Chapter Twenty-Nine

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It was midday when Maebus, Kelm, and Normandy arrived in Cyperus Village. Maebus' leather laced shoes had fallen apart at the seams and, in places, exposed his bare, throbbing feet. But at least his broken leg was no longer a hindrance. Due to the likelihood of Legionarie patrols, their group chose to avoid the Pumice Path completely and travel stealthily through the mountain forest.

The journey took several days, but Normandy's ability to hunt and build shelter eased the trek. The mountains spread out miles behind them, providing a panoramic view that Maebus thought was absolutely breathtaking.

The woodsman led them into Cyperus Village and silently greeted people as they walked by. They didn't return his smile. Many of the inhabitants stared ferociously and their children scurried away. Their tribal attire was gorgeous, consisting of well-crafted fabrics with vibrant colors of red and green. The jewelry worn by their women was made of precious metals. Even the weapons carried by the men of the village appeared opulent and well crafted.

Walking through the village's collection of tepees and huts, it was easy for Maebus to see just how secluded the community really was. Yet, the chilled mountain breeze could still reach them. It was gentle and invigorating. It drifted down from the distant peaks like the melody of songbirds greeting morning's first light. Maebus inhaled the subtle aroma of tranquility and firewood, feeling himself relax. The environment seemed a timeless paradise. Absorbing his surroundings, he understood why Cyperus' inhabitants were so protective of their secret oasis. It was even more beautiful than the mountain lake he and Kelm had previously visited.

"I had no idea such splendor existed within the Realm," he said to Normandy.

"The Cyperans are an interesting people," the woodsman replied. "By nature, they're hunters and warriors, perhaps the most skilled I've ever encountered. Yet, they practice a unique philosophy centered on balance and peace. Their entire community is nomadic. For centuries, they've settled bountiful locations such as this, becoming one with the environment and never taking more than what they need to survive. Through this practice, they have remained prosperous."

Normandy paused briefly to adjust the large, heavy duffle bag that was beginning to dig into his shoulder. "Here's another interesting fact," he continued, "in Cyperan culture, the oldest warrior—male or female—is chosen to be the Elder leader. That person, having decades of knowledge and perspective, is tasked with teaching their culture and skills to the younger generations. The Elder also dictates the direction of the entire community, establishing trade alliances when necessary, and establishing the rules to preserve their balance."

"It sounds very efficient. But why are they nomadic?" Maebus asked.

Normandy laughed. "Think about it. In a land of endless war, they live harmoniously, dare I say ... peacefully. Such a thing must be protected at all costs, even if it means continually relocating so that outsiders won't be able to find them."

"Makes perfect sense," Kelm said, increasing his foot speed to walk closer with Normandy and Maebus. "It also accounts for their hostile demeanors. They're probably hoping they don't have to relocate again."

A loud chirping noise in the trees above them caught Maebus' attention. He peered into the treetops. He'd never heard such a sound before. In fact, it almost sounded more human than bird.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Sounds like we've been identified as strangers," Normandy replied. "There are lookouts hidden throughout the village, constantly searching for intruders."

"You've been here before, so by intruders, you mean me and Kelm?" Maebus asked.

"Basically," Normandy replied.

Kelm rolled up his sleeves. "A couple of spells should be sufficient to protect us in a pinch," he said.

"Lower your hands," Normandy's voice was low yet forceful. Kelm immediately complied.

As the group rounded a corner, more villagers appeared as if suddenly converging on their position. Their stares were as intense as their angry voices. A native shook his finger violently at them, shouting in a language Maebus couldn't understand. His actions seemed to embolden the crowd, as some even appeared to be reaching for weapons.

"Normandy..." Kelm spoke softly. "We're about to have a problem."

"They're anxious because they know where we're going."

"Which is where?" Maebus asked, refusing to take his eyes off the crowd.

"We're going to the Elder's home," Normandy exclaimed.

As if oblivious to the commotion, he trained his eyes upon a wooden hut residing several yards in front of them.

"This way," he said to Maebus and Kelm.

Following closely behind them, the villagers words shot at them rapidly. Their anxiety seemed only to increase the closer they moved towards the hut. The back of Maebus' neck burned from the anticipated whack it was surely to receive at any moment. His eyes darted left, then right. It would only take one act of aggression to ignite this powder keg.

At that moment, not far ahead of them, a thin, brown skinned man with long, white hair appeared in the doorway of the wooden hut. His aged face was chiseled with wrinkles. With fierce eyes, he glared at the three visitors, withdrawing a sharp blade from his side holster. He waved it at Normandy, which made the woodsman stop in his tracks.

"Don't move," he said to Maebus and Kelm, who also halted. "Stay here. Do not approach the Elder."

Maebus followed Normandy's gaze, which was locked unblinkingly upon the armed, old man. The villagers seemed to be quieting down, perhaps curious themselves of the outcome of this stand-off.

Normandy reached into his long coat and pulled out several custom blade handles he'd made the other day in the woods. The Elder's eyes perked with interest, and his stone-like face softened into a grin.

"You always know how to make an old man smile," he said, sheathing his blade.

Normandy laughed as he stepped forward. The Elder greeted him with a hug. Despite his friendliness towards the woodsman, Maebus noticed that the Elder kept his eyes sharply upon him and Kelm the entire time.

"And who have you brought to my village?" he asked.

"Elder, these are my friends," Normandy responded.

The old man's expression turned stony yet again. He then began speaking in their native language. Maebus couldn't understand. Normandy responded in the same tongue, his tone anxious. The exchange went back and forth for a long time. Maebus determined that he was either explaining their situation ... or bargaining for their lives.

From the large duffle that Normandy carried on his back, he pulled out several animal skins. The Elder inspected each of them, rubbing their smoothness, and testing their thickness and quality within his fingers. After a moment, he smiled his approval.

"Okay," he said, shaking hands with Normandy. He then gave instructions to several people nearby, who immediately sprang into action, grabbing the entire duffle.

Maebus watched as Normandy stomped back towards them, his mouth bearing a scowl.

"Is everything okay?" Kelm asked him.

"Your friendship is expensive," Normandy replied. "In exchange for my handcrafted items, the provisions for our journey east will be taken care of."

Normandy patted Kelm on the shoulder. "I need to speak with the Elder. In the meantime, you two should change out of those muddy robes and rest. The villagers will feed us and then gather our supplies. Tomorrow, we can continue to the Ancient Lands."    

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