The Path of Poison: Chapter 34

After a long trek through the wintry Voerlund wilderness, apothecary Sepp and his fellow refugees have arrived in the coastal Free City of Farhaven, where they now seek passage on a ship to the city of Lundermark…

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“Right,” said Skivor, pointing a finger at no one in particular, “Barosh and myself will head off to find lodgings across the waterfront here. Truth is, the Dunmarrow were a stroke of luck,” he said, casting his eyes about, “and with everything so busy, we’d best take our time and weigh options.”
The others agreed. Aside from the jittery Baletorian merchants, they were on their own now, and those fellows probably wouldn’t stick around for much longer.
“We’ll stay local,” said Barosh.
“Aye, good idea. We should meet back here in...about an hour’s count, or thereabouts. What’s a good landmark?” The woodsman scanned about for something.
“That ship with the blue sails looks good,” Sepp said, shielding his eyes from the blearing sun overhead. It had come over the land and was, for the time being, staying so, which was good.
“Blue sails it is,” Skivor assented, “lest it move out. Keep an eye that way, if it leaves, come back here ‘til we’ve all our bearings.”

And that was that. Skivor clapped Barosh on the back as they moved off down the pier. Sepp and Seva turned to the Baletorians, who said, in a babel of excited chatter Seva repeated through a half-suppressed grin for Sepp’s sake, that a good place to begin searching for vessels was in fact a little ways landward, or rather, seaward. They pointed when they began to confuse themselves. These ships here were good and docked, they said, at length, stopping themselves from too much unnecessary description. So blue sails wasn’t going anywhere.

They began making their way down the waterfront, Sepp observing, taking in the sights and pushing out the sounds as best he could, while Seva got talking to the merchants—and rather well, at that.
“You know,” she said in their Merchant’s Tongue, mostly comprehensible, “I have kin in Baletor, I’ve always wanted to meet them.”
Sepp remembered, or thought he did, that she’d said something about that a while back. Silverden woman with a Manatarian name and Baletorian family. What was her history, he wondered. But he wasn’t going to learn any of that, as the mere mention of relatives on the mountain opened the floodgates. First thing they did was mention her name.
“You must be a very well-travelled woman, Seva, or have a widely and well-travelled family, no?”
“I’m not, really, I lived in Silverden all my life! All I know is I have family in Baletor, an aunt, or maybe it was a cousin?” She laughed.
“Ah then you maybe are too of the mountain?” said one merchant.
“A little bit of the mountain, it could be!” said another merchant.
“Oh, it’s possible-” she tried to say.
“You see, Seva,” said the one who seemed to represent them the most, “you will maybe understand that we are the mountain, Oros is the mountain, so we are all one together, really. Everyone, even the dead. Important for all of the mountain to be together. Oros can always hear us, always calling us back home.”
“It is very sorrowful to lose bits of the mountain,” said another, eyes downcast in what seemed to be a respectful gesture.
The other two nodded and hummed with intense agreement.
“No matter where we are, the sun rises over Baletor.”
“Would people buried in other lands,” Sepp asked, slowly in his own Merchant’s Tongue, “not mean the mountain was a little bit of everywhere then? Is that not a good thing?”
They seemed to consider it for a moment between each other, only to reply quite flatly: “It would be better on the mountain.”

They walked, talking a little less after that, for a while. The merchants chattered to each other every so often in their native tongue, while Sepp and Seva found themselves continually fascinated by the vista around and about them. Fresh ocean air mingled with a mélange of spices and sizzling food, then behind this, the musty smell of oils that were worked upon wood and metal on the ships and in the smiths, and every so often, smells of decay came—dead fish, rotting hulls, and less describable things, such as the masses of weird black and brown weeds and pods and things which seemed nigh omnipresent on the decks, the stone, the sides of ships, being scooped up, kicked away, or thrown back in the waves. The whole thing combined into a heady odour so thick as to match the apothecary shop’s racks of roots and herbs and spices and things on a hot summer day. S'eth, if only his dad were here. And then, there it was. A pang of pain he hadn't felt in a while snuck in, drowning out the Baletorians. Everything felt terribly...something in that moment. Far away? Even though it had been a matter of, what was it, a little over sevenfold days or something since the crashing hooves, shouting men, stench of burning—the blood in the dust? Yeah, everything was far away, that was it. This place had no idea entire towns had been razed, or that four exhausted refugees wandered aimless through its streets. Nothing looked or felt out of the ordinary here. No one was rushing or shouting, no more than seemed right for such a place. Should they know? Well, a great deal of these merchants and shipmen most likely did, but for them it was, well, far away. He wasn't sure what to do with that, worst it hit them was probably a lack of business. Would being a homeless nomad curry any favour, he wondered? Any pity? He felt himself getting a bit angry, frustrated, and stopped. He also realized Seva must have noticed a change in his bearing because he saw her furrowed brow out of the corner of his eye. He just smiled, looked away, and then looked forward, past the Baletorians who had sort of taken point. He did his best to remember that, in whatever way it worked, his dad was there. He had to—a dearer price than aught else was paid for him to be here, so Sepp damn well better get something out it, is what his dad would have said with his severe eyes offset with the twist of a smirk on his mouth.

To their landward, long paths snaked off into the undercity, where points where it opened filled with wooden stalls on wheels crowding around those massive stone supports. They seemed to be selling a lot of food, but also a lot of small tools, sack, sail, a few weapons, and a great deal of what Sepp saw were religious items: lots of things hanging on lengths of cord or leather, like discs with stamped images of all colours and materials, there were sticks of incense, bundles of things wrapped up—landwight offerings?—and even a few free-standing idols, all of them looking quite expensive, like sun-discs or small braziers on pedestals, as well as countless humanoid shapes bearing things in their hands he couldn’t quite make out. He’d like to take a look at them, it he could. Then past these, they could see numerous squat dwellings of bare stone supported and decorated with sagging wood, broken up by numerous little taverns and eateries and what seemed to be, considering the robed figures which passed in and out of them, little shrines or temples. They must cater to everyone here, he thought, all the known world must pass through Farhaven. Between the heady odour of life and motion roused by breezes coming in from the Ocean, there was certainly an excitement to it all. Sepp thought he’d love to take a walk amongst it, but the Baletorians had started to look visibly anxious. Their glances had become thrown to the oceanward, to the multitude of ships and other vessels docked at a vast spread of messy ports and piers.

“Okay,” said the man who seemed to represent their group, “now it is here we must begin to search for a vessel. It would be wisest for us to go in two groups to ask. It is known human cargo is almost always carried, but, ah, oh, do not mention...the body, you understand this? Any captain or sailor who says yes, tell them to seek Angsho!” He patted his chest. One down, thought Sepp. “I think we know a good waterfront inn,” he shot a quick glance around to his fellows who nodded, seeming to know what he was talking about, "popular with Baletorians, it is called,” and he leaned in and said slowly, “the Gurmani. Gur, man, ee. We will get you rooms there—ah, unless your friends...” Angsho’s expression said he probably should have mentioned this earlier. “Ah, if you have need, you can all come with us there for a while, and,” said the merchant with an upraised finger for emphasis, “we also shall ask about ships setting sail to Lundermark, when captains send their hands to us. Ah, but also, Seva,” Angsho said with his hand out, “do you wish to join the ship to Baletor when it is found?”
She stammered out no particular answer, and found herself entirely unable to reply. She glanced quickly to Sepp, who wordlessly hoped she would say no. She found her words after a second.
“Oh, well, I...do you mind if I think about it? Talk with my friends?”
“Of course, yes, yes! But now, we must go and find the ships. Onto the docks we go—ah, you are new in Farhaven? I mean, you have not been here before?”
“No,” Seva laughed, “we haven't.”
Angsho looked down for a second, his eyes searching.
“Be quick then!” he said lightly, and turned to his fellows who all motioned to move off.

Sepp and Seva strode out and into the waterfront then, a bizarre conglomeration of stone piers, wooden piers, steps up, steps down, squat pillars with braziers and censers and bronze vessels full of smoking incense, little shacks in which people hunched over small desks, huge carts and biers of crates, barrels, tied canvas, and more, being wheeled, hauled, and pushed from ships along paths through tendrils of wispy incense smoke, to what they assumed were warehouses and other storage. Merchants stood with seafolk debating prices, payments, weights, and robed priests blessing ships, all in languages Sepp had never even heard before. Some were like the Baletorians and Manatarians, clay red and dusky skin with golden eyes, some looked to be Silverdens, and some were all of dark, rich shades—he knew these to be Minosmirii, and a small twinge of something unpleasant flowed through him for just a moment. He pushed that thought away, though. What was important now, they felt, was finding Voerlunders. There were a number of them, of true Voerlunders, for Farhaven folk were Voerlunders under a different name with only a minor differences, but there was a far lesser amount of them than they’d hoped for. They asked several rough looking men shifting large crates, a couple of sailors overlooking documents and manifests, and a few captains who stood astride on their ship’s bows, surveying the work and issuing orders, and each and every time were told “try a ship or two down”. So they did, going to anyone who seemed approachable, Voerlunder or not, and each time were met with shrugs, denials, and even a few laughs.

Crowds passed across the waterfront in constant waves, and the two of them either passed through, or more usually, ducked out of the way of shouting, bare-chested sailors and arguing merchants in silk finery who saw nothing in front of them. It was as they narrowly avoided a bunch of shipmen hauling barrels over the shoulders, that someone bumped into Sepp—walked right into him, in fact. But whoever it was didn’t stop. Sepp began to utter an exclamation and apology but his pack tipped—there was a tugging, and its contents suddenly fell to the stone. He only got one look at their face as they turned with an expression of intense anxiety. Maybe even fear. Whoever it was, the second glass hit stone, they bolted.

Sepp realized immediately what had happened, but it was useless. He fell to his knees, and began quickly scooping up the medicines and hex bottles that had fallen out, trying to take stock of what might be missing, wordlessly thinking in his mind it was a miracle none of them shattered. As he replaced them, however, he noticed something definitely wasn’t right. He quickly rummaged around. He rapidly swore under his breath. His eyes darted all around, he leapt to check behind crates, down short flights of steps—nothing. His heart burst into a bloom of absolute panic.
“Sepp, what is it? Is something-”
“My dad’s gri-” he shut his eyes to focus, “his book is gone.” Seva’s brow went low.
“The book of…?”
He just looked at her. She knew what he meant.
“Okay...okay, um,” she put her hands together and set them against her mouth in thought. “Look, I can keep asking about passage here, you go get a guard. Go quick!” She was already retreating back into the crowds, motioning him to go. He said thank you anyway. Sepp ran from the dockland and into the lip of the undercity. There must be town guards or some kind of security or peacekeepers around here, what with all these goods and things, right? There were, he found rather quickly. He came up to what seemed to be a sort of hollowed out station in one of the undercity support pillars, reinforced with a wide, thick porch of roughly hewn stone. Inside were a table, a few chairs, and a desk, and on two of those chairs were a man and woman in the blue tabard and headband of the Farhaven city watch, seemingly on break.

“Um, hello,” Sepp decided to try his best Voerlunder, “I, ah, I need help, please it’s urgent, if you can spare a minute.” They must have heard the tremor in his voice because their languid gazes over their shoulder hardened and they stood up and walked over to him.
“What happened, lad?” answered the woman in a strangely accented Voerlunder—this must be Farhaven, it occurred to him.
“I was robbed—someone knocked into me on the waterfront, they took something—something very important, and I-”
“Hey,” the man said, a hand held up, “when’d this happen?”
“Moments ago, just out on the path by the ships, out there,” Sepp pointed.
The two guards flashed a quick look and hint of a grimace to each other.
“You didn’t happen to see ‘em, did you?” asked the woman, scratching her forehead.
“Not really...I saw the face for only a second. Seemed young. And they were wearing really rough clothing. They ran off that way,” Sepp pointed back down the waterfront. “Is there anything anyone can do, the thing they took, I…” He felt himself start to get overwhelmed. S’eth, calm down, you’re babbling, he thought.
“Was it money? Travel papers?”
“No, it’s…” He couldn’t really hold it in. “My dad’s book,” Sepp said, a shudder in his chest. “It’s the only thing I have of him.” He leaned back against a wall.
“Look, lad,” the woman came forward, and her expression was not encouraging. “We’re drowning in thefts out here every day. It’s been bad of late, and it’s never good here. Leave a description of the item with us, we’ll add it to the list, can keep an eye out in peddler’s stalls, but...you understand?”
“Here, I wouldn’t normally recommend this,” said the man coming close and speaking low, glancing once to his partner, “but there's this fella in the Finsman's Rest, been kicking up a stink about thieves for a couple days now, he's some Baletorian chap, a paladin I think he’s calling himself, you can't miss 'im. He’s...how’d you say?” he looked to the woman.
“Unofficially helping in the ways we can’t,” she said, not making eye contact.

Amidst the sheer panic in his head, it did strike him—a Baletorian? There was a sudden flood of a nervous, fragile hope. Maybe this was good, maybe this was order. Could this fellow help with finding a ship for everyone? And get back Búcher’s grimoire?