Taijitu World Building > Pre-Modern Era Fiction

Household (1968-1969)

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Myroria:
"You're lucky you didn't do any serious damage to y'ur engine," Ferunen Girith said. Ferunen, Direr's cousin, was a Girith man to the bone and ran the only garage in town. Most of the Sarerovths had therefore learned to fix their own trucks, but Ferunen made a decent living from Girith money and from selling furs in Andarenborough to the south, a city of about 10,000 and the largest settlement until you hit Fellowmoor, two hours south of that.

"What's the problem, then?" Gothren said. He scrunched his toes, his feet wet due to the heavy snow and his woefully under-waterproofed boots.

"Just a torn 'ose," Ferunen said. "Your engine stalled because of the 'eat but it doesn't look like any serious damage was done." He wiped the grease off his hands and stepped away from the hydraulic lift, an old model that was a mess of hanging hoses and wires.

"How much will it be?"

"Oh, about fifty guildens for the 'ose. I've gotta get that in from Andarenbro'. Then it'll be about four hours of labor. I charge 45 guildens an hour."

"Do you take checks?" Gothren said, reaching into his jacket pocket.

"Ieh," Ferunen said. "But 'old off on writing one just yet. I don't charge 'til the job's done."

"Ah," Gothren said, taking his hand from his jacket. "Is there a place I can buy groceries here?"

"There's Elmussa's store down in Resaroth Village, 'bout a mile down Route 17 here." Ferunen replied, gesturing to the road outside his garage. Gothren glanced out the open door and sighed quietly, anticipating another mile-long walk in wet socks. His self-pity was distracted though, when he saw a red pickup truck pull up to the building.

"Ah, that's Direr." Ferunen said. He threw the cloth he was using to wipe his hands on a nearby table and strode towards the vehicle. Direr, dressed in a red chamois, blue jeans, and brown corduroy field hat, stepped out of the old pickup and shook his cousin's hand.

"Mr. Quarrith!" Direr yelled, waving his hand. "'ow's the car coming?"

"Oh, better news than I expected," Gothren said, stepping towards the mechanic and his cousin. He paused when he saw that they were whispering to each other. Hanging back, he leaned on the wall under the open garage door and decided to practice his eavesdropping skills, which hadn't gotten any use since he left the capital.

"Over by Oramyn's Pond," he heard Ferunen say. Direr whispered back something he couldn't understand and Ferunen glanced at Gothren, breaking from the conversation to walk over to his customer.

"Direr and I have some business to take care of, sera. I'll start on your car as soon as we get back."

"Oh, of course." Gothren said, hiding his curiosity. Ferunen eyed him for a second.

"Where do you need to go?" Direr yelled from his position across the driveway.

"Well, if you're offering," Gothren said, clearing his throat. "The grocery store. The one that uh,"

"Elmussa," Ferunen said.

"Elmussa owns."

"Well, get in," Direr yelled. "Ferunen will ride in the back."

Ferunen, about 45 but still spry, jumped in the back of the pickup as Gothren barely managed to get himself in the cab. The ride to the store was a short one, but felt like an eternity with Direr sitting in silence, only taking his eyes away from the road to in the rear-view mirror at his hunting rifle, mounted on the cab's back window.

"Thanks for the ride," Gothren mumbled once the pickup truck pulled into the dirt parking lot outside Elmussa's store. Direr mumbled affirmation and Gothren stepped out. Like a bat out of Hell, Direr threw the truck into reverse as soon as Gothren was clear and pulled into the road, throwing it into drive just as aggressively and speeding off.

"Where do you think they're going?" a high-pitched voice said from behind Gothren. He turned his torso to see a young girl of perhaps 15 leaning against the clapboard siding of Elmussa's store. She was dressed in a wool duffel coat and blue jeans, a worn cotton blouse peeking out from an opening in the coat's high collar.

"Uh," Gothren said. He slowly turned the rest of his body so that he wasn't standing half-cocked, with his chest facing one direction and his feet the other. "Didn't tell me."

"Must be serious. Direr tells everyone everything," she said.

"I - " Gothren said.

"You must be the one the 'ouse sent." The girl said, interrupting. She pushed a lock of dark hair out of her face and stepped forward, her hands in her coat pockets.

"Yes," Gothren replied tersely.

"I'd get out of 'ere while you can," the girl said with a straight face. "The longer you stay 'ere the longer it takes to get out." she continued, smirking this time. She walked past Gothren and circled behind him.

"Well," Gothren said sardonically. "My car is in the shop so it looks like I won't be able to take your advice."

The girl laughed loudly and walked back to Gothren's front.

"You city folk are a real 'augh riot."

"Well," Gothren said, trying to break the conversation. "I should - "

"Tell me about Pelagis."

"I hate it." Gothren said.

"I guess everyone 'ates where they're from," the girl said with a frown.

"I'm not from Pelagis."

"Where are you from?"

"Novrith."

"Novrith!" the girl exclaimed, her face lighting up. Her smile exposed a row of teeth, the first complete set Gothren had seen since he arrived. "Tell me about Novrith."

"I really just need some gro - "

"I guess you city folk don't know what it's like to have time on your 'ands."

"Do you work here?" Gothren asked.

"No. I just don't like being in the 'ouse."

"You prefer to stand in a parking lot?"

"Elmussa doesn't mind."

Gothren ran his hands through his hair, a mat of white that normally was well-coiffed and oiled, but today appeared to be a fluffy dog sitting on his hair.

"My uncle has a barbershop down the road if you need an 'aircut."

"I just need some groceries," Gothren said.

"The groceries will still be there in a few minutes. Tell me about Novrith." the girl said, pleading.

"There are a lot of lights."

"You're not a very good storyteller."

"There are cars everywhere," Gothren said. "And cabarets."

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

"A cabaret."

"It's like a theater."

The girl looked puzzled and thought for a second, the first silent moment Gothren had enjoyed since Direr's truck pulled away.

"I'd like to see a cabaret, I think."

"Go to Novrith."

"I was going to go to Pelagis, though. That was my plan."

Gothren sighed.

"Plan? How old are you, girl?"

"15."

"You're too young for plans."

"How old are you, man?"

"57."

"People your age let other people make plans for them."

Gothren was taken aback.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You have a boss, don't you? 'oo told you to come to 'esaroth? Don't tell me you wanted to come here."

"Well, yes, but that doesn't mean - "

"At least I want to go to Pelagis."

Gothren sighed.

"I just want some groceries."

"Fine," the girl said. "You'll be seeing more of me anyway. What's your name?"

"My name is Gothren."

"Ginadura," the girl said, putting out a hand. "It's a pleasure."

Myroria:
"She's a spitfire, eh?" Elmussa said to Gothren as he put his groceries on the counter. An older woman, perhaps 65, Elmussa ran the only grocery store in town with an iron fist. It was a small storefront, with a few aisles of canned goods, a single freezer and refrigerator, and a small shelf with miscellaneous items - motor oil, windshield washer fluid, gloves, and the like. Despite her frail size and gray, thinning hair, Elmussa kept the floors well-swept and the windows shining.

"Who's this, now?" Gothren said, putting a new pair of more robust boots on the counter.

"Gina out there," Elmussa replied. She looked out a window perpendicular to the end of the counter. Ginadura was in the parking lot, kicking at gravel.

"Oh, well," Gothren began, reaching into his handbasket for a can of NOVRITH CHIEF ALL-GREEN FANCY PEAS. "she certainly is."

"Took it hard when her parents died."

"I imagine," Gothren said. His small-talk skills got far more practice here than in the city, but the small talk he did make seemed to involve a lot more death than he thought it would.

"Mmhmm," Elmussa said, punching some numbers into the register.

"How do you stay out of it?" Gothren asked.

"Stay out of what?"

"Their arguing."

"Oh," Elmussa began. She sighed and stopped hitting buttons on the cash register for a moment. "The Sarerovths and Giriths both know that I'm the only one in town who will sell them any food. And I don't allow any fighting in my store."

"How do you stop it?"

"I don't know what you mean," Elmussa said.

"How do you stop them from fighting? They don't seem like they'd be very reasonable when they're upset."

"I guess they just always listened to me."

Gothren looked into Elmussa's eyes for a brief moment. He had been in politics far too long to miss when someone was concealing the truth. Elmussa looked away from her patron and continued punching numbers into the register.

"65 guilden and 11 cents."

Gothren reached into his pocket.

"Do you take checks?"

"Ieh," Elmussa said. Gothren saw Elmussa look out the window as he placed his checkbook on the counter and bent down to write.

"Oh, shit," Elmussa said. Gothren looked up to see Elmussa striding towards the window. Contorting his body over the counter to get a better look, he saw a black pickup truck with at least two flat tires following Direr's vehicle. As Direr's truck rounded the corner that Elmussa's store sat on, the black pickup following lost speed and was unable to regain it with its blown wheels. The truck skidded into a ditch with a loud thud and three men poured out of the cab, their faces red.

"Oh, shit," Elmussa repeated, reaching under the counter. Practically resting his entire torso on the counter, Gothren looked confused.

"Who's that?" he asked, as the three men paced towards Ginadura, yelling.

"Oh, shit," Elmussa said, taking her hand from under the counter to reveal a shotgun. She paced for the door. Gothren, abandoning his check halfway through, followed close behind, but stood in the doorjamb as Elmussa walked into the parking lot.

"You know there's no fighting here, Manat!" Elmussa yelled across the parking lot as the three men paced quickly towards Ginadura. Ginadura slowly stepped backwards until she bumped into Elmussa. Gothren could not see the look on her face, but he could see her hands trembling even from this distance.

"Those Giriths attacked us up by Oramyn's Pond!" a man, presumably Manat Sarerovth, yelled. He stood at the front of the three men, but was the shortest and smallest. Gothren counted one pistol in his hand, and a rifle in the hands of the man to his left.

"I don't care what dispute you boys have, but it stays out of here!" Elmussa yelled. She held her shotgun loosely in one hand, as if not expecting to have to use it.

"You got into this mess, woman, as soon as you let that Girith slut hang around here!"

"I'm not going to ask again, Manat!" Elmussa yelled. Gothren was struck by the booming voice coming out of the thin woman.

Manat took another step towards Ginadura. Gothren could see Ginadura's feet move, as if to walk backwards again, but Elmussa wouldn't budge. She put her arm across the girl's chest.

"Give her to us!" yelled the man to Manat's left, holding a hunting rifle. His dark hair was ruffled and blowing in the breeze, and his gabardine coat was stained with motor oil, blood, or something else entirely. "It's an eye for an eye!"

"I don't see anything hurt here but you boys' pride!" Elmussa yelled. Manat took another step forward.

"I'm not going to ask again, woman." Manat said, softer this time but still audible to Gothren across the small parking lot. Manat raised his pistol.

"Put the gun down, Manat." Elmussa said. "I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"There's only one way to make that happen," he said. He put his hand out, asking for a human life in the way one might ask for a set of car keys. Elmussa loosened her grip on Ginadura and raised her shotgun to her shoulder. It sat inches away from the teenager's left ear.

"You boys put a spare tire on your truck and go home."

Manat took another step forward, and the man to his left raised his rifle.

"Give her to me!"

Elmussa said nothing. The parking lot was silent for what felt like minutes. Manat contorted his face.

"Woman!" he yelled. Elmussa remained silent. Manat slowly lowered his hand and whispered something to his kin behind him. The three of them sulked back to the truck. As soon as they were clear, Ginadura ran past Gothren into the shop, still reeking of fear, or perhaps urine. Elmussa shuffled back to the door.

"You'd better get home," she said to Gothren. She either didn't notice or didn't comment on the look of shock on his face. "Looks like more snow."

Myroria:
"Can I get you anythin'?" Darvam asked Gothren. He held the screen door to his house open for him; Gothren squeezed through a narrow pathway through the snow piled on the porch and scooted into the kitchen.

"Uh, no," he replied, brushing snowflakes off his mat of gray hair. "I'm fine, thank you."

The sun was beginning to go down, and despite the gray clouds shedding snow, the house had a bit of the familiar orange glow of sunset.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice, Darvam."

"Ieh, it's alright." he said, walking to the coffee maker. "I shouldn't be drinking coffee this late,"

"Where's, um,"

"Drathyn ran to Elmussa's to get some dog food before she closed."

"I meant Ginadura."

"Oh, Gina?" Darvam said, pouring coffee. "She came home a few hours ago but ran to her room. You know those teenagers."

Gothren nodded slowly. All Darvam needed was a pink apron.

"May I sit?" Gothren asked.

"A'course," Darvam said.

Gothren pulled out one of the thin antique chairs from the pine table set in the corner of the kitchen and sat. He watched snow drift across the small back yard while Darvam poured two sugars into his coffee. The man set his mug on the table and removed his chamois-cloth shirt, draping it over the back of the chair he was about to sit in.

"Uh," Gothren began. He always tried his hardest not to pause in his speech, but was unsure how to begin.

"A few of the Girith - " Gothren paused again and cursed to himself in his thoughts. "fellows attacked some Sarerovths over by, uh,"

"Oramyn's Pond," Darvam said. "I know."

Gothren looked incredulous.

"I - " he tapped his fingers on the table. "It would make it a lot easier to mediate this conflict if violence wasn't ongoing. The Sarerovths are going to have a hard time believing your feelings are genu - "

"We were enacting our revenge for what they did to Dather. They shoulda' knew this was coming."

Gothren looked at Darvam for a moment.

"But now they will seek revenge for what you did to them."

"If they do that that's their own choice." Darvam sipped from his mug gingerly. Gothren sat straighter.

"Did you order this?"

"No. But I knew it would happen."

"I just don't understand why you would allow this to happen when you told me you're trying to mediate this."

Darvam looked offended.

"It's your job to get them to give up, not mine."

"Darvam," Gothren sighed. "My job isn't to get them to give up; it's to get you both to come to an agreement. But if you continue this violence they'll find your intentions - " Gothren searched for a word and chose what was probably not the best one. "perfidious."

"What did you just say?"

"I apologize if I offended you."

"I won't have my family lose face to those Sarerovth pigs!" Darvam exclaimed. "And you say I'm perfidious?" Darvam slammed his wrinkled hand on the table, causing droplets of coffee to leave the cup and splatter on the pine surface. Gothren heard Mora begin to bark outside. He tapped his foot on the ground.

"Darvam, I'm just trying to do my job here. Your words don't match your actions. You can't say you want peace and then wage war."

Darvam stared half into his coffee and half at the table. He stood up with a start.

"I should clean that coffee before it sticks," he said, as a door down the hall unlatched. Ginadura, dressed in a tee-shirt and sweat pants, stepped into the kitchen with red eyes.

"It's okay, pumpkin!" Darvam exclaimed slightly too loudly to be reassuring. "Gothren and I are just discussing some things. Ginadura looked at Gothren briefly before turning away. "You can go back in your room."

She nodded, but didn't say anything. She shuffled back down the hall and the door relatched. Darvam walked back to the table with a rag and wiped up the coffee. Gothren watched the cloth move for a few moments before speaking.

"The Sarerovth fellows nearly killed her today." he said, still looking at Darvam's hand. It suddenly released the cloth. Gothren's eyes followed Darvam's arm back up to his face.

"What do you mean?" the old man asked.

"Their truck broke down in front of Elmussa's. I was getting groceries. They got out and found her in the parking lot. If Elmussa didn't come out they would have shot her."

Darvam sunk into the chair.

"She can't stay out of this violence forever," Gothren said. Darvam sighed deeply, and his hand shook slightly. He stopped it by grabbing his mug of coffee.

"Ask the Sarerovths what they want to end this." he said quickly. Gothren stood and rebuttoned his wool coat.

"I'll need a car to get to the other side of town."

"I'll talk to Ferunen tomorrow," Darvam said softly. "You'll get it by the end of the day."

Gothren nodded and walked for the door.

Myroria:
"No," Ginadura said, her voice filled with the peculiar sort of frustration one only feels when they're having fun. She kept one eye on the deer standing amidst the trees, about 45 yards ahead of her, and helped Bevadar fit his gloved index finger around the trigger of the rifle. "No one ever taught you how to shoot a gun?"

Bevadar laughed nervously. "I'm just not used to this model of rifle," he said, blushing.

"Well, he's gonna get away," she replied, referencing the deer just visible through the fall foilage.

"Is this legal? I think we're on Elmussa's property. And is it deer season?"

"He's gonna get away if you keep yapping."

Bevadar breathed in and put the rifle to his shoulder. He licked his lips and closed one eye, the better to aim at the buck. He pullled the trigger, but the shot went high - over the deer's back, and into a tree behind it. Small pieces of bark were kicked up into the air, and the animal ran.

"I missed." Bevadar said, embarrassed. Ginadura forced a smile, but her face was red - either from anger or the cold autumn air. Ginadura breathed in to begin speaking, but was cut off by a bang coming from behind the pair.

"Another gunshot!" Bevadar said, nearly dropping the rifle in his hands. Ginadura sighed, knowing better.

"It's a door." she whispered. She crouched and motioned for Bevadar to do the same. Leaves and sticks crinkled beneath them as they lowered their bodies. The woods were silent except for the sounds of a few birds - stragglers, sticking around before their migrations to the south of Ozia.

"I told you kids!" came a woman's voice in the distance. "I told you kids not to go playin' around in my backyard!"

"It's Elmussa!" Ginadura said. She was an old woman, but spry, and knew the woods behind her house well. If they got caught, she'd make them scrub the floors in her store until sundown.

"Run!" she continued. Ginadura grabbed the gun from Bevadar's hands, knowing she could run faster with it than he could.

The birds lifted themselves from the trees as the pair ran past them, leaves and sticks breaking underneath their boots. Bevadar, though slow to start, quickly caught up to Ginadura and nearly passed her.

"We've got to get to the river!" she said in hastened breaths. "Elmussa doesn't like the mud!"

Bevadar looked puzzled - that the woman he had been led to believe moments before was on a murderous rampage didn't want to get her shoes stuck in mud. Nonetheless, he took Ginadura's word for it. She stuck around the old lady's store so much she knew more about Elmussa than anyone else in town. "Okay!" he responded, short of breath himself. It was about 70 more yards to the river, and he felt confident he could make it despite the cramping in his abdomen.

Within a few moments, the pair felt their boots sinking slightly with each step. The river had flooded recently, and the waterlogged ground reached nearly to the treeline. They both got to the shore and stood, Ginadura looking around and Bevadar with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Besides some sweat dripping from her brow, Ginadura seemed none the worse for wear after their little sprint. She slung the rifle over her shoulder and tightened the strap.

"Over there," she said to Bevadar, pointing in the distance. It was an ice fishing shack - Odaishaw's, by the looks of it, resting on the ground waiting for winter.

"I thought you said," Bevadar began through deep breaths, "that we were safe once we got to the river."

"We can't risk it," she replied. "Come on!"

Ginadura grabbed his gloved hand and led him through the mud towards the shack. When they got inside, Ginadura took the rifle off her shoulder and leaned it against the wall. It was dark inside, with just a bit of afternoon sun filtering through the cracks in the shack's clapboard siding.

"Do you hear that?" Bevadar whispered. A ray of sunlight was illuminating a small vertical strip on his red face.

Ginadura nodded and held her breath.

"Damn kids," Elmussa's crackly voice said. "I'll never get the mud off my boots."

Bevadar held his breath too. The voice got closer.

"There's probably a line at the store," she muttered. "I'll make them man the register until closing time." Elmussa spit in the river and the trudging footsteps stopped. She was feet from the shack now. A few tense moments passed. This time the forest was silent - not even the sound of a crow could be heard. Elmussa spit again. She lit a match, presumably for her twelvth cigarette today.

"Damn kids," she said, turning and trudging back to the store.

The footsteps receded, and Bevadar let out his breath. Even he wasn't sure how long he had been holding it.

"I think she's gone," he said to Ginadura. Ginadura grabbed his head and kissed him roughly.


Gothren cursed to himself. Ferunen had fixed his car alright, but not before filling it with the pungent smell of cigar smoke. The little vehicle - nearly 20 years old by this point - trudged across town down Route 17 to the Sarerovth house. It was located at the far end of a lumber yard, several acres in size, that nearly the entire clan worked at. He passed Elmussa's store, which Darvam had told him was about halfway between the Girith residence and the Sarerovth lumber stand.

Gothren leaned forward in his seat and looked up at the sky. It was a sheet of gray, which meant that yet more snow was sure to come. Novrith was further north than Resaroth, but had drier air. The snow here was nearly unbearable in its intensity and sheer, unceasing regularity. He sighed and sat back in his seat.

He turned his blinker on and began to make a turn down the long road that would lead him to the lumber yard, but a boy aged about 16 walked out in the street from the adjacent woods. Gothren's city-man instincts kicking in, he slammed on the brakes and laid on the horn. The boy, a clueless-looking type, turned and walked towards the car, oblivious towards Gothren's anger. Gothren rolled down his window as the teenager approached.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You can't just - "

As the teenager got closer, Gothren felt reticent to begin a five-minute-long, Novrith-style road rage assault towards him.

"You can't just walk into traffic like that," he said more softly. "You'll get hurt."

"Sorry, sera." the boy said. "But I saw your car coming and had to stop you before you got up this road. You're the Novrith guy, eh? Fa's real mad at you. Wants your head."

"Wants my head?" Gothren said. He lowered his window the rest of the way and put an arm on the frame of the door.

"Iyeh, he saw you with, ah," the boy paused, as if unsure for words. "That Girith girl and decided you're not, ah, impartial."

"I am totally impartial!" Gothren began, exasperated. "Before my work with Her Majesty I had a very profitable business as one of Novrith's lawyers."

"You're a lawyer?" the boy said. "Eesh, Fa' would like you even less."

Gothren gazed at the boy for a minute. The teenager held a gloved hand out. "Bevadar Sarerovth," he said. Gothren hesistated for a moment, then picked his hand up off the doorframe and shook his hand.

"Gothren Quarrith,"

"It's nice to meet you. I think I can get you in with Fa', but we need somewhere we can discuss things."

Gothren reached into the center console of his car for a cigarette. He wasn't used to 'discussing things' with children, but since his arrival in Resaroth it felt like it was all he was doing.

"There's a diner just across the town line, right before where we stop plowing the roads."

"Well," Gothren said. "Get in, I guess."

"I don't have any money."

Gothren frowned.

"I have some cash."

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