Echoes from the Lost Ones (6 page)

“Nah.”

“Ye are not like any women-folk I have known.”

“So they say. Most girlygigs in Cityplace just curl their hair and speak in bubchat. Wouldn’t know how to kick down an opponent if their squishy lives depended on it. I’m glad no Manlyman wants me for a Missus. The thought of snuggling up with a whitewashed male in a hygenehome churning out bubbies till I shrivel, gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

Wirt stared at me for a sec, and then lowered his head.

“Mebbe, one day some fitting male will cross yer path and ye will think on different terms.”

“Nah, well...Nah,” I said, picking up the all-in-one and dipping it into the mushy goodliness in the pot. I gulped down several mouthfuls of the stew, cleaned the spoon with some of the water and handed it to Wirt.

“Ta,” he said and daintily chomped down the rest of the food. I noted that he took particular care in fully cleansing the implement when he had done using it. Rinsing then drying it on the heat of the fire. He gave me a smile as warm as the flames and I could not help but assume a similar grin. We stayed that way for longer than was necessary and when our eyes parted, the goodly heat had waned somewhat.

A lazy wind burrowed through us and we both shivered. Wirt stood and gathered some larger twiglets and more leaves. He threw them onto the dying embers and they soon caught alight. He sat next to me and our shoulders touched. We leaned closer to the inferno and I swear I could hear both our hearts thumping fast.

Wirt snuggled closer and said, “In time, I believe I would be glad to have a young ‘un of my own.”

“You would make the finest pa, Wirt.”
 

“Ye think so?”

“I do and then some.”

A high-pitched shriek ripped apart our sweet reverie and Wirt looked to the aboveness with a look of fear upon his face.

“Do ye believe the raptors devoured all at camp?”

“Doubtful. Maybe a few dropped, but the rest more as like merely came to injury that can be fixed.”

“I worry that word will spread like mildew. We must race to somewhere safe.”
 

“Your home?”

“Mebbe, mebbe not. They may have news of what took place.”

“Surely your mam would want to see you?”

“Aye, mammy would. I think. Nay, she would, of course, she would. Come, let us go home,” Wirt said and stood.

I kicked soil over the fire and replaced the things Wirt used back into my Sythnbag. He sniffed the air and pointed ahead.

“This way. Keep close and do not stray.”
 

“That I will not do,” I said and followed.

Chapter Six

Women-folk

Wirt’s pace was quick and I struggled to keep up. The twigs and bramble things that littered the floor seemed to conspire against my weakling legs and tugged and tripped me so much so, that I conceded defeat and sat down upon a softly bump. Wirt raced on ahead and I had to call to him to make him stop. He gave back an ear-piercing, “Shhhhhhhhh, will ye,” and crunched back to where I sat.

“You go too fast. I am not used to this terrain so much as you. I am breathless and scratched from the effort,” I said and rubbed my calf.

“Ye must keep up. It’s not so far. I didn’t take ye for a sissy.”

“Sissy? Me? I’ll have you know, merely Nearly, that I am this orbits Roughhouse Champ. I beat a trainee S.A.N.T. in the final. A male, trainee S.A.N.T. at that.”

“Aye, ye are brave and tough when it suits, and I have never seen the like with the raptors, but now ye fade like a newbie bub.”

I would have socked him one for sure if it were not for the fact that he was right. I hung my head and snorted loudly, then rose to my feet. He, all hands on hips and pouty-pout, had a look of solemn, especially around the mouth. I simply said, “Lead on, again. I’ll follow without complaint.”

Wirt puffed out his cheeks and made a clicking sound with his tongue, then turned and marched ahead. I clopped behind stifling the “ouches” that formed in my mouth each time a thorn sliced at my leg or arm.

When we had tromped longer than I cared for, Wirt slowed and stopped by a circle of giant ferns. Odd, I thought, that such greenery would grow in such a uniform fashion when all about us were random clumps of verdure and saplings dotted here and there. He bent down amidst the ferns and for a moment became invisible.

Then up he popped, a smile upon his face and he said, “We are here. These frondles mark the outer entrance. If there is trouble or the like, a red painted rock is left in the centre to warn of danger. I found no such stone. It would seem all is clear for our arrival.”

“I am all eager to meet your family and friends.”

“Aye, it is hoped they feel the same way about ye.”

“Word cannot have spread so far yet. They may know nothing of what has occurred.”

“Only one way to know for sure,” he said and took my hand. Together we walked all slowly through the overgrown forest, squeezing our bodies through gaps in the trees until we came to an archway made from twisted branches and frondly leaves. A large lattice woven screen that let through but a tiny hint of what was beyond it blocked the entrance. A rhythmic thumping flittered to my ears. Then a high whistle hovered for a sec before forming into a lilting tune. Music. Basic for sure, but of such a purity of tone that I almost felt my legs begin to jig with the sound of it. I peered through a gap in the barrier and saw a vast clearing with small round huts made out of what looked like mud and straw.

Wirt pushed the screen away and my eyes widened at the scene of hustle and bustle. The source of the music came from a grey haired fem sat on a stump blowing through a wooden pipe. Two small ‘uns knelt at her feet and slapped the front and rear of two large square wooden boxes. My guess was that they were hollow inside as the sound that came from them was deep and resonant. Folk wandered around the place doing this and that and I smiled at the sight of ‘dults and bubs alike frolicking to the beat and laughing as if Agros and their brutishness were but a dream.

“Home. Stay close and let me do the talking.”

I nodded my head, he let go my hand and we walked through the arch into a hubbub of activity. So intent were they with their playing and dancing, that the Woodsfolk gave us not a glance as we trod warily into the camp.

I marvelled at how well constructed the buildings were. Sturdy huts formed a perimeter around a Homeoak in the centre of the space. It was dandier than the one at Nearly camp and twice as big. Now this was what I had expected from my looking at the vids. Coloured leaves and garlands of rainbow stained cloth hung around the massive, gnarled trunk. The entrance was adorned with wooden beads hanging from string that made a soothing clacking sound when moved. I wondered how I could hear such a quiet noise above the din of the music, and realised it had stopped.

A young ‘un, grubby from romping in the dirt, pointed at us and shrieked, “Mammy! Mammy! It’s our Wirt and a stumpy nymph.”

I was not enamoured with being described as “stumpy,” but the “nymph” tag pleased me and in response, I brushed a little moss from my pelt and loons. Wirt stiffened at the sight of two large women emerging from the Homeoak. Their hair was braided in strands from forehead to nape and hung down to their waists like dead millipedes. They wore green tunics with long sleeves rolled up to the elbow and their brown plaid skirts fell so close to the floor that each time they took a step, dust was scattered here and there.

They strode towards us leaving a string of curious kiddles and other fems behind them. I saw oldies of both sexes pick up bubs and sit them on their shoulder so that they could get a better glimpse of what was about to happen next. I thought it more than quaint that these folk let those with advancing years live amongst them.

Wirt took a deeply breath and said to the stouter of the pair, “Ye look bonnie as ever, Mam.”

“What ye doing here? What have ye done? And, who is she?”

I leaned close and whispered, “They do not know. Best to leave it like that for a time.”

“What she bletherin’ about? Speak or I’ll take the Lochgelly to ye.”

“The what?”

“This,” she said and produced the meanest looking woven stick I had ever seen.

“Ye well know how it feels eh, Wirt?”

Wirt bit his lip and the smaller woman, who had a scar above her left eye, said, “Aye, look at him, he quivers with the thought of it.”

“He does indeed Meghan. Always was a Jessie as well ye know.” She relaxed her grip on the cudgel and spat at Wirt’s feet. “Ye relate what’s what.”
 

“We...we...came  to  see  ye  Mam.”

“Liar!” Wirt’s mam said and held the club above her head. “Speak the truth laddie or by the Greenman himself, I’ll  beat it from ye.”

Wirt shielded his face with his arms. The wounded-eyed fem bent down, picked up a large stone and flung it smack into his chest. Wirt staggered backwards and I held out my hands to keep him from falling. He coughed and righted himself, only to be smacked in the face by same fem.

“Ow,” Wirt said and rubbed his reddened cheek. She raised her hand again, but I stopped it with mine. She sucked air between her teeth and pulled away.

“Ye are nowt but a blubbering babbie. And yer friend there, why she looks as soft as fresh snow.”

“We’ll see who’s soft,” I said and put up my fists. The two women put their hands on their hips and laughed.

“Do not test them. Ye do not know what they are capable of.”

“That she don’t,” the smaller of the two said. “Shall I call Bemia to beat the truth from him?”

What mean and nasty fems were these? His own mam ready to see him thwacked, his own kin wanting only to hurt and ridicule one who had them done no harm. I now knew why Wirt had been so unsure of our coming here. There is an ancient saying, “Out of the frying pan into the fire.” Until this moment I had never really comprehended its meaning. I was about to admonish said fems and stand in front of Wirt to protect him from this Bemia thug, when to my astonishment and utter bemusement, Wirt grinned and embraced his mam.

“Ye are full of wit and daffiness, Mammy.”

She responded by hugging her son so close and hard that I saw his face turn red. “Ah, my wee laddie, how I missed ye.” She let him go and looked me up and down. “Did I scare ye, lassie?”
 

“Well…”

“Ha! Good jest for sure. Come let us sit down and ye can tell me what is what,” Wirt’s mam said and we followed her, and the one she called Meghan, into the brightly decorated Homeoak.

Those that had stood and stared parted as we walked and I thought I heard someone say, “This can only mean trouble fer us all.”

Meghan parted the beads and we stepped inside. There was a whole host of kiddles, fems and oldies, all busy with a task of some sort. Threading, beading, pounding roots and other stuffs I did not recognise. They were so busy that I became at once tired and in awe all at the same time. The interior resembled the Homeoak of the Nearly camp in all except for the beds. Here the walls were free from shelves and were adorned with coloured handpics depicting family scenes, and pretty good resemblances of flora and the like. All heads turned towards us as we stood by the entrance. Low murmurs spread like a wind gathering to form a storm. Wirt’s mam held up her hand, and all fell quiet.

“Cease yer chatter, we have guests. Go back to yer work and do not bother us. Come let us settle and ye can relate all that has occurred. For I see in yer eyes, Wirt, there is much to tell.”

She took his arm and we moved to a sitting area by the great fire and sat down behind a round piece of roughly cut wood that stood on four hefty timber legs. Wirt’s mam put her elbows on the table and rested her head on her hands. I tried hard not to look at her smaller than small thumbs for fear she would notice and become irked by my tactlessness. Fortunately for me her attention lay with her son. She stared into his eyes, then sat back, a look of anxious spread across her large-jawed face. Wirt cast down his eyes and I saw droplets of wet splish-splash onto the rough surface.

“Something badly has gone down with ye.”

She turned her steely gaze upon me and I felt as if she were digging her fingers into my very brainbits. I sat back and put my hands to my temples, but the pressure did not abate until I blabbed, “My name is Adara and I brought the raptors upon your menfolk.” I clapped my hands over my mouth and stood.

“Ye did what?”

“She called the eagles and such like. It was horrible, Mam.”

“Sheesh yer squalin’. I have nowt to say to ye son,” Wirt’s mam gave me another penetrating look. I snapped my eyes shut and felt a heavy grip on my arm, “My name is Andswaru, ye know what that means?”

I scurried around my noggin for the meaning of her tag. “Answers. You get answers.”

“Aye, I do. Blab girlie, ye have no choice.”

I opened my lids and she relaxed her grip. Wirt wiped his face on his sleeve and Meghan folded her arms across her ample basoomies, and then gave me a narrow-eyed glare. I took a long breath and did indeed blab.

“Do you know what Wirt has to endure in that filthy place? I know, I was there. Manlymen, Nearlymen, all cowards, brutes and...”

“No, Adara, no more,” Wirt said and I stopped.

“So, ye brought them to punish the weak-assed males? Much damage done?”

I was surprised by the calm in her voice, and even more surprised to see her and Meghan break out in a shoulder-shaking guffaw. I gave Wirt a look as if to say “What the huff?” and he looked back with an expression as curious as my own.

“Do not look so flummoxed. All the ‘dults but Brennus was sent to that camp as a punishment for lazy ways and lack of duty to their wives.”

“Aye, ‘tis true. Brennus, my hubbie, went to keep all in check. How fares he?”

“Well, I think. On the last lookly back before splitting the scene, he was in command of the situation as much as was possible.”

Andswaru shook her head and went to Wirt. She touched his face with tenderness, then pursed her lips. “Ye cannot stay here. First place they’ll come a-lookin’ for ye. Although we are hard enough, we are not so tough to withstand the vex of those ye have hurt. Our other menfolk are away at work on Agro fields just beyond our boundaries. They thought that offering their services would soothe them into relinquishing more supplies. We can only hope it does. Nay, ye must go. Wirt, when the time is fitting those who have wronged ye will know not the comfort of home when they return. That I promise ye son.”