The Call of Nys #5 (Waverly Stump and The 7 Realms)

17 - J U D S O N

One week and a day.

That was how long it had been already; a continuous, frustrating transition from day to night with little to no progress at all. Pushing on in spite of setbacks was now a force of sheer will.

It had to be. Because Judson was nearly ready to give up.

His search almost regularly brought him to two things – a dead end and nowhere. Running into folk who had an idea who Waverly was, chiefly through rumor, was the only thing he could call a pleasure. They showed him hospitality for her sake; housed and fed him, and very often paid their respects to her in heartwarming ways. It soothed to see the impact even on the people she never met, but it was shocking how fast word spread.

On several occasions, he'd had to sit in small gatherings and listen to the endless stories told about her. More often than not, such stories were amusing; a few being over exaggerated, but also thrilling. He heard things he had never heard before – things she never told him and feats he never knew she was capable of. He guessed it was because of modesty that she failed to mention them, but suspected that she might have simply forgotten to.

To some, she was a glory seeker – an excessively talked up youngster, who wanted for people to welcome children of the gods. Others seemed to believe she was a bold fool and nothing but. However, a noble majority praised her diligence and bravery. Though he preferred to sit around those who thought positively of her, it was not unexpected that there were folk who despised and were jealous of her.

As he poked his fork into the cold salad before him, his gaze lifted to the group of men at the front table, engaged in interesting chatter over beers.

It was his fifth day at a tavern in the outskirts of Drumwind, an exhausted village located three hundred miles east of Lake Borough. Unfortunately, it was the same place Juneberry had dumped him a week prior.

"The age of glory is gone, Fountain." The oldest of them was saying. His head was greatly overcome by gray hair. "Back in the olden days, our ancestors had many things to write about; not the boring old routines of everyday men, but the legendary works of great, extraordinary men."

"Those who were born lucky or right into rulership, yes; of Kings and Queens, zealous patriots, and slaves who boldly bedded their masters wives." Fountain responded aloud.

An uproar of laughter rose from a quarter of the tavern.

"Say, I think we have nothing of the like nowadays." A different man claimed. Judson recognized him well enough because he frequented the tavern and often bothered any lady he saw sitting alone.

The waitress, Feola, chirped in from the bar, where she was wiping mugs with an old handkerchief. "I think we still do, Valos. Ask Umstead about his travels. He'll tell you a thing or two that might bedazzle your dull brain."

In unison, the men turned to look at Umstead, a brawny fellow with golden hair and the tiniest eyes, who was quietly sipping a pint of ale at the dark end of the tavern.

"Oh, blige! Did the stable boy knock his daughter up after all?" Fountain questioned.

Again, laughter rose.

"That'll be a more glorious tale than any I've ever heard." The chattiest of the group, a shepherd named Rutherford, cackled.

Judson knew him by name after he introduced himself on the first day of the former's arrival to the tavern. His elder brother, Hallworth, owned the establishment, and Rutherford habitually came to drink for free.

"You keep your mouth shut, Rue," Umstead began in a calm baritone that silenced half the entire room. "And maybe I'll let you make use of it for another beer or two."