**Author's note: Thank you for all the views, folks! Comments are always welcome. To answer a question by a reviewer: I'm not strictly following the movie's structure, and I'm incorporating parts of general Oz literary universe from L. Frank Baum's novels. This story is set to be fairly large, and will go to some wild places.**
Hours of silence passed with Alberich walking by my side before we reached a more substantial farm. The Tzaangor didn't speak much, and whistled birdlike tunes of his own as he walked alongside me, using his glaive as a hiking pole. Talking wasn't something I was really in the mood for, so that was fine. I was still reeling from the horrors I had just experienced. Every so often, if we reached another crossroad, the beastman would sniff the air and swivel his small, goatlike ears, searching for any danger. I had to admit that I felt safer with him around.
As we walked, I observed him. Where his skin had appeared smooth before, I noticed that he was actually covered in a layer downy velvet, making him very soft, and also making every leaf and bit of debris kicked up in the road more liable to cling to him. In replacement of hair, his head was covered by layers of plumage, like an exotic bird. His longish "hair" feathers were of varying shades of blue, teal, and indigo, and they extended out the back of his scalp and neck in a ruff. When he was interested in something or surprised, his feathers would stand on edge, and he would fluff up like a curious magpie.
The Tzaangor's eyes were pale bluish grey and intense, suggesting a keen erudite intelligence. They appeared incredibly human and expressive for being in such a bestial package. This was one scarecrow who definitely didn't need a brain.
The most mysterious part of him was actually the weapon he carried. He had been crucified with it, the cultists apparently completely disinterested with possessing such a beautiful piece of weaponry. The glaive looked to be finely wrought, its metal entirely unscuffed or marked. A short hook branched off from the base of the blade at one side. The weapon didn't seem to have much in the way of weight by the easy grace in which the beastman held it. Either that, or Alberich was even stronger than he initially appeared.
The shadows of the day were beginning to grow long in the early evening as the two of us discovered an old farmstead with a well sitting in the front of the property. Tall trees were becoming more frequent as the land began to transition into light woodland. Alberich informed me that this was the farm we were looking for. Stepping off the road, and onto the short cut path toward the well, he surprised me by asking, "You have been studying me. I can answer any questions you may have. I can assure you that I am quite civilized," he answered an unspoken question.
"Well, I've never met a Tzaangor before. I've only read about them in books," I said, answering him honestly, but carefully. The footpath wasn't as overgrown as the rest of the property. It appeared that someone had cut a route through here very recently. Aside from the path, the property appeared abandoned. Two willowy trees covered in dark vines hung on the land and offered partial shade to the farmhouse.
Alberich swiped at a few weeds along the side of the path, practicing his swing. He seemed to have a good spatial knowledge of his weapon, and I never felt like I was in danger from an accidental hit. The beastman responded to my statement, "Peculiar knowledge for a civilized lady. The physiology of a Tzaangor? Perhaps gleaned from one of the books she carries, yes?" He punctuated that with a slight chuckle as he led the way to the well. Somehow, he knew I carried a few books in my pack, but his senses were likely much more sensitive than mine, so he could easily just smell them. I didn't answer him, and watched as Alberich motioned me to come forward. A squat circular well sat in the front part of the property. A few paces away, I saw a blackened fire pit.
The well was unremarkable, crafted of grey stone and sitting beneath a domed wooden cover. Under the cover, there was a thick rope attached to a metal bucket, tied in place to a hand crank that stood out from the opposite side of the structure. It appeared to be very old. The Tzaangor leaned over the well, and gazed into its depths, his glaive at his side.
"How do we know this water is safe?" I asked, walking beside him as he looked. "I might not have your metabolism, you know."
"What choice do you really have? Boiling it will make it as safe as it could be. It is what I did when I came this way, and I am well enough," his voice echoed into the dark space.
"Someone cut that path, though. Someone could be here. We could be trespassing."
"That someone was me walking here yesterday," he said, reaching for the bucket with his long arms. Oh, now I felt stupid. I yawned.
The Tzaangor didn't seem to notice and checked inside the bucket before letting it drop down to the bottom of the well with a splash. As he began to crank the bucket upward, I sat down next to the well, beginning to feel fatigue. With my calculations, I had been awake for over 24 hours, and I was starting to feel exhaustion. "What a long, terrible day," I groaned. Unbidden, Amnaich's placid face over a field of bleeding corpses flashed in my mind's eye, along with an image of me laying nearly dead alone in my apartment back home.
It wasn't unexpected when a few tears began to fall from my eyes. I hadn't processed any of this. I was trapped in the 40k universe as a psyker who was friendly with literal daemons. My stomach was now growling again, and all I had was those damned nutrient bars. What I wouldn't give for a slice of pizza from back home...
Alberich was hauling the water up and out of the well when he added his thoughts, his voice echoing in the well. "I agree. I didn't think I'd be left to die by maddened villagers with clockwork implants. I'm glad you happened by. This universe is cruel," he said. He pulled the bucket up, and with some effort, placed it down beside me as I continued to cry exhausted, involuntary tears. Dorothy Gale was a pussy for being upset with Oz, I thought bitterly. Fuck her, I'd be happy in Oz. Munchkins signing about how cool I was instead of a Keeper of Secrets threatening to kill me, eat me, shit me out, and then eat me again for eternity.
"When did you last sleep?" Alberich inquired, seeing my state. Apparently, I looked like shit.
"Look, I have really seen some shit. All those cultists up there," I pointed in the direction of the place we had come. "They all committed ritual suicide to summon this daemon, and I was the only one left. I would've died too, but I escaped," I said hurriedly, again choosing my words with caution. I still didn't really know if I could trust this odd beastman.
Alberich kept his eyes where I had pointed, and even though patchy low clouds now obscured the southern horizon. He shook his head. "Your mind needs rest as well as your body, as does mine," a nearly imperceptible flash of pain crossed over his features, and his head feathers stood on edge for a moment. "My suggestion: We boil this water. We scavenge for food here, and then, we rest. I doubt anyone is here any longer. The mind is important, and to tax it so, causes the body to break down." He seemed to say that last part to himself as well as me, even nodding a little bit.
I didn't even bother to get up from sitting against the well. I was so tired I just wanted to rest for a moment. I heard him make an inquisitive whistle.
"The last time I was here, I boiled the water in this fire pit," he said. "My ears and nose still tell me that no one lives here, or at least not now. Perhaps a kitchen would yield some sustenance?"
I stood back up, feeling heavy as I hauled my rucksack along my shoulders again. When I stood up, a peculiar sensation crawled through my skin. This one wasn't good or bad, just strange. I recognized these little shivers of intuition as psyker feelings now. Ahead of me, Alberich had stopped, and was facing in the door. I saw that his feathers were slightly ruffled again, and his ears were swiveling, as if searching for noise.
I thought the towers were "on", I pondered, looking in the direction of the pylon, and then, in a panic, at the direction of Amnaich's statue. As quickly as the moment had come, it had passed, and everything felt normal again.
The mutant turned around and looked at me, his brow furrowed. His back to the front door of the farmhouse. "I do apologize. Crucifixion tends to fray one's nerves. If I seem strange, it is because I am on edge from such an ordeal. Perhaps we both need to rest."
"Well, yeah," I said plainly. This seemed to satisfy the Tzaangor.
"All will be overcome in time," I saw Alberich smile nervously as he turned back to the front door of the farmhouse. He reached for the doorknob, and with no surprise, discovered it was locked. There were two shuttered windows facing the front of the house, which he went to. They were also locked.
"Let's go around back," I said, and he nodded.
Alberich let me go ahead first this time. I could tell that the beastman was studying me. Despite him being considerably stronger than I was, I sensed a strange sort of respect from him, and I wasn't sure where that came from. Or I was just overthinking this because I was fucking tired and just wanted a bottle of bourbon and a soft bed and Netflix.
Around back, we found a back door, also locked, but this door was flimsy. Alberich had lost his patience and when he discovered it locked after I tried it, he pulled at the nob until the lock broke. Well, that was one way to do it, I guess.
We had broken into a kitchen, and since the windows had been shuttered, it was dark. The Tzaangor went in first, craning his head in the space and sniffing here and there for danger. "I smell dried meat, I think. Spices as well," he observed quietly, and walked further in. A stream of dusty twilight cascaded in the room when Alberich opened the shutters above a basin. There was no tap for water. A modest wood burning stove sat in a corner, along with a cord of firewood.
This place reminded me of an early 19th century country farmhouse, modestly attired with sturdy furniture and a tiled floor of baked clay. It appeared that the technology on this planet was somewhat inconsistent, considering that I had seen bionic implants on the Slaanesh cultists, and that Evanora's wealthy manor contained indoor plumbing. Hopefully I would get some answers once I got to the pylon and whoever (or whatever) was messing with it. A circular wood table and four chairs stood in the center of the room. At the center of the table, there was a crudely sculpted vase holding a single dead flower. When I walked in, I dragged a finger across the table, and found what felt like to be a few months of dust. This house appeared abandoned.
The beastman was rifling through some of the cabinets on the side of the open window, searching for consumables. I walked to my right, and also began opening some of the drawers and baskets leaning on the side of the wall. I discovered some ears of dried corn, a bag of flour, a bag of salt, and what appeared to be a glass jar of some thick syrupy liquid, possibly honey. As we both searched deeper into the house, windows were opened and fresh air let in. I discovered a parlor with wide wooden seating and straw stuffed cushions. This was the room the front door opened into, I deduced as I went to a door with a heavy crossbar barring entry in from the outside. I opened the shutters in this room too, letting more fresh air into the hovel.
My lingering exhaustion saw me sit down on the straw cushions, and I put my pack down as Alberich continued to rifle through the kitchen. I really was very tired, and I needed rest. The Tzaangor came into the room holding a few sealed mason jars of what appeared to be pickled vegetables. Success on that end at least. He placed them on the center parlor table, and turned to look back at me.
"There must be a cellar here. I can still smell dried meat. I have found none in the kitchen," he said, sniffing the air.
I was tired, but this place really needed to be explored before bedding down and relaxing. I stood back up, leaving my pack on the floor. To the right of the main parlor, a small hallway led down to what appeared to be a small closet which held more useful items and jarred foods. Alberich began searching through the storage area, picking out more jarred foodstuffs, and items that would be useful in keeping up a household. A lantern was discovered, and placed on the parlor table with a box of matches. As he searched, I looked further down the dark hallway. The floor in this section of the household was made of heavy planks of hardwood, and it creaked as I stepped.
"More vegetables," I heard the Tzaangor say behind me, sorting through what he had found. The waning light of the evening prompted me to strike a match and light the lantern. I picked it up as I continued onward down the dim hall. Feeling a sense of danger since I was in a horror movie situation, I drew my dagger in my other hand. I was very wary of any new surprises. Alberich said that there wasn't anyone in here, but I still wanted to be sure.
The hall opened into two bedrooms. On my left, two small beds lay untouched in a cheerless shuttered room. This was presumably a childrens' room. To the right, a larger bedroom held a neatly made double bed covered in a tattered quilt. I noticed that there were two indentations on the mattress, indicating that there had been a couple that had slept here at one time. A posed family portrait hung on a wall in a crude wooden frame. I unlocked a shutter to let some more light in.
"I hope you enjoy pickled things," I heard Alberich say as the faint sounds of crunching started to echo in the parlor behind me. I continued to observe the sad bedroom.
The portrait was a black and white charcoal drawing, rendered in a fine hand by someone with art training. They depicted what I assumed to be an older middle aged farmer and his wife, unsmiling while standing over two older children, who were equally dour. The drawings were impressive, and I studied all the crosshatching and highlights of white chalk. The eyes of the family were very worn and tired, the children included. These people had not had an easy life. It was exceedingly unusual to see such a discrepancy of civilization here, I thought again. While Evanora had lived on the hill living the life of a wicked witch, the people in the valley were scrabbling for any sort of existence.
I stepped away from the portrait, and further explored the room. A chest of drawers held neatly folded clothes, ready for the return of their owners, wherever they were. As I opened a drawer, I felt another peculiar shiver wash through me, causing me to gasp slightly. I held the sides of the open drawer that contained woolens and blankets. Alright, catch your breath. I have to get used to this, I thought.
"You alright in there?" Alberich called out to me. He was still munching on what I assumed were pickled veggies. I heard the sound of his polearm tapping against the ground as he began to pad over to me.
Something was funny in here, I thought. I tapped my foot nervously. Wait, hang on. It sounded... hollow.
Alberich's bird head poked into the bedroom as I investigated the floor. "Anything?" he asked.
"It sounds like there's a space under the floor," I said, kneeling down. I rapped my fist against the floorboards. It sounded indeed like we were standing above what could be a basement. "Check around for a trap door. Maybe we can eat more than pickles."
The Tzaangor knelt down with me and sniffed the air. "I smell it here, yes," he stated. His expression was odd though, and it appeared as if he was uncertain. He shrugged after a moment, and we looked at each other. I trusted when he said that this place was empty, and as far as I could tell, I couldn't smell anything out of the ordinary.
Prodding around the floor of the bedroom, we discovered a heavy trap door in the far corner, a metal ring riveted in to its planks. I let the beastman do all the heavy lifting as he pulled the portion of the floor up, exposing a short rope ladder down into a dark space. There was no way I could adequately see down there without the lantern. Shining the light down the trap door, I estimated that the cellar's height was about eight feet. Seeing this, Alberich placed his glaive on the bed, and took the initiative. He began to climb down, and took only a few steps down the ladder before hopping off completely. He motioned for me to come down the ladder. Seeing that nothing was immediately dangerous, I did so.
The basement was chilly and dry, and the floor was cobbled stone. Alberich had been right, and I could now smell a faint whiff of salted meats and aromatic spices, like being at a fancy butcher. I pushed the lantern out, and began to investigate. Almost immediately, I saw a few shanks of what looked to be dried goat or lamb meat hanging in the corner. It honestly looked very appetizing after only eating those cardboard bars for a day. Holding the lantern, I walked to the shanks, which were hung in jute netting in a corner.
"I do not mean to upset you, but..." I dimly heard Alberich say softly in the opposite corner. He seemed to be hunting for words as I cut the shank down with a knife. This looked delicious! Maybe I could make a goat jerky stew thing with the vegetables.
"What is it? You're not upsetting me," I said, inspecting the tasty slab of meat. It had even been salted and seasoned. This is something that would've been very expensive back home at an artisanal butcher. If I had some crusty bread with spicy mustard, I'd be in heaven!
"Brace yourself, and turn around," the Tzaangor softly requested.
We had found one of the previous owners of the farmhouse.
