The Last Philosopher

Strange, stranger, Áettar

Earl was no expert on the Nontie, but he knew they came from the Áettar race. He'd heard the same selected facts as everyone. The communal spirit was alive and well when it came to making tall tales taller. The ones about how the Dim Áettar ran around stark-naked were a particular favourite. Something Agalian codgers found both wicked and titillating, mostly the second one, since it involved things of that nature. As far as he knew, the Nontie wore at least some leather coverings.

Satisfied with the least amount of care he could give his weapons, he hung them back up by the door. If there was something his sense of duty had a hard time convincing him was worth the effort, it was maintenance.

"I wonder if the Nontie have any special leather care methods?" He'd once considered getting a hide hat, but even that seemed risky with the local attitude towards leather clothing.

Earl knew better than to put his trust in rumours. Yet there were a couple of things told about the Áettar he believed. First was that Dim forest was dangerous. Anyone dumb enough to put that to the test never came back. Not that going beyond the stakes into Frel was safe, only safer by comparison. Which led him to the second thing, wherever Áettar lived, they preferred to be left alone. Something he wasn't unsympathetic towards.

But everything else was hearsay and gossip. He'd never even met anyone claiming to have spoken to a Nontie first-hand. It was always,'my brother's friend heard from his second cousin,' and so on. What he always found interesting were the descriptions of their ability to sneak up on you, and then disappear without a trace.

"You don't find the Áettar, they find you," Earl mumbled.

That phrase was in almost every story, not that repetition made it true. But something non-titillating like that, and retold often, he reckoned it could be true.

It was pure luck that no one'd realised the p-word might be an Áettar. Some would use it to fan the flames of old resentments. Such as the snake in the last light church. The embers were alive and well without his encouragement. If Earl had his way, the bad reverend would spend all his days in a sound-proof cell. Muke stole from people's sense of charity, and acted like he was doing them a favour. A Nontie thief would play straight into the preacher's rantings about human superiority. Worst of all, most of the townsfolk listened to him. Not just because they had a complicated history with their neighbours, but because Muke was the one shouting the loudest.

The popular opinion nowadays was that the only good Nontie, was a dead Nontie. Even so, there hadn't been a casualty on either side in longer than anyone could remember. Their tribes stayed out of the settled areas, and Agalians stayed out of Frel. Their recent shared history was best described as the slowest war ever fought.

As for Dim — if it weren't for the sorcerers road into the forest — it would be impossible to tell if anyone was even in there. Young men, testing their courage, sometimes went right up to the edge. To peer into the unknown. The well kept stone road that started at the opening into the tauntingly empty woods, looked nothing like the cattle trail on the Agalaland side. Going right up to the edge of the paved avenue was safe enough. But if they were smart, they never took the last step onto the road kept by unseen hands. Rarely, if ever, was anyone seen using the road. But there were rumours of black robed figures sometimes emerging from the dark forest.

If there were Áettar in Dim. They hadn't even come out to help their kin against the Agalians. Their conflict had started with a skirmish some two-hundred years ago. According to folklore, the Nontie had attacked Stagna without reason. But Earl knew he couldn't trust eye-witnesses. People had trouble remembering what they saw five minutes ago. It wasn't much of an endorsement for generations of hearsay.

The fighting was supposed to have lasted less than a day. Once over, twenty-three captured Nontie were hanged, as part of the centennial celebration of Stagna's founding. To make the sentences nice and legal, Bench Cedent was appointed as Agalaland's first judge. It started the cedent-era of judging, and with it the marshal districts. Still, Earl felt there may have been more justice pre-cedent.

The tales about the skirmish had always bothered him. Because they never mentioned any casualties on the Stagna side. While at the same time, claiming that the Nontie were all bloodthirsty savages. It made no sense. There were no graves, not even one little memorial plaque to the sacrifice of their fallen heroes. After the skirmish everyone who'd been even part Áettar got themselves out of Agalaland. For their own good.

"So, why would a Nontie be stealing food now?" There was only one answer, and it wasn't a good one. "They wouldn't," he sighed.

Updated: 27.10.2023