SCA: Day’s End
Rorek ached. His arms, his legs, his seat - his whole body protested the hours spent in the saddle with nothing but some nymbak jerky to tide him over. His mind drifted longingly to thoughts of soft beds and hot meals, but Rorek had heard tell of a big bandit gang in this area and that kept him just alert enough to stay in the saddle. The last thing he wanted was to be caught off-guard, in the air or on the ground.
The setting sun turned the scattered clouds orange, pink, and red-gold, highlighting the cover he could use to conceal their silhouette from the ground, but Rorek barely noticed. According to his map, he was close to the haven at Carver Canyon Falls, an old inn he'd heard was good, but never visited himself. A week to rest. Maybe two. That was what his broadwing, Apel, would need before making the long trip back to Vale.
Back to his wife and daughter. Back home.
Through a break in the clouds, he spotted the glint of a small river, carving out the far side of a shallow canyon in the scrubland below. It flowed along the steep bank, then threw itself out into the dark nothingness of the chasm beyond, of which the canyon was a mere shadow. That water was a tributary for the North Sheer River, and it made the canyon a lush place with its neat handkerchief squares of green and gold farmland, stately trees, and meandering dirt tracks, the town of Carver Canyon Falls nestled comfortably next to the winding silver water. With a grin of anticipation, Rorek shifted his weight, tipping Apel's wings into a leisurely spiral.
"There it is," he crooned to his peg, satisfaction in every note. "We can finally touch down for a well-earned roost." Apel's dust-colored ears flicked back, catching the pleased tone in his rider's words.
Tidy wooden buildings lined a footpath that served as the main street, the smell of musty thatch rising to meet them as they swooped low over the pitched roofs. It was a modest town, spread out over the floor of the canyon: an outfitters, a general store, a church, a schoolhouse, a grain mill, two smallish trading posts, and of course the crown of any settlement, an inn. The Dusty Bowl Tavern was large enough to dominate the outline of the cluster of buildings, but Rorek noticed there was little in the way of traffic along any of the paths, even at the inn's door or in its yard. Though the sun hadn't yet disappeared over the horizon, the market was deserted, and curls of smoke already rose from several of the small farmhouses.
"Ain't exactly the greeting I expected," Rorek muttered, frowning slightly under the drooping tips of his well-groomed mustache. They skimmed over the inn's roof, and Apel rapped the sturdy wooden peak with his hooves; the customary signal that a pilot had arrived.
Landing with a thud in a ramshackle paddock, Apel snorted with relief and Rorek slid stiffly out of the saddle, feeling as though the imprint of molded leather would be branded into his backside for at least a month.
No water in the trough. No hay bales anywhere he could see. His frown deepened as he unsaddled his faithful peg and pulled off his cap and goggles. Apel nosed around the empty trough and huffed, obviously disappointed with what he found. To be honest, Rorek was, too.
"Sorry, Apel. I heard this place was a good one." With a sigh, he laid the saddle over the top rail and hopped over the fence, wincing as his legs protested.
He was nearly to the inn's back door when it burst open, kicked from within by a young girl hauling a bale of hay almost as large as she was, heaving it backward with all her skinny strength. Rorek stepped quickly out of her way, hiding his amusement.
"Hey mister," she grunted, barely glancing up at him. "Got rusker grass for your peg. Water comin' after." Rorek watched her drag the bale for a few moments, a grin on his face. She couldn't have been much older than his own daughter, Sanna. Leaning down as she passed him, he hefted the bale into the air with ease.
"Thanks, little miss. I'll take the grass if you get the water." Shooting him an offended glare, the girl huffed and scurried off. Rorek cut the bale open and tossed the whole thing into the paddock, where Apel trotted over to rummage around in the hay, snorting in disgust when it wasn't anything he could drink.
"Sorry, boy. Water'll be here soon."
Right on cue, the girl appeared with a bucket of water, both hands wrapped around the rope handle, leaning backward as she walked to lift it off the ground. Apel nickered eagerly and trotted to the trough. With a grunt, she managed to heave the bucket up and into the trough, splashing both herself and the peg as it tipped over.
Apel plunged his nose into the water at once, bumping the pail out of her reach. The girl had to clamber up onto the fence to retrieve her bucket, but stopped in the process of reaching for it, watching the peg drink with huge eyes.
"Gosh. You're thirsty." She eyed the bucket warily, as if wondering whether the peg might not take a bite out of her if she tried to take it away.
"He's been flying all day. He'll need lots of water." Rorek smiled, but the girl was looking at Apel with respect. Snatching her pail, she hopped down from the fence with a determined nod.
"Right."
Disappearing into the tavern, it wasn't long before she returned again, and this time with help. As she struggled down the steps, her bucket full once more, a large man with rounded shoulders and an innkeeper's apron followed her, carrying two more buckets, much larger than hers. One at a time, he dumped each liquid offering into the trough, nearly filling it even as the peg splashed and snorted with pleasure.
The man turned to Rorek, eyeing him up and down.
"Welcome, pilot." A heavy pause followed, and he glanced at the girl. "Molly, can you watch the hearth?" The girl frowned, her broad forehead and wide eyes scrunching up with obvious suspicion. "You gonna talk about bandits?" she asked shrewdly.
"Molly…" The stern tone in his voice seemed to compel obedience, though it didn't douse her courage at all.
"Fine." She pointed at Rorek, her jaw set in stubborn lines and her eyes hard. "No funny business." With her warning delivered, she turned on her heel, collected the empty pails, and scampered back inside before the innkeeper could scold her.
"Tch. Sorry about that. She's got more backbone than a hungry bushcat."
Rorek laughed. "She reminds me of my own daughter. It's no trouble. But… bandits? I heard rumors, but that sounds like you've had trouble."
The man sighed and tugged on his beard, looking a bit put out. "Yeah, well, they've been bothering messengers and merchant scouts and the like. Just petty jobs so far, taking coin and such. But their gang just keeps getting bigger. Still, it hasn't gotten bad, yet. Just something we have'ta keep an eye on, you know? Anyway, the name's Jeb. I'm guessing you want something for yourself now your peg's fed?" He stuck out his hand, and Rorek shook it.
"Rorek. And yeah, I would." As troubling as bandits and the like were, there was more on Rorek's mind than the mischief of a few lazy scroungers. Namely, his next hot meal and a good long sleep. Maybe a bath come morning.
"Come on in, then, and we'll set you up like a king." Jeb moved toward the door and Rorek was deeply tempted to follow, travel dust and all.
"Much obliged, friend. I'll be right in."
As the innkeep nodded and stepped inside, Rorek shucked off his flight jacket and dunked his whole head in the trough while Apel splashed about with his nose. The pilot surfaced with a gasp, cold water trickling down into his shirt, and hastily scrubbed his face and neck, eager to get inside and rest his weary bones. Apel, apparently thinking something much the same, shambled away from the trough and found a patch of sand to roll in, tossing up clouds of dust and grit with his legs, wings, and tail. Rorek chuckled, remembering the yearling colt Apel had been, all gangly knees and dull juvenile feathers, wallowing in the dust to shake off the feeling of the new halter.
Taking up his saddle, Rorek shook wet hair out of his eyes. "Alright, my lad. Be good and stay put."
Around at the front of the tavern, he paused by the swinging doors to listen to the chatter and laughter within, the sound of a fiddle rising above the buzz of conversation. Over the singing of crickets in the dusky evening, he pursed his lips to whistle a warbling birdcall. He didn't go inside until Apel replied from the paddock, promising in his own simple way that everything was alright.
The babble inside quieted as he stepped in, many eyes fixing warily on him for a moment. Rorek gave a friendly wave, and the gathering relaxed. Despite his uneasiness about this bandit business, his stomach was clinging to his backbone and demanding sustenance. He could ignore it no longer.
Selecting an empty table, he stashed his saddle under the chair and sat. Jeb approached with a clay mug in one hand and a friendly smile on his face, weaving with astonishing deftness through the crowded dining room.
"What'll it be?"
Rorek dug in his pockets for coins and tossed two on the table. "A hot dinner - whatever you've got ready - and some firewater if you have it."
Jeb took Rorek's coins with a nod and disappeared, leaving his newest guest to relax and listen to the lively banter around him, rocking back so his chair balanced on two legs. A homely woman in a blue calico dress at the next table looked like she'd had a bit too much to drink, the flush on her cheeks only emphasizing the size of her wicked smile.
"... and he told me that I could take my custom elsewhere! So I says to him, I says 'if that's the way you treat your folk, you can go hang,' and I left him right there so I did. Barley at seven coppers a pound, I never."
Near the hearth, a group of young men were singing a folk song and trying to harmonize, but failing rather badly, their arms slung around one another's' shoulders and breaking into laughter whenever one fumbled the words.
At a table by the wall, man with more freckles than any person needed was speaking in low, serious tones to a hard-looking woman with the tan-lines of a pilot's goggles around her grey eyes. "...said she just wandered off yesterday to pick some of those little red berries they make that jam out of down that way, and disappeared into the Silgo slot canyons. Hiring out to pilots to find her and bring her home."
A man wearing a dirty green scarf was laughing raucously at his friend two tables over, slapping his knee. "I'll bet you a gold piece that they split up 'cause someone gets big britches and tries to take over."
"The Everette Gang?" asked his friend, shaking his greying head. "Not a chance. A gold and two silver pieces says they're getting enough pilots for a big heist."
A heavenly scent captured Rorek's attention. His chair dropped forward with a thud as Jeb slid a plate heaped with food onto his table and a jug of firewater behind that. Before Rorek could say anything Jeb said,
“Molly’s out there with your peg.” Rorek leaned back again in an attempt to peer out the window.
“Oh?”
“I can call her off. She’s just curious is all.”
Rorek caught sight of the girl climbing over the fence and grinned. “I don’t mind, Apel is friendly enough.” Jeb chuckled.
“Too bad. She might deserve a kick now and again.” His voice was fond despite the insult. “If you want seconds, let me know.” Rorek nodded, any further thoughts drowned out by his roaring appetite.
Boiled sausages glistened with hot grease beading on their skins, nestled in a bed of wild fennel and sage. Steamed root vegetables crowded against a generous hunk of dark crusty bread, which had its heel in a hot serving of bean mash. It was herby, salty, and robust. The jerky from earlier was nowhere near enough to stop Rorek from eating seconds, and then thirds, mopping up the final dabs of bean mash with the last bite of coarse, hardy bread. The firewater was the good stuff, too, southern, and heavy with enough spice that it made his nose run.
Jeb stopped by the table as he drained the last of his mug and asked, with pardonable apprehension, "Will you be wanting any more?"
Rorek wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and smiled. "No, sir. I'm full up to the gills." Rummaging in his pockets again, he pulled out a coin and flipped it to the innkeep with a nod of appreciation. "For the cook, with my compliments."
“Much obliged,” Jeb’s voice lowered, “By the way, we’ve got a room free upstairs. And to be honest, I’d lock your peg in a stall tonight. Bandits fly over at night lookin’ for what's worth takin'. I’ve got a stall with an iron chain on it.”
Rorek was silent for a moment, considering the offer. Finally, he stood and shook his head regretfully. “Thanks, Jeb, but I’ll sleep outside with Apel tonight. He doesn’t do well in a stall. But I’d pay for good camp rations.” A soft bed would have been as nice as anything, but… Apel came first. A pilot always looked after his peg.
Jeb nodded and moved on to other tables demanding more drinks. With a full belly, Rorek's feet dragged and the saddle over his arm felt heavier than ever, his joints loose and wobbly with the desire to sleep for a week straight. Out in the dark autumn evening, Apel waited for him, Molly fiddling with the feathers on his wings. Apel twittered a gentle greeting as Rorek approached the fence, and Molly scrambled through the rails as though she'd been caught breaking the rules.
Which, Rorek reflected, she probably had.
“You ain’t stayin’ inside mister?”
“Nope, going to sleep out here with Apel.”
Molly hesitated, her face taking on that suspicious scrunch again that reminded him so much of Sanna. "Is it 'cause of bandits?"
The weight of the saddle, seemed to drag at his shoulder. He wanted so badly to lie down and close his eyes. But this little girl wouldn't be satisfied until she had an answer of him. Rorek sighed.
"Yeah, it's 'cause of bandits." For a long moment, Molly looked from him to his peg and back, then finally, she nodded.
“Yeah, alright. I'd probably steal him if I could.” Then she disappeared into the tavern, a cheeky grin on her face. Rorek chuckled and rubbed Apel’s beak.
"I couldn't stay awake for a whole nest of peg eggs. C'mon, and let's sleep." A soft bed it was not, but at least the paddock was free of branches, rocks, and roots that would leave him with bruises come morning. Rorek took Apel's left front hoof in his hands and pushed Apel’s hindquarters until the pegasus folded beneath him and lay down. Once on the ground, Apel puffed out his plumage and chirped, beckoning Rorek to join him.
Unhooking his bedroll from the saddle, he rolled it out and shuffled the saddle up out of the way.
“Well...looks like we’ll be moving on tomorrow. It's no good huffing at me, sir. We’ll just have to rough it till Verdia.”
It was a long way off, nearly 400 miles. 400 miles of camping. 400 miles without soft beds or hot food. And he was almost out of beard wax… but if it meant avoiding the bandits and getting home sooner, it was worth it. He settled down on his bedroll, and Apel let his wing rest over his rider like a blanket. Rorek heaved a contented sigh. A full stomach and a tired body almost made him forget that he was sleeping on the hard ground, but Apel’s warmth eased the tension from his shoulders and his thoughts, lulling him to sleep. As he drifted, a smile touched his lips. Sanna would laugh, when he told her about the girl that wanted to steal Apel. He would be home before he knew it.
~ Fin ~