Exile
Chapter 1Ethan straightened his aching back, looking over the freshly tilled soil behind him. He smiled; satisfied that he had done all he could to prepare the ground for the seeds he had so carefully carried through the gate. A good decision it seemed, far better than those who had brought through coins hidden in household implements, the family jewels or expensive works of art. All deemed worthless in the struggle to survive. Simple seeds and farming implements were worth far more than their weight in gold.
He thought back to his arrival, his stumbling through the blue gate, the seeming endless pain, the feeling that he had been stretched, chopped into tiny elementary particles and then streamed through the fires of Lirak's, the Elder Elemental God of Fire, personal abode. When he had stopped screaming he found himself stumbling into a sand filled circle. Gentle hands cradled him, lowered him to the floor and poured some fresh water into his mouth. He looked up, gratefully, into the smiling face of a middle aged man who helped lift him off the ground. A young boy grabbed the handles of his hand cart, pulling it along as they walked.
"Welcome to Dienie's Landing. Not much of a city, unfortunately, not even a real town. It is what passes for civilisation around here. I am taking you to our ruling council." At the look of alarm in Ethan's face he quickly continued, placating the newly arrived exile. "The council is voted for by all of us in exile, so it has a lot of well known rebels on it, as well as people that have been in exile for long enough for people to get to know them. They want nothing more than to know who you are, where you are from and what skills you bring to our community. Nothing will be taken from you, nor will anything will be demanded from you. You are free to do as you wish or to help our community grow."
Ethan looked around as they walked. The buildings around the arrival area were made of wood; very little stone seemed to be in use. Most were two stories tall, and seemed to be built by eager amateurs rather than true carpenters or builders. He could see nails had been used, and frequently fewer than were required, even where a nail free carpenter's joint could have been used, for a stronger and more economical join. Drainage also seemed a problem, buckets of slop were just emptied into the streets, no one seemed bothered by the stench; evidently they had grown used to it.
They headed towards on of the nearby buildings, indistinguishable from those on either side. Simple swing doors, on rope hinges, stood open admitting everyone that entered. His head clearing, Ethan remembered the woman behind him.
"Tell me, friend, what happens to those who come through in shackles?"
The man frowned, looking over his shoulders at the landing area.
"We question them. We have no need for real criminals here, and unholy bastards are as quick to dispose of rapists and murderers into exile as those who oppose their rule. The real criminals never leave the landing area. The others, they are freed, made welcome and given the basic necessities for survival. We help them as far as we can. After all, are we not all brothers and sisters in exile?"
The small group stepped through the doorway, the little cart bobbing along the uneven wooden floor. They manoeuvred through knots of people, each one shouting louder than the rest, each with their own request for people seated at the table before which they gathered. Seed, farming implements, craft tools, the simplest of metal utensils seemed to be in short supply. A few glanced enviously into his handcart at the pick and hoe heads, but none moved to take them.
At the back was another set of doors, held closed by simple rope ties. They waited a few moments and the door was opened. Nervously Ethan entered, his guide at his side, the boy pushing the handcart close behind. Inside was a circle of chairs. Each was occupied; some were men, some women; all smiled and looked friendly. An elderly man stood up, beckoning to the sole empty chair.
"Come, sit. We will talk, tell you about us, and you will tell us whatever you feel comfortable speaking about. There are no Inquisitors here! We are one family, one group, one people that needs to live and grow in this new land."
Intimidated by the surroundings, even though the man in front of him seemed friendly enough, Ethan stepped forward, almost collapsing into the offered chair.
The man smiled again, sitting down. "Is this not better? Now, I am Simon, and it is my pleasant task to welcome you here. As you saw, it is a small community, and we are not wealthy, but we are growing, and with the help of the gods will continue to do so." Simon glanced at the hand cart, at the farming implements with their metal heads. "You are a farmer? Did you bring seed?"
Ethan quailed inside, he looked around nervously not knowing what would happen. Should he lie? Could he hide what he had brought? Best not to, he thought, if they should look they would discover the lie. Scared, but sticking to his decision he answered, "Yes, I am a farmer and I brought seed. Grain and wheat and some other small plants and herbs."
Simon laughed! His face beamed as he looked at Ethan, "A farmer! And one with the foresight to bring tools and seed! Never fear Ethan, you are honoured and will be given what you need to establish your farm. Few enough here have the skills that we would waste what you have on those who could not use it! I do have one request of you if you do not object?"
Ethan looked at Simon, wondering what the cost would be. He was relieved that there seemed no intention to remove his goods, but how much would they demand? Would he get any of what he farmed or would this new council be like the "Holy Ones", taking everything and returning but a handful.
"Well, a few requests actually, though one is simpler than the others. The first, your name. The second is that I would ask that you take one or more of the younger children under your protection and teach them how to farm. The third, that you be prepared to share part of what you grow with us. We will not take anything. We do not tax and we will provide items you may lack in exchange. But the truth of it is that at the moment the most precious thing we have is food, and I ask that you share until such time as we can give fair value in return."
Ethan stood and bowed to the council, "My apologies for my lack of manners. I am Ethan, late of Gesh Spring, husband to Rita, father to Josh, Lika and Rus." Tears welled in his eyes as he thought of his family, those left behind that he knew he would never see again. "Of course I will share and of course I will teach."
That had been a month ago. In the time he had cleared his fields of rocks, brought two children under his wing, a boy they called Rock who said he was 10 and girl called Esme, his sister, who claimed to be 8. He did not believe either age, both were small, both looked younger. He smiled as he watched them in the fields. At first he had been reluctantly to let the two little ones out, but he soon learned they knew more about survival here than he did. They had pointed out the thin tendrils that attached to a vine with sharp, thin needles and told him how stepping on those tendrils caused the vine to lash out with the needles that paralysed you and caused you to lie there until you rotted away, feeding the plant.
He clapped and the two came running silently. He often wondered at their silence but put it down to their trauma in arriving here, their mother smuggling them through the gate to join their father, only to be killed by an arrow shot by a guard who spotted them out after curfew, only to arrive to find their father dead, killed by the bite of an unknown insect. As they neared the hut he was slowly trying to expand into a proper home, a buzzing started in his head. It had started a few days ago and it now seemed to last longer each time. He grimaced, grabbing his head and then tried to smile, no need to scare the children, they had enough trauma already.
Bellasi scrubbed the floor of council house. Her wrists still bore the marks of the shackles that had been on her wrists as she came through the gate into exile. She had been given rough homespun clothes to wear, hand me downs from one of the other settlers since there was nothing yet being made here. She smiled as she remembered her arrival, the reception she had received as she had come through the gate
The guard pushed her forward, putting his foot out to trip her as she arrived at the gate. She stumbled through and felt pain like a thousand knives cutting at her as the blue glow engulfed her. She fell through, the pain squeezing scream after scream out of her. She fell, until she felt the hard rock hit into her face, her nose starting to bleed as she lifted her head. She felt someone's hands grabbing her, pulling her up.
"Here, let us help you up, stumble as you came through? Ah, still shackled, the guards obviously did not like you much, will we? Never mind, the council will decide!"
Bellasi listened to the voice and turned to the source. A large man stood before her, his arms lifting her easily as she barely came to his chin. His face was rugged and scared and he smelled slightly of decay and offal. She began to fear what would happen next, who were this council?
Another man came forward, grabbed hold of her chains and looked at her.
"It's your choice how we treat you. If you are innocent and just a victim, come quietly and soon these will be off, we only leave them off since they often send through offal as well as the innocent in shackles. Just follow and all will be well."
She shrugged, she had little choice after all, and followed as the man led her, his hands gripping her chains. The settlement was dirty, no proper care or sanitation and the smell assaulted her. She found herself longing for the cleanliness of her home city and laughed to herself- as much as she hated the Holy Ones, at least they kept the streets clean!
She was led through simple swinging doors into a plain two story building. People stood in rows shouting out various requests. Some called for food, others for clothing, yet others for tools or a place to sleep. She quailed, thinking of the injustices of the holy ones and seeing not much difference here. Her guide led her through to another room, a table in the centre surrounded by chairs. The men and women sitting there looked at her and waited until the guard had seated her at the one empty place. She looked at the arrangement curiously, a circle with her just one of those there, not facing the others across the table, just one of them.
"Greetings Exile, I am Simon, the head of the council." She looked at the small, thin man and waited more. When no one else seemed inclined to talk she coughed shifted in her seat. Still, there was silence. The people in the room just sat, looking at her, no sound, no fidgeting.
"What do you want?" Bellasi blurted out," She found the whole situation very uncomfortable, "Are you deciding how best to abuse me? Are you just the same as those who sent me through the gate?"
Simon looked at her, his voice soft as he replied. "What do we want? To know your name, to know why it is you wear shackles and come to us in bloodied clothes. As you can see, we are not a large community, nor a strong one, we have to know, are you going to be part of us or are you going to hurt us?"
"Hurt you? Why would I do that? I ran an inn, I looked after travellers, and I crushed the balls of a holy one before he could rape my sister! I am bloodied because they sent me through after beating me and made sure I was thrown through instead of arriving on my feet!"
In front of Simon part of the table glowed blue and all those sitting there relaxed, their faces breaking into smiles, a few laughing softly at the image in their mind of one of the fat holy ones being gelded by a kick!
A man stepped forward with a small anvil, pick and chisel. A few short blows later and her shackles were lying on the floor.
Bellsai looked down and now smiled, it did not look like they were planning any harm so she might as well assume the best. Standing up she bowed to those at the table.
"I am Bellasi of Jiar's Hamlet, or at least I was. Innkeeper extraordinaire and a fine juggler!"
Simon laughed and looked at her. Ïnnkeeping and juggling, not truly skills we need, but we always have work for those who are willing."
And so they did, as Bellasi found out. Not glamorous but it was work, it gave her something to contribute and now the council hall was always clean, the smells of old gone as she brooked no rubbish piling up or dirt being left around. In a scant month she had gone from being just a worker to taking control of most of those working in the building, ensuring that it ran properly and was looked after.
She looked at the floor she had just finished scrubbing and smiled to herself, one less room to worry about for now. Just then her head began to hurt, the buzzing irritating her as it came and went. It never seemed to last long, but it always seemed to be there. She grimaced and then ignored it, there was too much to do!
Tirangali stepped into the blue curtain and sucked in his breathe as the pain hit. He let it flow into him, he grasped it, held onto it and then ignored it. He felt the mule bucking behind him, bellowing in pain, but soon it finished as he stepped through, its lead rope firmly grasped in his hand. Someone tried to grab hold of his hand and, without thinking, he drew his knife and spun around, facing his attacker. Standing before him was a rather ordinary, and scared looking man.
"No need for that Ser!" The man stepped back, looking at the knife held in an obviously competent hand. "Just here to help Ser, no offense meant!"
"I am no Ser!" Tirangali straightened, sheathing his knife. "Where is this place?"
"Well Ser, no offense and begging your pardon, but this is Dinnie's Landing, where all the exiles arrive. Just here to help you and take you to the council."
"What does this council want? What do they have to do with me?"
"The council, Ser? They want to help us, to know what each can do to help the community. We are all here, all hungry, all trying to build something new. Will you come with me?"
Tirangali shrugged and nodded. May as well follow, he had no idea where to go anyway, and there was no need to start a fight just yet. Who knew, maybe there would even be a way to trade what he carried in his bundles.
The council was as small and rustic as Tirangali expected. He almost laughed at their attempts to make it friendly and relaxing. As promised, they tried to force nothing, to take nothing. They looked at the covered bundles and did not push when he refused to say what they contained. They relaxed when they learned he had been exiled for smuggling, assuming that he, like so many others, was caught for smuggling food.
Tirangali looked at the newly built addition to his house. Unlike so many of the other houses, it was properly built. His long deceased father had been a carpenter and he had been apprenticed to him before he was dragged away to be a slave and then a gladiator. CarpenIt was cosy, warm, and, most importantly of all, had ample hiding space for his bundles. He looked out at the community in which he had taken on the task of training some of the men into a militia, he being one of the very few who actually knew how to handle a weapon. But his most important possessions, the weapons that had been his downfall, the ones he had been smuggling, remained hidden. One day he would be able to get his price for them. For now, they were his hidden treasure.
Tirangali reflected on his new life, in a way he felt more complete and whole than at other times. The fact that he had been a slave, that he wore a slaves tattoos seemed meaningless here. No one cared, after all they had all been deemed criminals and sent into exile. He was almost happy, almost complete, but the nagging headaches and buzzing that attacked him when he least expected it irritated him. He tried to ignore it, but he could not help but feel it was destined to change his life.
Sinclair walked into the glow, reciting to himself, he felt the gate pulling at him, disassembling him to send him elsewhere. He exerted his will, sent out his own tendrils and grabbed hold of the magic as it took hold. He could not stop it, but he wanted to at least control it. He saw it leading into a square below, people gathering there to take off newcomers as they arrived and he extended his will, changing where he would arrive, forcing himself into a clump of trees at the end of the settlement away from any prying eyes. He sat down to meditate, to relax, until he felt more in control. He did not do much, he wanted to know more. Simple magic turned the bole of a tree into a home. He settled down to observe and to try and figure out what was wrong. The passage through had been easy, so why did his head ache and his ears buzz?
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