78. Welcome to Stamgard
Job done and [Hunger] sated, Serac finally had the time and wherewithal to explore the town of Stamgard. And if she could only use one phrase to describe what she saw, it’d have to be ‘a lot going on’.
Houses ‘grew’ out of the Realmtree’s bark-like surface, looking as much a part of the natural scenery as the trees and bushes with which they shared the soil. Through the spaces in between flowed countless streams of viridian water, all of which came from and would eventually join up again with the Sanzu River.
As Petter the local guide told it, Stamgardians had, over centuries, shaped and molded the landscape of their home as much as they’d been guided by its wildness. One important example was a large-scale engineering project called ‘channelization’, whereby the existing rivers were reinforced with bricks and stone. This helped to protect Stamgard from flooding and erosion while also providing the locals with their main mode of transportation—namely by turtle.
Yes. Everywhere Serac looked, there were Yakshas floating through the ‘canals’ on turtleback. Most were only big enough for a standing room of one, while some others had been saddled for tandem riding. There was even one enormous, ancient-looking variant that ‘ferried’ a few dozen souls up and down the main body of the Sanzu.
A quick gander at Pathsight told Serac that these turtles weren’t Aberrant nor classified as ‘Steeds’, meaning they were a domesticated example of the abundant wildlife that underpinned Pretjordian life. Unlike the wastelands of Naraka, natural resources were plentiful upon the barks of the Realmtree, and the Yakshas clearly had no qualms about taking full advantage.
According to Petter, however, this wasn’t always the case.
“Some of these canals were put in more recently, during my granda’s time. They say that, all told, channelization of Stamgard took upwards of 200 years to complete. And it wouldn’t have even started, were it not for King Tyr and the vision he had for Pretjord’s future.”
“See, Ser—yawn—ac?” Zacko spoke lazily with eyes half-closed. Evidently, a full belly had turned him into sleepy sleepy Zacko. “Maybe this King Tyr dude isn’t so bad after all, eh? Civil engineering, functional economy, and a stout military to boot—at least from the sound of it. Heck, maybe even Manesferans could learn a thing or two.”
“Well, does your Immortal also keep your Realm’s Wayfarers penned up in their palace?”
Zacko blinked several times as Serac waited for an answer.
“Pass,” the Manusya said unhelpfully. “It’s a lot more complicated than that, and right now, I’m way too tired to be talking politics.”
“All I’m saying,” Serac huffed, “is we should all be free to live how we choose. Not just Wayfarers, but everyone.”
“But what you propose is anarchy, Wayfarer,” Trippy threw in his two ?. “The fact is Pretjord has prospered under King Tyr’s rule, and the commoner’s life is made better for it. Besides, have you ever considered how far you’d extend your idea of ‘freedom for all’? What about the living castle presently strapped to your belt, or these turtles who serve the Yakshas? Do they not deserve the same freedom you claim for yourself?”
Serac opened her mind to argue, then found that she too was too sleepy for it. But if she had her way, yes, they’d all be free to choose their own destinies.
The turtles, the deer they saw in the forest, and yes, even her own Steed. If Ash ever made it known that it wanted to go its own way, she’d let it go with a tearful hug and a good-luck pat on its stone wall, no questions asked.
But then she also thought of the Ulvknall offals that filled her stomach. Not just the Ulvknalls but the now hundreds of Aberrants she’d smited and helped onto their next life.
They had also been free—free to stand in her Path, that was. And she herself had been free to answer violence with violence, with her rendition of it being just that much more powerful.
But perhaps therein lay the rub. For what was power if not its own form of oppression? As a Serac Edin grew stronger and freer along her upward trajectory, it’d be nigh on impossible to avoid trampling on the Paths of others. She knew this from first-hand experience. And she would—more likely than not—embody it again and again.
Funnily enough, her next order of business was a meeting with another powerful individual. Power of a different kind, to be sure, but Palmr Jorgensen clearly had plenty of it, and it was on full display as the Wayfarers returned to the Town Market.
His was what the locals referred to as a ‘general store’. It sold everything from ingredients to spices to supplies to tools and even weapons. Within a natural ‘town square’ enclosed by a large, gnarly knot upon the Realmtree, Jorgen & Sons was by far its highest-footprint establishment. Even now, Yakshas of all shapes and ‘types’ filtered in and out of the tree hollows that served as a storefront—carrying one thing as they went in and something else entirely as they came out.
“We operate on a bartering system, you see,” Petter explained, pointing to a prominent baobab tree that grew out of the same ‘groove’ as Jorgen & Sons. Upon its trunk’s smooth, almost flat surface were lines of text that had been carved into the bark, full of symbols and abbreviations that stretched an outrealmer’s comprehension:
ACR | 3/20 | ↑
BLF | 4/7 | ↓
CSN | 1/5 | ↓
“You see, the Trunk Ticker is where you check the exchange rates. The baobab bark renews itself daily, which allows Mr Palmr and the other master vendors to rewrite the information on the board. Based on the rates and what you bring to a trade, your buying power changes from day to day. Ohhh, I really wish we picked up some acorns on the way back!”
“Why not just use a unified currency?” Zacko asked, staring at the ‘Ticker’ in disbelief. “These numbers actually make sense to you?”
“Well, to be perfectly honest, Mr Zacarias,” Petter replied with a visible blush, “I was never any good with fractions and ratios and conversions and whatnot. But that’s why we have people like Mr Palmr to run the numbers.”
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Zacko side-eyed the mackerel man.
“You mean to tell me the vendors themselves set the terms for each trade?”
“That’s right. It’s for the best, I think. It’s the only way anything would get done around here, what with so many trades happening every morning.”
“I think I just answered my own question,” Zacko murmured with a slight sneer. Serac knew that look; her partner had caught onto something fishy (no pun intended)—the next target of his sardonic ire. “And my next question, too—about why those guys have to be here.”
‘Those guys’ referred to the giant sturgeons who’d disappeared from the crowd earlier. They were back, and instead of accompanying Palmr Jorgensen himself, they now stood guard at the front of his store.
More accurately, they stood on either side of an elaborate display box, one obviously meant to draw the eyes of all passersby. It contained clear glass vials half-filled with a lurid green liquid. And judging by how full the box remained, it appeared that very little of the product had shifted, at least so far this morning.
Maybe the staffing has something to do with that, was Serac’s honest opinion. For eyes did turn without fail to the display as they passed, only to turn away again as soon as they were met by the sturgeon twins’ cold glares.
Serac didn’t know much, but she knew this was no way to sell a marquee product. Doubly strange, given how astute a businessman this Palmr Jorgensen was touted to be. Strange enough to make a Rakshasa wonder if perhaps selling the product wasn’t the true intent.
Thus, both Wayfarers had their eyes slightly narrowed (for different reasons) as they entered Jorgen & Sons. But as Serac herself met the glare of one of the twins, her eyes widened again, startled as she was by a Pathsighted message.
[Designation: LARS TOMASEN]
[Wayfarer Race: YAKSHA]
[Karmic Level: 41]
[Liminal Karma: 9,840 ?]
[ZEALOUS Instrument (shared with Hans Tomasen): COASTER]
[Auxiliary: STROKE-SIDE OAR]
Serac turned the same wide-eyed gaze onto the brother, and sure enough:
[Designation: HANS TOMASEN]
[Wayfarer Race: YAKSHA]
[Karmic Level: 41]
[Liminal Karma: 9,840 ?]
[ZEALOUS Instrument (shared with Lars Tomasen): COASTER]
[Auxiliary: BOW-SIDE OAR]
These guys are Wayfarers? But isn’t the king hoarding all of them? Also, I’ve heard of identical twins, but to be on the exact same Karma and sharing the same Instrument?? That might be taking it too far…
A glance at Zacko (he of both eyebrows raised now) told her he was wrestling with the same discovery. The twins in question, however, paid the Wayfarers no more mind than they would any other prospective customer. Identical, cold, unfriendly glares—no more, no less.
Power as oppression, indeed. Well, the sturgeons might have 11 Karmic Levels and at least two feet on her, but Serac wasn’t about to be intimidated. As soon as she got over her intial shock, she went right back to narrowing her eyes, giving back as good as she got.
The meeting was off to a great start, with a friendly staring contest with the store’s security detail. And as the Wayfarers walked into the building proper, their gazes drifted again towards its largest occupant.
Palmr the master vendor sat in the very back, upon a stump that had been carved bare to fit his corpulent figure. Before him was a wooden table, every inch of it covered by half-eaten plates of food: curried crayfish, spiced mince stew, garlic bread, and the like.
Serac didn’t know much about cuisines, but if she had to pinpoint a theme to this eclectic spread, it’d have to be ‘strongest smell possible’. The sheer stench that combined and emanated from Palmr’s ‘breakfast’ overpowered everything else in the store. Indeed, it was bad enough to momentarily make a Rakshasa retch and sway on her feet.
Perhaps she simply wasn’t [Hungry] enough, but the sight of a rotund catfish stuffing his face—with sauces and food bits dribbling off the ends of his whiskers—made her never want to eat again. Seriously, this can’t be good for business. What the hell is going on here?
Contrary to her thoughts, however, business was evidently booming. Anxious customers lined every aisle, leaving no room for a pair of Wayfarers and their local guide to squeeze their way to the back of the store. The trio was forced to take their place in the lengthy queue, empty-handed and growing more impatient by the second.
The queue moved slowly, and it was easy to see why. Palmr, despite being the sole decision-maker around this place, refused to engage his clientele directly. Instead, a flustered tilapia ran back and forth between the customers and the master vendor, waiting for the moments where he’d stop chewing long enough to whisper messages into his earhole.
“Is this guy for real?” Zacko muttered under his breath. “More and more, Serac, I’m starting to like your idea of smiting everyone we don’t like.”
“Shh!” Serac glared at her Manusya partner. “You’re the one who said we ought to watch and learn. We’ve got time on our side now, so let’s not cause a scene just yet, yeah?”
So, Serac waited (im)patiently, watching and learning all the while. In particular, she was curious to see the emotion that invariably colored the faces of every customer as they finished their trade and left the store.
It was one of pure relief. Relief at leaving behind the oppressive stench and atmosphere, perhaps, but there was something far more primitive—more chemical—about the reaction. The customers had cravings they couldn’t ignore. And these cravings were met only by whatever they managed to purchase at Jorgen & Sons.
That was why business was booming this morning, as it would be every morning after this. It really was as simple as that.
Disquieted by her private thoughts, Serac found her way to the front of the queue, rather sooner than she’d expected. She also expected to have to speak to the tilapia as a go-between, but then—
“Show them through, Erik. These are special guests of mine.”
The put-upon tilapia choked back a sigh as he waved the party through. Despite the invitation, Serac hesitated for a moment; Palmr was just that repulsive of a figure.
But Zacko showed no such qualms as he strode over and seated himself at the table. He even reached in and helped himself to the food, grinning up at Palmr with a mouthful of garlic bread. The catfish met this with nary a twitch to his permanent sneer.
Serac hurried to follow suit, stopping only to drag along Petter’s reluctant figure. She too sat down without being asked to, but stopped short of trying the food—not out of politeness, but because she didn’t think she could do it without immediately throwing it back up. Beside her, Petter chose to remain standing.
“Good to see you back in one piece, Wayfarers.” Palmr’s beady eyes glinted with barely disguised amusement as he bounced them between Serac and Zacko (and completely ignored Petter). “And if I’d come across rudely before, I hope you have it in you to forgive me. The start of the day is always stressful for traders, as you might imagine. But I’ve got all the time in the world for you now, and as such, let me start by offering a belated welcome to Stamgard.”
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