?” Yehi asked.

A vice clamped down on his chest, and his next breath was difficult to take. His mind went blank. It’s okay. Ride the wave. He couldn’t feel this right now.

“They passed,” he said curtly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh,” Yehi said, eyes widening. “I’m sorry.”

There were a few moments of awkward silence.

“Well, you have my word that when I return home I will bring this to the attention of my superiors,” Olivia replied with a scowl. “It cannot be allowed to stand without action, even if his power may put him beyond punishment.”

Warmth rose in his chest, even as he knew there was absolutely nothing to be done. The tightness was passing. “Thank you. I honestly really appreciate that. Can I ask, since it sounds like you’re a warrior, or did you say guardian? What brought you to Bastogne?”

“Falurium, the same as everyone else. I’m trying to negotiate a bulk order for the temple. Can I assume that you’re not familiar with the guardian orders?”

Elliot laughed. “Correct.”

“Rhodea is infested with spirits. The cause is debated, although the prevailing explanation relates to a curse levied during the fall of the empire. As a result, we have a number of temples—each specializing in a different means of defense against ethera-based predators.” She gestured to her ring. “We guard our people as best we can. Our matriarch is an enchanter, and has plans for this new alloy.”

Before he could respond, Elliot sensed a looming presence over his shoulder. Turning, he took in the sight of two men who looked like they could have been Hrolf’s neighbors. Tall, long braided hair and beards, and heavily clad in furs.

“Well met, brother,” said the one on the left, whose hair was a bright red. Once again, Elliot could understand the words, and he knew they weren’t Common.

Hrolf stood, extending a hand to exchange grips with both strangers. “Brothers. Well met on foreign soil.”

“You should sit with us. No Rhodean or Marchman could be good enough company for a night of drinking.”

Hrolf shook his head. “They are my companions for this night.”

The red-haired man smiled faintly. “Foreigners. Good for trading and gold-taking, not drinking.”

“They are my friends.”

Elliot glanced over at Yehi and Olivia, but neither showed any sign of understanding the conversation. Yehi was smiling at the newcomers, and Olivia was sipping her drink and observing the bartender.

“Truly? A Marchman, a Rhodean, and a feathered freak? I do not believe it. You are using them for something.”

“Believe as you wish, brother. But I am occupied.”

Despite the words being shared, their tones were relaxed, as if exchanging pleasantries. Elliot had to work to keep his expression neutral.

“Have it your way. But if you remember that you are a man of the steppes, seek us out. There’s good money to be made in this town, for those of us who do not greatly value the lives of the March. Rich outsiders have come, and they need swords.”

“I wish you good fortune on your travels, brothers, but I am just here to trade.”

The stranger waved a hand dismissively. “So you say. But that will only take you so far. Think on it.” And with that he turned and nodded to the others at the table, smiling for all the world as if they’d just had a pleasant conversation. Both strangers turned and walked away.

Elliot’s thoughts were racing. Rich outsiders? Hurting people from the March? Could this be a Talessi connection? 

“Who were they?” Olivia asked.

“People of steppe,” Hrolf replied, shrugging. “Do not know.”

“Do they want to sit? We could make room,” Yehi added.

“No. They go away.”

“As they wish,” Olivia said, “I’m getting another round, does anyone need anything? Elliot?”

“What?” He replied, eyes snapping back to the table. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

“Do you want a drink, I said.”

“No, thank you, but no.” 

“Yehi? Hrolf?”

Both nodded.

As Olivia left, Elliot turned back to the steppelanders. They had picked a small table across the room and were sitting alone, talking. Presumably they would drink, maybe eat, and then leave in an hour or two.

And he had to decide what he wanted to do about that.