Benger knocks, “Everyone else has left. Are you ready?”
Throwing open the door, Emlyn gestures for him to sit on the bed while she finishes pinning her braid in a style similar to what she’d seen Oja wearing earlier, with the braid wrapped around her head. “How do I look?” Emlyn asks, “Am I presentable enough?”
“You’ll do,” Benger grins., “You know, with most women, that’s a very loaded question. With you, though, I know what you mean by it. You want to know if you’ll fit in with our ideas about proper dress.”
Emlyn catches his eyes in the mirror as she’s adding the last of the pins and nods, “I knew you’d understand.”
“You should probably ask my mother instead,” Benger shrugs, “She’s likely a better judge of that.”
“Ask me what?” Oja says, grinning.
“Nia wants to be sure she’s dressed properly,” Benger explains.
Eyeing Emlyn critically, Oja nods. “No one expects you to fit in, since you’re not from here, but I think you’ll do nicely. I’m certain that you’ll be popular when it’s time for the dancing to start.”
“What happens at these fairs?” Emlyn asks.
“It’s a chance for all the little villages around here to come together and trade,” Benger explains,“Lots of trading in livestock and all the things that people can make or grow.”
“Lots of marriages are contracted, too,” Oja says with a nudge at Benger. Emlyn laughs before Benger can grumble.
“Don’t worry,” Emlyn grins at Oja, “If the temple acolytes have their way, he’ll be married off by mid-summer and you’ll get some grandbabies to bounce on your knee.”
Oja chuckles at Benger’s discomfort.
Sighing heavily, Benger continues, “Since no one wants to make the trek back home every night, most of the families camp at the fairground so there’s a lot of singing and dancing and storytelling once the sun goes down.”
“It sounds like quite a party,” Emlyn remarks.
“It is,” Oja replies, “There’s always plenty of food and probably more drink than is wise. The harvest is over, everything is put up for the winter, and spring planting hasn’t started yet, so most folk have a bit of a break. Everyone else left early, so we might be able to get a better spot than we had last year. I still had some things to pack that I don’t quite trust them with.”
“More pickles?” Benger grins. “Yes, along with some snowberry jam and night plum preserves. I’m hoping to trade for some cheese and butter.”
“They’ll trade with you for them,” Benger says, “They always do. Yours are the best.”
“Let’s see what you have,” Emlyn shrugs, “We can always load up the pack horse. Snowflake will hate it, but he’ll be good for a few crates of pickles and preserves.”
“I can take the pack horse,” Benger offers. “The pack horse hates your gelding and nips at him every chance he gets,” Emlyn shrugs, “but if you don’t mind dealing with that, Snowflake will be glad to be able to outpace your gelding for once.”
“I’ll manage,” Benger shrugs, “if you’ll bring him around so we can start loading him.”
Emlyn heads out to the barn and tacks up Snowflake first. She gets the pack frame onto the pack horse and grabs his lead. Snowflake stamps her disapproval but allows Emlyn to mount as they head back to the house. Snowflake tosses her head approvingly when Emlyn ties the pack horse to the rail next to Benger’s gelding. Once all the jars are packed carefully into the crates and the crates are loaded onto the packhorse, everyone heads off to the fairgrounds. Once there, it’s relatively large and not easy to spot where the rest of the family is set up. All the local families have come, wagons laden, with the goods that they want to trade and hoping to go home equally laden, having traded their excess with their neighbors. Some pavilions have been set up, and these seem to be in use for those swapping livestock, land, or, judging by the anxious couples hovering around, marriage contracts.
Some roving merchants and carnival games are also set up. The merchants are selling or trading everything from cloth and spices to trinkets and pigments. A few are nothing more than mobile gambling dens, but the standard axe-throwing, knife-throwing, and archery contests are there, along with a few exhibits you can pay to see. The exhibits seem to primarily feature scantily clad women, causing Emlyn to roll her eyes. A few performers wander through the crowd performing tricks for a few coins.
Finally, Oja sees Vonham run past, playing tag with some other boys. Oja calls Vonham, who leads them to the stall where Daki and the older boys are setting up. Before anyone can say anything, Vonham is off at a run to rejoin his friends. Emlyn looks around and spots the Tinker Folk setting up their camp off to one side and away from everyone.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“I’m going to go have a chat with them,” she says quietly to Benger. Fishing out her cats' claws, she goes to see if they’ll be willing to talk to her.
“I’ll come with you,” Benger says, but Emlyn shakes her head.
“No,” Emlyn shrugs, “I think they’ll be more likely to talk if it’s just me.”
Emlyn approaches the caravan and is promptly greeted by a cat who rubs against her legs. Emlyn picks the cat up and pets it a bit before releasing it.
An older man heads toward her, but one of the younger men comes around from the back of a wagon, “We’re not set up for trading yet. Come back after sunset.”
“I’ve come more to talk than trade,” Emlyn says, “I’ve run into a problem that I was hoping you could help me with.”
The younger man gets a knowing look. With a lazy smile, he eyes Emlyn appraisingly, “My grandmother might have the herbs that you need to solve that problem, before it becomes apparent to everyone. The price is high, although there are other ways to pay. You’re lovely enough, we might be able to reach an agreement.”
Stepping up closely to her, he grins, “A price you might not even mind paying.”
Rolling her eyes, Emlyn shows him the cracked cat's claw, “That’s not the problem I’m looking to solve. There is a story about how I cracked this day before yesterday, hunting bandits, and why I’m here to speak with you.”
Backing up, the younger man eyes her curiously, “So you’re not...”
Emlyn shakes her head, and the much older man pushes him out of the way. “Go tend the horses, Credi, and I’ll see what our visitor wants.”
Turning to Emlyn, he smiles at her, “You must forgive Credi. We get many girls coming to us who are in that situation since we are some of the few who can or will help them. I'm Kaven, and if you'd like to share your story, I'd love to hear it. Come and sit by the fire, while I make tea.”
Emlyn follows him to a small cookfire where a tea kettle is already boiling with several chairs set up around it. Everyone else is conspicuously absent. Kaven fishes out some tea leaves and throws them into the kettle before turning to face her. “Tell me why one who smells of god-magic, blood, and steel wishes to talk to the Tinker-Folk.”
“I’m sorry,” Emlyn apologizes, “I thought I’d bathed better than that,” to Kaven’s amusement.
“That’s not something you can wash away with soap, girl.”
At his gesture, she launches into her story. Emlyn recounts the battle with the bandits and subsequently finding evidence that the entire caravan was taken and sold. “Ahh,” Kaven nods, “but this still does not tell me why you are here, sipping tea with me.”
“Because I’d like to see if we can’t get them back. If we can retrieve them, they may be able to lead us to others we can also retrieve.”
Kaven frowns at her for a long moment before gesturing for her to follow, “I think you may need to speak with my wife, Vadoma.”
Seeming to come to something of a decision, Kaven leads her to another trailer, where he knocks. Some conversation is held in a language she doesn’t understand, and their motives when she checks them are to protect themselves from her.
Sighing, Emlyn waits patiently until the door is opened to reveal an equally elderly blind woman who’s set up for fortune-telling. “Come and let Madame Vadoma read you.”
Kaven gestures for her to come in, so Emlyn climbs into the wagon, and Kaven closes the door, remaining outside.
Vadoma stares at her for a long moment with her opaque eyes, “Off with those gloves and give me your hands.”
Emlyn strips the gloves off and offers her hands to the woman, who grabs them and winces. “Ahhh... even your skin is god-touched and not entirely your own. Too many gods... They cluster around you like moths to a flame. I can read nothing like this. They overwhelm my sight. Cards, it is then.”
Releasing her hands, Vadoma gestures for her to put the gloves back on. Shuffling the cards, Vadoma begins to lay them out.
The first few cards are the Typhoon, The Tower, The Star, Death, and The Prison. Vadoma turns to her, “Oh, child, you have been through such a tragedy. It is not often that I see this arrayed in such a way. The Typhoon is a symbol of great force and upheaval. The Tower is a sudden change and sweeping destruction. The Star in this context is a card of desolation. Death is often not literal, but for this reading, it is. Oddly, so is The Prison. It is not clear to me how you were imprisoned after your death, but it is clear that this happened. Yet you sit here, living and not some half-alive thing. Curiouser and curiouser.”
Vadoma returns to her cards, and the following cards are The Wheel, The Goddess, Judgement, The Moon, and The Chariot. “So, it seems that your luck changed just as drastically. The Wheel, for you, has indeed turned. Due to a Goddess, but the others are still with you, influencing your path. Even Judgement seems to be a god, in this context. This has something to do with your hidden nature, but I'm not sure exactly what. The Chariot symbolizes victory since you still live, despite the meddling of the gods.”
The following cards are Temperance, Justice, Strength, and The Sun. Vadoma nods, “Paladin, perhaps? And your hidden nature becomes unhidden, it seems.”
As Vadoma goes to draw the last card, suddenly the deck seems to twist in her hands, and a few cards fall out of the deck to Vadoma’s dismay. Quickly, her dancing fingers identify them, “Six of Wands, Six of Swords, Five of Cups, and Six of Coins... very interesting.”
Vadoma turns to Emlyn and seems to reach a decision, “Very well, we will help you. We, those you call Tinker-Folk, fear the gods and hide from them, most of the time. Their influence in mortal affairs is seldom beneficial to the mortals. I think you've somehow discovered this for yourself. Yet it seems that it is their will that we aid you in this. Perhaps if we speed you on your path, their gaze will follow you away from us. What is it that you wish to know?”
Emlyn repeats her story, and Vadoma grows thoughtful.
“There are many Tinker-folk who go missing, but an entire caravan may not be noticed until the next conclave, when none of them turn up. If the whole family were taken, there may not be anyone to send messages to the other caravans. If we can discover which family has been taken, we will send word to your temple in Harito.”
“That,” Emlyn agrees, “is almost all that I ask. I know that your folk travel widely, and if any of the missing ones are spotted elsewhere, I’d ask that you send me word of that as well. We have clerics trying to resurrect some of the murdered ones, and if any of them are Tinker Folk, if you tell me how to reach you, I’ll try to let you know that too.”
Vadoma nods, “I can see the sense in both of these things. Just share your message with any of the caravans. They’ll make sure I get it.”
“As you will,” Emlyn goes to leave, but Vadoma stops her, “You walk a dangerous path, god-touched as you are. Be doubly wary of everything. Not many would care over-much for what happens to a band of Tinker-Folk. You are a rare sort. Take care of yourself.”
With that, Vadoma releases her, and Emlyn steps out to find Kaven staring at her oddly. “Did you get the answers that you seek?”
“No,” Emlyn shrugs, “but then I wasn’t expecting answers.”
Have you ever consulted a psychic? Let me know in the comments.