Town at the Edge of the World

  For some reason I can't call Merchant mother. It's kind of stupid. I call Wolves father. They raised me together. But something inside me physically grabs my throat and squeezes Merchant out. "'Worldedge' tree record by Gloomeye"

  ~~~

  According to the glorious tradition of Worldedge, with the onset of winter, most men go on a panic hunt for alms for the sake of warm furs. This winter, everyone decided not to deviate from the tradition and even increase the panic component with a shortage of ready houses and a noticeable increase in the number of clan members.

  After Capital was taken over by the Mourneers, most of the citizens fled and joined Worldedge. The village (although it is becoming increasingly difficult to call it a village) was happy with so many new women. With new blood and hope, the clan returned to its former home.

  Merchant, with her tattooed hand holding Babyboy in his breast carrier, tried to gather the rest of the clan's children. The owner of Capital's orphanage, Decimus, has now become the Wielder of the Sword of Light. This, as foretold in the prophecy on the tablet by the sword, has robbed him of his former life (where he apparently did nothing but pamper his charges) and he has gone on a journey.

  And if Merchant takes care of one orphan, then she can take care of a bunch of orphans at the same time. She hadn't expected such a treacherous betrayal of logic, she thought they were friends.

  The village nanny was actually her adopted son, Gloomeye, but he also went off on an adventure (leaving the foster mother with another child to look after). Wolves, Merchant's husband and concurrently Gloomy's father, encouraged this. He had been an adventurer himself in his youth, and out of friendship he gave his son the job of being the village's very long-distance scout.

  "Summer Rain, Dayorb, Little Star, gather the rest! Everyone must stay by the fire until warm clothes are ready," the woman called to the oldest children, trying to wrap her arms around the younger ones and distribute them evenly around the nearby fire. There were fewer seats in the form of fallen trees than there were children, but obviously they wouldn't all be sitting at the same time.

  Merchant glanced nervously at a nephil's farm. The nephils had completely webbed and cocooned their poles and rungs and were now hanging there, sometimes manipulating the web with their frighteningly long limbs, sometimes moving even more frighteningly slowly around their new home.

  The woman understood that the price of good clothing was living with these creatures. They were a source not only of silk, but also of the spiked skins used to make armour. But spiders frightened her even when they were small, not the size of an average alm. It's a good thing the village hasn't given up the good old-fashioned skinning of alms.

  Merchant forced herself to turn away from the large spiders, in time to see Getgood and the youngest children finding something in a crack, dangerously close to a pit created by the collapse of Worldedge's dugout before the recent exodus of the clan.

  "Getgood! Smiley, get Getgood and the others out of the pit!"

  Getgood was a full-grown woman, but when the executioner of the Mourneers wrapped his tentacle around her head to crush it, her soul flew out of her body prematurely in terror, unaware that the body had been saved (or could not return). Getgood's expression became childish, she began to communicate only by mooing, and her best friends became the youngest children. Why not give Merchant a grown-up child? Of course, why not? Give her away! After all, she loves to work hard and take full responsibility for helpless human lives! Shaky hands, grey hair and premature wrinkles, what more can a woman dream of?

  Storyteller walked alongside the clustered children (but still trying to spread out as much as possible). He muttered something about factions, families and heraldry, and was so focused on the matter that he walked with steps that didn't suggest snow had fallen, tossing it aside.

  "Storyteller! Giggle isn't with you?" Merchant called to the Worldedge storyteller.

  "Ah, he is grazing boarlers. And Girl is with them," Storyteller said absently.

  "But the boarlers aren't big enough to keep the children out of danger. And now that the snow has come, it would be better to take them back," Merchant's mind never left the childcare regime.

  "Snow?" Storyteller looked down in surprise at the snow he was kneading with his feet. "I was wondering why it was so hard to walk, I thought senile infirmity comes so suddenly, I'm telling you."

  "What's so distracting you from the real world, Storyteller?"

  "I've been talking to Quote, and now I'm rethinking all my work. It turns out that the paradigm changed a long time ago and I'm stuck in the 5th cycle of the Age of Dragons. Meta is different, I'm telling you, Merchant."

  "Aha," Merchant said, pretending to understand. She was beginning to regret her decision to continue the conversation. My damned natural politeness!

  "Since you understand everything, why didn't you warn me?" Storyteller found it much more fun to pour out his thoughts to a listener than to mutter them to himself. "Heroism and the ordinary universal struggle between Good and Evil have become boring to everyone."

  "Aha," Merchant supported him resignedly and tried to distract herself by counting the heads of her charges.

  "Now everyone is interested in politics and betrayals. And I also realised that I hadn't been cruel enough to my characters, Merchant, I'm telling you."

  "Let's not mention a betrayal near Gloomy. And Firster," Merchant immediately pulled herself together.

  "Okay, I've been standing for a while. Such an old ruin needs a lot of walking, especially in this cold. And I think better when I'm walking, I'm telling you," Storyteller hurried off to his own business. He reacted painfully to any manifestation of censorship regarding him.

  "You - old? You'll outlive me, judging by my work," the childcare woman called after him.

  "Another winter, another aging of everyone on the cycle. But at least the wild hunt is cancelled," Wolves appeared, also muttering to himself, carrying a shovel on his shoulder and wrapping his cloak around him. "And there will be no need to extract water."

  Merchant was pleased to see Wolves. Now she had someone to listen to her complaints about life.

  "Of course I wanted to be a grandmother, but there are too many grandchildren, and Gloomy brought the granddaughter at a difficult, rebellious age," Merchant said, not addressing anyone in particular, and looked around at her charges. Smiley led Getgood and her comrades by the hands. The soulless one looked at the light of Dayorb (real Dayorb, Merchant's ward does not emit light yet), forgetting to keep her mouth closed with her jaw.

  Wolves noticed a smile playing on Merchant's lips as she looked at the children, and went to hug her from behind. She touched his arm in return.

  "It's still not enough, wife (they still liked to announce their status in relation to each other to the whole world)," Wolves said softly.

  "Not enough, of course. To show off, to joke, and sometimes to play with them. And to wipe their snot, to make sure they are always safe, warm, well-fed and healthy. To keep them from fighting among themselves and to grow up to be good people, that's a bit too much, trust the person who does that".

  Wolves rested his head on her shoulder and his hand and said very quietly so that only Merchant could hear:

  "I still think we should see a healer. Even a mage."

  "Come on, I know I can't have children. You've proven that you can, but I can't," Merchant glanced at her tattooed shoulder, but looked away immediately. If Wolves saw what was hidden in that look, he would be worried and even angry at the reason for such emotions. But she sat with her back to him.

  "Thanks for your help with Gloomy, by the way. It would have been much worse for him and for me without you. But I would still like to bring a piece of you into this world," Wolves took the opportunity to kiss his wife's neck.

  But his wife didn't answer, her attention focused on the children who had arrived and who they had brought with them:

  "No! Why did you bring him here?!" Merchant jumped up in panic, but as soon as Babyboy began to whimper, she continued in a loud whisper: "We're not leaving him."

  Giggler, Girl and the little boarlers stopped. An armoured skeleton also stopped, led by the children's hands. Its skull was adorned with a wreath of flexible stems sprinkled with snow.

  "Chil... dren..." the skeleton creaked as it looked at the children. Then it turned its gaze to Wolves, and its unintelligible voice took on a very intelligible tone of disapproval: "El... vinon... isn't... there..."

  "I... I'm sorry..." Wolves muttered. He remembered the skeleton on the road to Capital. Back then, it had carried a two-handed sword, which had somehow helped it to keep its balance. But now the fallen warrior had lost it. Or perhaps it had thrown it away to free its hands for the children's hands. Now the children were helping it keep its balance.

  "But he's lost. And a good one. Getgood is also grown up and lost, so we thought..." Giggler said plaintively.

  All the living witnesses to the scene froze. Merchant looked up, closed her eyes and began to count to ten to calm herself. One. Two. I also have to take care of the skeleton. Three. Four. Of course! One more ward, one less. What difference does it make to you, Merchant? Five. Six. Skeleton. Seven. Eight. He's grown up. Yes, he's old enough to be the progenitor of our family. Nine. Ten. Although, of course, from the outside this situation looks funny. Nephilims...

  "Magic of false gods!" Dwarf, the village's chief builder, shouted. Next to him on the ground sat Wil, the refugee from Capital and former majordomo. He didn't say anything, but he was doing his best, judging by his open, trembling mouth.

  "Children!" Merchant and Wolves shouted at the same time.

  "Chil... dren..." the skeleton rasped belatedly.

  "Yes, the children themselves would say that if they knew such words." Dwarf pointed at the undead. "This is real magic. And not just some harmless thing like coloured floaters coming out of your hands. This thing is dangerous."

  "We know. Or do you think we're seriously considering keeping him? Getgood! Stop her!" Merchant shouted, but everyone was too scared to act (except Getgood herself, of course).

  Getgood walked over to the skeleton and reached for the wreath. He freed his hand from Girl's and gently took the woman's palm.

  "Mine," it said, surprisingly clearly.

  "Why do you say that? He's done nothing wrong. He is not a thing, but a man, well, a bit shabby," Girl stood up for the honour of the undead.

  "Perhaps we should keep him? Worldedge needs new blood. Well, and bone fluid," Wolves turned his head towards his wife and rubbed his neck in embarrassment.

  "Sometimes I think I have one more ward," Merchant said wearily.

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  Having heard from the main adult that the skeleton could be a friend, the children came out of a fright, entered into an interest and approached the skeleton.

  "And what is your name, sir?" Moonshard asked sniffily. Sick? I must hurry the hunters.

  "Do not... remember..." the skeleton creaked apologetically.

  "Then you'll be Forgotten. No, that's a bad name. You will be Rememberer. This name will help you in life... in the afterlife," Wolves looked back at his wife, pleased with himself, and his silly smile faded. "So you wanted something?" he said quickly to Dwarf and Wil.

  "Are we seriously going to adopt the skeleton?" Wil finally managed to control his mouth. He felt cold on the ground and stood up.

  "That's clan policy," Wolves said, spreading his hands.

  "But if you have to tie a knot..." Stump's voice came closer. It wasn't coming alone, but with its owner and Rexana, who was walking resolutely away from them.

  "Enough! Just because we both had one, or you had a lot of, I don't know, bad days, doesn't make me part of your interest club!" Rexana shouted over her shoulder.

  Stump ignored the rudeness, or anyone but Rexana. All his attention, along with his dreamy gaze, was focused on her.

  "I heard you talking about clan politics. That is of interest to me. I still don't know who's in charge here," the former ruler of Capital addressed the audience. She noticed the skeleton, but he didn't deserve a reaction from her.

  "We don't have a chief," Wolves admitted.

  "So I can be your chief?" Rexana asked innocently.

  "Of course," the totally not a chief of Worldedge nodded.

  Merchant's face changed as she held Babyboy with one hand and led the non-chief away from the crowd with the other:

  "What does that mean? Are you giving up power so easily?" she whispered, looking back at the usurper.

  "Rexana has experience in running a large city. We lived in it, were there any complaints about the leadership?" Wolves looked innocently surprised. How innocent everyone is here, it's amazing.

  "Yes. Her city is now in ruins and under someone else's control."

  "Well, apart from that?"

  "With Mom's death, our faction has been weakened," Merchant whispered even more quietly.

  "What faction?" her husband didn't understand.

  "Our faction. Of our family and the Moose family. And now you're losing ground to the new faction of demon worshippers."

  "A part of our faction, as you put it, in the person of our son, also worked for the demon."

  "What have you got there? Any questions for the leader?" tired of eavesdropping, Rexana turned to her newfound subordinates.

  "What questions can there be here? You've seen this skeleton, haven't you?" the chief builder asked in surprise.

  "Yes. A great addition to the city," the new chieftainess nodded contentedly. "Fear is a great deterrent to outsiders."

  "Ah, Lady Rexana, you will manage us here too," Wil said, calming down completely and brushing the snow from his fine trousers.

  "You don't sound too enthusiastic, Wil," Rexanne said, turning her head towards her former majordomo. She always tried to let the other person see all parts of her face, especially the right one, which was badly scarred and had a sunken eye. To let them know that there was something more serious in Rexana's life than talking to them.

  "I... Lady Rexana, you know me, I keep everything to myself. I'm a stoic," Wil said humbly.

  "More like a man," Rexana snorted.

  Wil decided to change the dangerous subject:

  "Mr. Dwarf says I can't make a peg corrals that big. But we're not limited to walls, or rather, we'll limit ourselves later, and the pegs need more freedom."

  "He increases the area every day, how can I build everything else?" Mr. Dwarf interjected.

  "So where are the construction plans?" asked the chieftainess.

  "Construction plans? On parchment, that is? With squiggles?" Dwarf scratched the top of his head, as if trying to hold it between opposing fingers, but it kept slipping. "Only Gloomeye seems to be able to read and write. I don't know how he managed it. Well, from the old us, before your infusion."

  "Wil can. Take care of it," the chieftainess ordered her former majordomo.

  "But, my lady. I want to work with pegs," Wil protested.

  "'But' is the last thing ladies want to hear. Although there is also 'I have failed in your task, my lady'".

  "Here!" Wolves pointed proudly at Rexana. He and his wife had finished whispered arguments some time ago and were now following the new ruler's conversation with her subjects. Merchant looked up. Stump was supporting the former non-chief with a raised finger.

  "Okay, where are your accounting books?" Wil asked them all.

  "What is 'accounting'?" Wolves asked.

  "What are 'books'?" Giggler asked.

  "What... is... 'where'?" the skeleton asked.

  Merchant, who had lowered her head, raised it again. Something very interesting to her up there in the sky.

  "Oh, you tricked me," the former majordomo waved his index finger back and forth. "How long have you been practising that joke?"

  "What is 'joke'?" Girl asked.

  "You! You're a construction worker. Winter will probably stop all construction?" Rexana decided to turn her attention to something more meaningful and turned to the chief builder.

  "No, no, fire-dried trees might actually be better, because there is much less moisture in the air and they dry out faster." Dwarf sat down on a nearby boulder. This was a worrying sign. The conversation before had been on his feet, and now he had to sit down? "Yes, it will cause some difficulties, like more solid ground. But we diggers are tough people. Most of my men are ex-slaves who spent their days digging tunnels and are used to working in harsh conditions. I, for one, even prefer winter to long, sweaty summer days! And we don't have to do much digging - the foundation pits are already there, these are our old homes. Just fill them with stones. And here's another observation - snow is much better for building than rain, you can just move it with your foot, but with rain it won't work that way - you'll get a puddle and a dirty foot. Oh, and we'll need more wood for our campfires and snow shelters."

  Rexana waited until Dwarf paused to take a deep breath, then quickly chimed in:

  "Great, discuss the plan with Wil and make a construction plan."

  Everyone (except Dwarf and Wil) breathed a sigh of relief, and the idea of Rexane the leader became a little more acceptable. Paused Dwarf looked at Wolves. Behind him, Wil also looked at Wolves.

  "Hey! What are you doing? You're looking at him after my decision," Rexanne stepped in the way of their gazes. "That's not how government works."

  "And take Rememberer. He has no muscles, nothing to tire him. Surely he can dig for a very long time. Just warn the rest of our kin," Wolves suggested, smiling at his wife. She sighed and smiled back. But under Rexana's frowning gaze, Wolves felt embarrassed:

  "I'm going to whittle the daggers," he used to say when he wanted to escape. No one had ever seen him whittle his daggers. Apparently, he is very secretive.

  ^^^

  "Why don't you take that rag off your face? It's like I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to it," Boiriann walked into Slizvert's newly erected tent and looked around. "How are your strings, little rag? Why are you crying? No need to. Does your host breathe foul breath into you all the time? Besides, he's getting fatter in the face, so you can't quite cover it. Oh dear."

  Boiriann still had a big mouth, set by the nature wide eyes, thick eyebrows and a flat, short nose. But Splinter had given her short black hair and a straight back.

  "Ummmm," Slizvert followed her in, finding nothing better to say than his characteristic ‘Ummmm’.

  He was still wearing the Mourneers mantle and the three-pronged mourning veil (with red, closed eyes and tears next to them (but it wasn't the rag that was weeping from the foul breath, it was the Mourneers symbol)). Boiriann had changed her wardrobe and now wore a black shirt with a thick leather belt slung over her shoulder, black leather boots and gloves, and a skirt that fell below her knees. She wore Gloomeye's belt around her arm above the elbow.

  The girl jumped at full speed onto a bed on the floor, which she immediately regretted:

  "And these are your beds? No wonder you all behave as if you had sticks in your butts. And behind the rags - sullenness".

  Slizvert decided he had had enough. He limped over to Boiriann and tried to turn over his bed with the girl on it. But he couldn't, so, he pretended that he was doing exactly what he wanted. The girl watched him caustically. She no longer regretted her ill-considered leap.

  The Centurion limped over to his folding table (there wasn't much choice in his tent, and Boiriann had taken half the options) and sat down wearily in the chair behind it:

  "Ummmm. Let me tell you, I thought you'd rather stay with Adventure. Ummmmm. Especially with all that nonsense in your reports."

  Boiriann went from a relaxed state to a fast paced one. She ran to the tent's entrance flap and pulled it back. Her Frenzy appeared in the pass, fighting an army of Mourneers. Without a word, the girl pointed her palm at the high demon and glared at Slizvert with a dark expression.

  "Ummmm. So when we defeat the First Frenzy, you'll go back to Adventure?" Slizvert suggested.

  "Of course! Girls only have boys on their minds," Boiriann let go of the cloth and began fanning herself with her hands. "Oh, boys, boys, boys. They and revenge for the titanic demons we've spawned. But seriously," Boirianne looked really serious, "I'm going back to Gloomy. And not just to him. To Worldedge."

  "Ummmm. I don't want to upset you. But... Ummmm. Ahem. Your betrayal has taken place," Slizvert said awkwardly. "I'm not saying you're stupid enough to forget such an important fact... But it's kind of implied in my words..."

  "I warned him more than once. I just cut his shoulder. I wish we all had the same healing speed as Gloomy. Nothing a good apology wouldn't fix," the girl said lightly, and made her way to the bed again, but this time without jumping. "Gloomeye is smart. He knows what a stupid, meaningless person I am. Oh no, he even knows that I'm not a human, but a stingback. If there is a bad decision to be made, I will definitely make it.”

  "So saving my life is a bad decision?" Slizvert became sad.

  "It's your own fault. Ran in Gloomeye all pretentious," Boiriann gave a rather similar portrayal of the transformed Slizvert's voice: "'I am your last misfortune!' Isn't that funny even to you? He serves the supreme demon, defeated the dragon with a little help from me, and saved our souls from the earth box. And almost good at tavern brawls." Boiriann's lips curled into a smile without her noticing.

  "I'm a three phalanx..." the Centurion began resentfully.

  "Too bad Gloomeye didn't know that and almost killed you in one move."

  "And you've changed. The old Boiriann would never have said 'But seriously'. So the new Splinter is ready," Slizvert finally found a moment to start this conversation. He wanted to start it after "But seriously", but the flow of the dialogue took them where it took them. "I sent you with Adventure to make you stronger here," Slizvert poked him in the head. "Ummmm. To prepare for the mission."

  Boiriann propped herself up on her elbows with interest:

  "I thought-"

  "You would infiltrate Hreb as a spy and find a way to stop Frenzy. Only you can do that, Boiriann. Ummmmm. Or Splinter? As you wish?"

  Boiriann's face was grim with joy:

  "Boiriann. Boiriann for now. She has an acquaintance there she must meet."

  ###

  Vladiburya sat in his favourite chair. It was made from a branch of everoak, which cannot be broken or sawn. An everoak can only be asked to take the right shape, which is what Alfar masters did for this chair. Its back flowed smoothly into the armrest, which flowed through the round recess of the seat into another armrest and then into the sturdy, knobby base.

  Vladiburya did not know how to sit in this chair without cushions, so he did not try (although the cushions slightly smeared the proper impression of the Winter King).

  In the office, besides such a wonderful chair, there was a table, a bed, cupboards, all filled with parchments containing documents, maps and reports. There were also runestones, figurines and instruments (to be honest, they were more curiosities than necessary tools. For example, a mobile model of the universe (how the creator suffered with the lunar belt), or a transparent sphere in which the weather was the same as at home (for Hyperon, it would easily be replaced by a note with the inscription "snow")).

  There was also a round window through which one could see a landscape below and small airships. The office was surrounded by the "Lord of Storm", floating slowly through the clouds and blue sky.

  The Winter King looked out of the window, tapping his fingers on the armrests, when an angel swam into view. He barely had time to look away from the angel's face, noticing only the delicate chin. It was dangerously close.

  "There are those who ignore problems. And there are those who obsessively cling to problems and never let go. I thought you were the second type of person," a faceless voice came from the angel's side.

  "And there are madmen who don't have problems, but they think they do," Vladiburya said. He knew that by continuing the conversation he was making his condition worse. But every time he met the angel, the logical Vladiburya was replaced by the emotional Vladiburya.

  To avoid seeing the angel's face, the king began to look at himself. Blue coat on white skin. Badly fused fingers (his father broke them so that Vladiburya wouldn't do stupid things like draw, but could only hold a weapon). And long brown hair (with a white tuft) that hides the slight sharpness of his ears. The white skin is not such a problem, the founder of the Vladiburya family also had one. But the pointed ears give off an admixture of Alfar blood.

  A half-breed bastard, not a northerner at all. The northerner was Hrol, who came into the office. Bright blue eyes, blue skin, stone face, white armour and white hair. In a way, he was the opposite of Vladiburya (not only in colour).

  Before Hrol could open his mouth, the king asked quickly:

  "The angel. Still invisible to you?"

  "Yes, High Konung," Hrol lowered his gaze and knelt in greeting. He didn't even look around the room for this angel. Or perhaps the angel hidden under the bed or very small? But the chief scout already knew the answer.

  "No one else can see me. You know that. And yet you ask every time. You repeat the same action, hoping for a different result. Maybe you're really mad," came the voice from the angel's side, as emotionless as ever.

  "Fine. Report," Vladiburya ordered.

  "There is magerot here, no less than in our homeland. Only it's purple, not light blue. And the natives say there are no magestorms here."

  "What a lovely place. I will order to check how the local magerot works with our mechanisms," Vladiburya reported to the scout. He didn't have to share his plans with a subordinate, but he liked to create the illusion of communication.

  "The paladins of the Order of Veritas will be on our side," Hrol said, a hint of pride creeping into his voice (a little. If his voice was wine, then it can be said that there is a top note of pride in the fragrance).

  But the manifestation of at least some emotions in those around him also manifested emotions in the Winter King.

  "Well done, Hrol!" Vladiburya slapped his hands on the armrests. "But how long will you stay on your knees?

  Hrol raised his face:

  "I haven't done anything special. Justin is a reasonable Jarl, he didn't need much convincing."

  He decided to ignore the remark about kneeling. He was an ardent supporter of tradition, and even the High Konung's order to deviate from tradition could not shake his loyalty to tradition. It seemed a little counterintuitive, but that's how northerners are.

  "We will reach Hreb in a few days. Get some rest, you won't be able to sleep then. I need you and all the others to stop the war," the king ordered in a tired voice.

  Hrol nodded, got up and walked away. The angel swam to his vacant seat and tilted the head, trying to look into Vladiburya's face. He quickly looked away.

  "You are ignoring me, but you'll restore order anyway, Vladi. Thank you," the angel said.

  Foreshadowing! Even I am scared of what kind of events.

  For the first two chapters, I put the pieces (of the first act) on the board.