Skara Braens

Part 20

Part 19 Vote Tally

Option A: 3
Option B: 0
Option C: 0

Look at all you anthropologists! Onward!

The rest of the drive continues in silence.  Feeling slightly more comfortable - though not much - in the vehicle, you turn your attention to the scene before you.  As the vehicle slows, you note a fortified hamlet.  Sharpened tree trunks encircle the area in a tightly constructed palisade, dotted with wooden towers at regular intervals, except at the entrance, which has a tower sitting either side of it.

The town gate appears to be a salvaged security fence, complete with the rusted barbed wire across the top and middle.  You recognise the design.  The compound where you were held previously had one similar to it.  This one, however, is manually operated.  You watch as two burly men in furs push hard, moving at a run to slide the gate open.

Slowing to a crawl, Artair waves at the men, who you now note are carrying three spears each strapped to their backs, as he guides his vehicle into the hamlet.  A series of large round houses made of wattle and daub, with conical thatched roofs are briefly light by the vehicle lights before Artair turns something near the steering wheel and the throbbing engine cuts out.

"That's a lot of wood," you note to yourself.

Artair grunts what you assume to be a laugh.  "Aye," he murmurs.  "Too few women by half."

You turn to him with a frown, not understanding how he went from building materials to women.  He notes your confusion and rumbles a soft laugh.  You get the impression that you're missing something important, but don't press for it.  You're not likely to understand in any case.

It takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the dark one the artificial light from the vehicle vanishes.  When they do, you realise that it's not that dark.  There is light enough from the stars to provide, which is well, because you cannot see a single fire or other light source.  Following Artair's lead, you open the door and step out.  Several people have gathered near the truck, noting you and whispering to each other.

"A tha thu anmoch," a woman says, marching forward.  She is thin but muscular, her thick dark locks streaked with ample silver hairs.

"Our apologies, Siona," Gordon says as he leaps from the truck, Mordina close behind.  "We came across another foundling."  He nods in your direction.

The woman, named Siona, turns to you.  Her eyes, though you cannot tell their colour in the gloom of night, are still intense.  You feel she is gazing straight through your body into your soul.  It becomes difficult to hold her gaze.  After a moment, she marches up to you...

...and delivers a powerful slap across your face.

You stumble, clutching your hand to your face, blinking at her through eyes that are filling with tears.

"You are too late!" she hisses.  "Look around you!  Look at what we've become.  You should have come sooner!  Why didn't you come sooner!"

"Alright, great mother," Artair says gently, moving to her side and wrapping his thick arms around her.  She trembles as she stairs balefully at you, but does not attempt to fight Artair off.

"Alright," the large man continues to sooth.  "It's alright.  They're here now.  They're here."

The elder woman bursts into tears, covering her face with her hands to hide the sight of them.  Artair frowns at you.  You stare wide-eyed at Siona, confused and astounded.  Your eyes meet Artair's.  He seems to register your confusion, as he nods at you before handing the elder woman to Mordina, who, with soft words and gentle guidance, takes the woman away.

"Come," Artair says.  "We have a house reserved for newcomers.  Rest up for the night.  We'll talk tomorrow."

Still clutching your face, you nod at Artair, still astounded.  He turns and leads the way, the gathered people parting to allowing both of you to pass.

The house for newcomers stands farther away from any of the round houses than any one round house stands from another.  It is intended, you have not doubt, to make the guest keenly away that they are still outsiders, despite the hospitality shown to them.

"Rest," Artair says.  "I'll come in later with dinner."

You nod and, parting the hide that covers the opening, enter the round house.  You do not expect the step down onto the stone-laid floor and jar your knee.  You pay the injury no mind, however, as the minute your foot touches the stone, the central hearth leaps to life, a bright flame jumping from fresh wood.

Stone benches surround the hearth on three sides.  Behind the left bench, curved like wall, sits a large stone table, a wooden bucket on top.  Beside the table stands stone shelves containing a large cast iron cauldron, some wooden spoons and bowls and platters.

Behind the right bench sits a large stone vat of some kind.  Beside it is another large wooden bucket.  The bed, however, is the largest piece of furniture in the house.  It is a beautifully carved thing, low to the ground, with a straw-stuffed mattress and a woven canopy stretching between the four tall posts.  Blankets of wool and fur are spread over the bed.  You have seen nothing so inviting yet.

You move to the bed and sit on the edge, running your fingers over the thick fur blankets.

"Cosy?" Artair asks as he walks into the house, carrying a cast-iron cauldron.  He doesn't wait for an answer before he moves to the stone shelves and retrieves something long and thin from beside it.  You watch with interest as he unfolds the thing he retrieved over the fire, revealing a tripod with a hook hanging from the middle.  He hangs the cauldron on the hook above the fire and glances up.

"That's going to bruise," he notes.  You absently touch the still stinging skin of your cheek.  Not looking at you, he says, "Have you decided what to do about your name?"

You nod.  "Rites," you croak, your voice still raw. 

"Aye?  Good.  That might allay Siona some.  But don't be surprised if it takes her a while to get to it.  She's upset."

"Why?"

"I was hoping you could tell me.  You were expected, it seems."

You stare at Artair helplessly.  He sighs and sits on a bench, staring into the fire.  "You have questions, no doubt."

You nod.  What do you ask Artair?

Option A: What's for dinner?
Option B: What is this place?
Option C: Who is Siona?

Sorry I didn't get to the rites today! Perhaps next time! Voting ends Thursday 10 November, 2016 at midnight.  Another non-life-threatening decision this week.  Good luck!