Mescona – a map
Work thus far on a map of Mescona. In the alternate world setting which I am thus far calling ‘Terra Incognita’, Mescona is the cultural and geographic equivalent of America. It is also the chief locale of the setting thus far – specifically the western end of the Northwest territory.
It should be noted of course that New Vitrea and Borealia – equivalent to Mexico and Canada respectively, if that was not immediately obvious – are not part of Mescona either politically or culturally, although in the former case of New Vitrea some cultural bleedover necessarily occurs along the borderlands.
This map is unfinished – at present it is just a rough outline. The chief physical difference – which the final map will reflect more – between Mescona and America is the presence of several large craters hundreds or in some cases thousands of miles across that dot the nation, altering or even drastically changing the political and cultural boundaries of the land.
There is still much work to be done on the map – the placement of more large craters (crater lakes), the inevitable splitting off of the land we would call California, an added emphasis on the divide formed by Rocky Mountains (Mons Lapidem is the first alternate name off the top of my head), further dividing of the four cardinal territories into individual counties and commonwealths, etc.
On that note, here is a list of counties and commonwealths:
NE –
Lagos – Predominant county of the central northern lake region. This area is thick with lakes and mountains. Fairly rough terrain that gives rise to a hardy people. Here the native blood of Mescona flows strong.
Novodys – Named long ago in honor of the Odyssean Empire which originally claimed the Northeastern shore region, the meaning of the name has now been lost along with any remembrance of the empire in question. The mountainous region of Novodys competes with the southeastern region of Fleur for honor of being the civic and political capital of Mescona.
Rather than articulating the proper demonym of ‘Novodyssean’, the people of the west refer to the dwellers of Novodys as “Odd’ns” – a name which reflects their strong views on ‘them queer folk what lives too far east’.
‘Voidspawn’ (sci-fi story) Ch. 1
CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD THIS STORY AS A .DOC
Chapter 1
Calynn felt exhilarated for the first time in months as she raced over the arboreal landscape, running and leaping with uncanny swiftness through flowering forests and across open meadows. It was not because she was breaking any particular rule or regulation that she was so enthralled; she was well within her duties taking the agility-enhancing RECON suit out for a trial run. It was not because no one knew where she was – if Stahl and the others had truly wanted to find her, they could easily have followed either her personal transponder signal or the suit’s in-built geobeacon. It was not even because she was not entirely certain of the functionality of the suit’s safety limiters, which prevented the form-fitting armor’s prehensile carbon nano-structure from crushing the operator’s bones during a strenuous task such as running and leaping at preternatural speed through the wilderness.
She felt exhilarated merely to be out of sterile labs and climate-controlled observatories. Much as she enjoyed her profession, the past few months on this remote world had taken a mental toll. The wanderlust instinct that had led her down a long path to the eventual rank of First Explorer had screamed at Calynn for weeks, aching to be out among the plains, forests, and caves of their temporary home. The planet, recently christened Septa Upsilon III, practically begged to have its utmost mysteries plumbed. Who knew what unknown ruins or long-forgotten secrets might await them on this uncharted world, if only they would go seeking?
Their orders had been explicitly to the contrary, of course. Her team’s task, given by Aethernet upon reporting the recent discovery of this bountiful world, had been to establish a base camp and secure it, remaining on site and busying themselves with maintenance tasks until such time as the first excavation crews arrived. The miners would then take it from there, and Calynn’s party of explorers would be free to depart, to find other virgin worlds ripe for the taking, while Septa Upsilon III was most likely stripped bare and plundered of all its ample natural resources by the massive excavation engines.
Such was the way of the Ma’li. Calynn tried with middling success not to think of herself as a complacent participant in the continuing operation of a vast engine of war.
No doubt when the excavation crews arrived, the planet’s pristine beauty would not go unmarred for long, but by then she would be long gone and on the search for new and uncharted worlds. She was merely an explorer, a pioneer. When the famous explorer Marcus of Polara had a century before discovered the mineral-rich Acquilon star system, had he at that moment become responsible for the genocide that would later fall upon the semi-sentient race of beings that had dwelt there, when they refused the ungenerous terms offered to them by the covetous Ma’li Federation? Calynn did not believe so, and she did not believe that she was in any tangible way responsible for the plunder of any of the worlds she and her team had discovered on their voyages. After all, she considered, someone else would have discovered all of those planets if not for her.
Tearing herself from her ruminations on the matter, the explorer nearly took a fatal stumble. An upthrust column of natural stone veered suddenly in her path as she sped through the wilderness. Reflexively, she vaulted over it, limbs pedaling in a great leap as she soared precipitously over the obstacle. In her haste, she had misjudged and jumped too far, the powered weave of the RECON suit passively enhancing her speed and stamina far in excess of their norms. She covered her bare face with her arms as she hurtled through a hanging curtain of vegetation and emerged with a burst of scattered foliage into the air, to be enraptured by the resplendent sweep of scenery that lay suddenly all about her.
The rushing wind in her face was almost as intoxicating as the view. The gorgeous forestscape rolled in the gentle wind below her as she hung in the air for a glorious moment. The local sun cast the warming rays of its golden light onto the sweeping emerald hills in a dazzling display of natural splendor. Calynn almost didn’t realize that she was now beginning to plummet, having reached the apex of the mechanically enhanced leap which she suddenly realized had carried her over the edge of a precipitous drop in the terrain.
Calynn’s stomach leapt into her throat as gravity took hold. The wind rushing past her took on a vertical affect, and her heart began to pound in her chest as she was gripped by instinctive fear. In the reckless haste of her monotony-breaking expedition, she had bounded right over the edge of a tall cliff. Her panicked senses returned to her just in time, as the rapidly approaching trees below began to grow much too large for her liking. Throwing her arms wide to catch the wind, Calynn hurriedly issued a mental command to her suit. The flexible weave writhed against her skin with a familiar ticklish sensation that ran down both her arms.
Fighting against the wind that rushed deafeningly past her, Calynn brought her hands together in a practiced gesture and smote the air before her with open palms. There was a clap like thunder that echoed for miles across the valley. As if the motion had suddenly opened some massive and unseen pressure valve, a furious column of white fog shot forth from her outstretched hands like a streaking comet, an icy mass of super-compressed air almost solid in its roiling density. The great wave of pressure rapidly broke the velocity of her fall, crushing the lush vegetation some distance below into a fine pulp even as it was frozen solid by the frigid air released from the RECON suit’s ultra-high pressure microstorage tanks.
Even over the wind, the explorer heard the high-pitched whine of overtaxed micro-machinery as the tanks began to run dry, the nanocompressors continuing to hurl forth torrents of air like the breath of some frigid god. Heart pounding her chest, Calynn rode the wave of buffeting winds to the snow-covered ground in a successful execution of the suit’s relatively untested ‘fall mitigation system’.
This was but one configuration of the versatile nanites which comprised the suit’s intelligent fabric. This particular utility had proved useful enough to merit the great demands of energy required for its operation, and the unfortunate side effect of drastic local temperature change. Given enough resources, the suit could have been equipped – programmed – with any conceivable mechanical utility. The infinitesimally small, yet intelligent machines which made up the fabric could with the proper instruction combine to emulate almost any machine, even while remaining too small to be seen by the unaided eye. Calynn knew as much, of course. She, after all, had programmed this particular suit more or less from scratch.
The explorer had little time to reflect on the success of her designs, as she was still travelling at an appreciable speed both horizontally and vertically when she impacted the ground shortly thereafter. As intended, the suit absorbed much of the remaining shock as she tucked into a somersault. Calynn rolled along the ground for some distance, the reactive fabric stiffening, softening, and rearranging itself as needed to absorb and redistribute the successive impacts. When she finally came to a halt among a bracken of flattened shrubbery, a thick mist steaming from the joints of her suit, she was flat on her back and panting desperately for breath. What at first were choking, breathless gasps of panic soon became gales of relieved laughter as Calynn realized that she was, but for some superficial bruising, completely unharmed.
“Pad,” She said through panting breaths, a grin of exhilaration and relief upon her face, “Take note: Rapid Exploration Cognito-Organic Nanoweave suit, field test three completed. Results: exemplary. Possible future modifications include improved shock absorption systems… ” Only then did she realize her constant companion was not with her. Looking around in the still-dissipating fog of her landing, she did not see Pad. Her brow furrowed in worry. Had some local predator mistaken the little guy for a snack?
It hardly seemed likely, given the mundanity of the local wildlife – a fact which Calynn had noticed with some disappointment, being herself an avid xenozoologist and eager to discover unknown and unseen forms of life among the galactic rim. Second Explorer Stahl had been quick to point out to her that any lack of distinguishing animal life was, in his considered opinion, more than made up for by the veritable cornucopia of fascinating flora to be found in the whispering depths of the leafy oceans with which their temporary home was awash.
He had not put it in so many words, of course. In reality her assistant slash team security officer had merely commented in characteristic brevity that the local plants were nice, as the two of them had stood together gazing out over the verdant landscape from the roof of the modular habitation complex that served as their home base. As a private joke at her laconic Second’s unknowing expense, Calynn amused herself by verbosely paraphrasing simple statements Stahl had made. Most often it was in her own thoughts, but sometimes with dry amusement she even misquoted her subordinate to other members of their team – even on one occasion in a report to their superiors. That Stahl, if made aware of the fact, would have been more than passingly annoyed made it all the more terribly amusing.
Some people said that Calynn had a strange sense of humor.
However verbosely it was put, Calynn did not share the deep appreciation for flora that she had projected onto Second Explorer Stahl. Here there were none of the strange and often deadly megafauna that could sometimes be found in the uncivilized detritus of frontier star systems that littered the galaxy’s edge. Not that she wanted to encounter such creatures, persay. She merely, after countless mundane discoveries, had no more scientific interest for such prosaic creatures as could be found on any number of planets throughout known space. Septa Upsilon III practically typified what the Ma’li reverently referred to as The Great Plan, at the mention of which Calynn often had to fight an irresistible urge to roll her eyes.
Whatever one called it or however one explained it, the idea was fairly simple and undeniable. There had been found time and time again to be a number of unexplainable biological similarities that seemed to pervade across all of space. Evolution – if one believed in such a thing – seemed to have walked much the same paths throughout much of creation. This was not without a significant amount of exception, yet it was taken as a general rule throughout known civilization. She had yet to see an unfamiliar form on this world; there were antlered and hoofed cervids, twitch-nosed lagomorphs with long ears, even pad-footed vulpids darting among twisting eaves of the gnarled forests.
Even the trees, despite their varying appearance and composition, were among the most common form of life in the known universe. In the sparkling rivers that rolled across the grassy plains, she had seen armored crustaceans, and shimmer-scaled swimmers which were more or less fish – and which would some time later prove to be quite edible. In overall shape, function, and even composition, they were essentially the same creatures she had found on a dozen other newly discovered planets. Boring.
The fact of these uncanny universal biological similarities was undeniable, especially to one as well-travelled and learned as Calynn. Where her opinion differed considerably, however, from the Ma’li was where her government’s official view ascribed a religious aspect to this phenomenon, forming part of the foundation for the state-enforced Ma’li dogma to which all upstanding citizens ascribed, albeit in many cases under an unspoken threat.
Dogma or no, Calynn ached for a new and exciting discovery, some beast or even plant that she had not seen a dozen variations of on her travels. Her companions back at the habitation dome were glad for the opportunity to kick their feet up with some light duty in these hospitable climes. Most of them, she knew, were here because it was a well-paying job, in its way, and in some cases because they had been drummed out of more lucrative scientific pursuits in favor of the undemanding solitude of the galactic prospector’s lot. Consequently most of them executed their duties only to the letter, with little encouragement or desire to do otherwise.
This was with the notable exception of her direct subordinate, whom some time ago Calynn had affectionately nick-named Stalwart Stahl, and who was determined, as she had put it, ‘to ruin everyone’s fun as always’. She’d quickly countermanded the Second Explorer’s plan to implement a series of drills and training exercises to keep up the team’s fitness during their sojourn. Calynn cared little what her team did while they awaited the excavation teams, but more than that she disliked Stahl’s presumption in commanding her team. They were scientists, she’d informed him in no friendly tones, not soldiers, and they would not be ordered about like grunts entering boot camp.
As for herself, she was more than happy to take on extra duties, lest the suffocating pall of boredom settle over her like a lead blanket. Under the guise of such a duty, she had come miles now into the wilderness, and taken a tumble that had been perhaps a bit too close for comfort. She would likely have some explaining to do upon her return. She hoped that said explanations would not include how she’d manage to lose Pad in the rugged forests.
Her thoughts were interrupted and her fears alleviated as a small silvery shape dropped over the edge of the cliff far above, slowing to a controlled fall as it rapidly approached the ground with far more finesse than she had demonstrated only moments before.
The Personal Assistance Drone alighted a few feet above her, hovering gently. It was less than a foot in diameter, an orb of smooth metal which freely levitated without any apparent mode of propulsion. Calynn, of course, was aware of the internally-mounted motive system that the drone was equipped with, having performed the installation herself. Only upon its sudden return did she realize that she had missed the reassuring hum of the drone’s repulsors.
“Explorer,” addressed the unwaveringly stoic synthetic voice of the drone. “Do you require medical assistance?” She laughed breathlessly at its droll tone as it addressed her. The small hovering robot was not truly sentient, being equipped with a fairly cheap neural processor unit, but after so many months of constant companionship, she could not help but project personality onto the endearing little drone. “Diagnosis,” the drone announced. “Explorer One is delirious and possibly concussed,” it continued, ignoring Calynn’s grin. “Will depart to seek out assistance unless response within fifteen seconds,” The drone hovered before her, floating gently up and down on drifting remnants of the fog of the explorer’s landing.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” She told Pad, standing up and dusting herself off. “Acknowledged,” responded the drone dryly.
“As is your deep concern for my wellbeing,” the explorer shot back.
“Acknowledged,” repeated Pad. Calynn smiled wryly at the expected response, noting a few scrapes on the smooth black outer surface of her formfitting suit as she examined it.
“Can’t say how the suit fared, though,” she said ponderously, straining her neck to check the backside of the armor. “Pad, perform system diagnostic on RECON suit,” Calynn commanded, holding her arms out from her sides.
The drone immediately complied, interrupting its casual survey of their surroundings to come and circle around her. “Scanning,” it droned. Red streamers of holographic light played out from the small glassy eye on the front of the robot’s otherwise smooth outer skin. Though she could not see it, Calynn knew that there was also a rapid exchange of information occurring wirelessly between the drone and the powerful micro-computing modules distributed amongst the weave of the suit.
After a few moments, the red lights of Pad’s scanners died away, and the drone hovered in front of her face once more. “Diagnostics complete. Minimal damage sustained to microstructure. Maintenance operations suggested at earliest convenience, but suit is operational at 90% capacity,”
Calynn nodded. “What would I do without you?” she asked sweetly. Pad did not respond, intelligent enough to recognize a rhetorical question, if not a sarcastic one.
The drone began scanning their environment for potential dangers or discoveries, as she had programmed it to do in idle moments. Calynn liked to think of it as Pad’s inquisitive nature. She too regarded their surroundings, not entirely certain and not entirely caring just yet where they were. The sky was a pleasing shade of bluish-green, and the amber disk of the local star was still far above the lazily advancing horizon. Here the days were something like forty standard hours long, she recalled, and this one was not yet halfway over.
“Pad,” she began, eliciting a glance from the hovering drone. “Follow me, scanners active,” she commanded unnecessarily, well aware the drone had been specifically programmed to do just that more or less at all times. She smiled as Pad complied in what she decided was moody silence, following her lead as she trundled on into the thick forest.
Art update
Unlike the rest of the art on this site, the following is not the work of Douglas Tesh but my own instead. This is a sketch I did for a creature I am so far calling a ‘nihilomorph’ which will feature in a sci-fi story I’m working on.
The Ferryman
The Ferryman
Wheresoever went the moon?
It went out with the ferry
No more lovers to it swoon
Or sing or dance, make merry
This is the tale of where and how
And this tale I’ll recount it soon
This is with his wicked bow
How the ferryman stole the moon
A lurid night upon the swamp
The villagers with sons and daughters
A festival with flourish and pomp
The moon shone bright upon the waters
The summer dance had all delighted
And all were busy making merry
All but one had been invited:
The operator of the ferry
In a drunk and bitter haze
Upon the ferry, upon the water
The ferryman glared his bitter gaze
For he lacked wife or son or daughter
For years, thought he, I’ve borne this slight
Watching them mock me with their mirth
As beneath the bright moon’s golden light
They dance upon the joyous earth
Across his features crept a chill smile
As he gazed where lambent Luna faced
A plan as cunning as it was vile
To see their joy ever erased
He hastened to enact his fiendish scheme
And fetched the thick-wrought mooring ropes
What lay beneath pale Luna’s gleam
And with which he aimed to dash their hopes
The line flew into the sky
As he cast it with a mighty throw
And from the villagers came a cry
At the shadow it cast so far below
Quickly now the rope pulled taut
As on the moon it caught and hung
With he as joyous as they were not
As across the swamp his vile voice rung
Let us see you sing and dance!
Sing and dance without this moon
What mocking merriment shall you bring
In the dark of an unlighted June?
With words imparted so bitter and few
The ferry raised its heavy anchor
The village left to mill and stew
In the wake of the ferryman’s bitter rancor
They could but watch as he cleared the shoal
Grunting with effort upon the oar
As he cast off with the moon he stole
And the sky was dark forever more
The Unfortunates
The Unfortunates
In arid Fortuna in wide Mescona’s central plains
Where the flat land gives no shelter from the frequent winds and rains
Here dwelt a simple and agrarian people
Who were wholly contented with plow and steeple
The lands were peaceful across Fortuna’s many miles
Where many so long dwelt, faces kept with weary smiles
On this sunny frontier dwelt lonely and hardworking they
Who would – and many did – choose this solitude until their dying day
Sadly, however, fate was to interrupt their quiet dream
When the killing winds were to come, in the closing days of 119
Many would leave these lands where they had long before been born
Lest they be by scything cold cut down like so many brittle stalks of corn
Even in those tepid plains no living soul could then remember
A season equal to the frigid frosts of that cold and deadly December
The savage winds howled from the frozen north where no men dwelt
And even through their stout log cabins the icy gales could be felt
To lack for fire in that haunting winter’s throes
Was to shiver and freeze in your home and those
Who were in such a state found dead
Were the lucky one who died in bed
Unlike the less fortunate who doleful dirge would later sing
Whose icy forms would lay lost afield until the coming spring
When the returning bands of somber refugees
Would find them prone with axes, still by half-felled trees
Even the pious by their faith could not but falter
And many a priest was found frozen at his cold stone altar
To the superstitious folk who’d long there dwelt
Naught but bitter fear was felt
For the demon tempest whose icy breath would steal the soul
And leave the body so brittle, empty and cold
Spoken of in long-said tales that none had trusted
Until into their lands these windborne devils thrusted
Their faith fund strong when truly tested
The living priests these myths detested
What sapped the folk of will and reason
To try and live out that deathly season
Though in the face of frozen gods and icy steeple
There were few among those blighted people
Who yet had strength to lead their failing flocks
Those few assembled for bitter talks
To discuss their plans for life thereafter
In the icy face of the wind’s pale laughter
In short order a frantic decision had then been made
That the cost to go was lesser than to have stayed
The word was spread and much decried
For they were few and weak and ill-supplied
To stay and likely die it seemed that some preferred
Whose complaints were the strongest yet least loudly heard
Those were left to their own, for time to argue was short at hand
And with what little they could carry the refugees left their beloved land
And made in droves for relative shelter: some west, some south
Of the former, few indeed made it to the westward mountain’s mouth
The southward marchers, fair to say, fared somewhat better
for as they went south, it was warmer, yet also it was wetter
Before the journey’s end many fell upon the cold and dreary plain
Until by some blessed miracle they heard the whistle of the eastbound train
They’d journeyed to meet this borderland railway station
In slim hope that they might find here salvation
It would surely have killed them to have in those open plains yet wait
But here was their deliverance: the Continental #16 Freight
In the furnace-heated cars, tightly packed yet blessedly warm
Some four hundred sixteen weary souls were thence eastward borne
Across the eastern leagues so far from home
‘Welcome’ said the trainsman ‘to San Marcone’
The gateway city welcomed them warm
Though they were a ragged, unsightly swarm
Settling, most took jobs of thankless labor
All on offer in the city, their savior
The refugees had little choice but to take on debts
From the city folk who wryly dubbed them ‘Fortunates’
This poverty to be sure was far from mind
For most dwelt on those they’d left behind
Too stubborn, too old, too weak to leave their bed
Like as not, these unfortunates all were dead
But of them the refugees couldn’t hope to learn
Until the coming warmth of spring, and their hopeful return
For some months they dwelt in high-walled San Marcone
Where though they were chilled, it was not to the bone
When finally spring so suddenly came
The Fortunates were ready and eager to reclaim
The homes they had so bitterly lost
To the thankless, hopefully departed frost
A goodly chunk of Marconans as well
Made ready to go, for records tell
That grimly those of fair Fortuna’d said
That free were the lands of those who were dead
Such had bought them lodging in the fair city
Where many were friendly but few had true pity
All for the best, said the elders and priests
Who cared the most and needed the least
Cold and empty homes did them little good indeed
While of repopulation, they in truth had great need
By train and covered wagon, westward people went in droves
To see to their homes, frost-bitten gardens, and groves
What once had only with great care bloomed
But that the killing wind had surely doomed
The work was foul and grim beneath the springtime rains
Clearing the homes and fields of frostbitten remains
What few survivors as had remained behind
Were dead-eyed, cadaverous, and empty of mind
The cold and starvation had driven these desperate folk to the brink
‘Who knew’ said the wary Marconans, to what depths they would sink
‘Or had already,’ they added in the fearful tones
Of those seen of too many cadaver-ridden homes
Rumor spread of desperate and vile things
That the unfortunates had done to live til spring
The murder of those who were not yet dead
To get at their stores and keep themselves fed
They spoke of pacts with devils these folk had maken
And the bloody witch rites of which they’d partaken
Cannibalism was the most proliferous gossipful minding
And as was usual with gossip, had its roots in one small finding
In Sun Grove, a small northwesterly village
Evidence had been seen of a most inhuman pillage
From Black Run in the south to Granesberg in the north
There had been many an unsavory finding of course
But here was the strangest thing yet found
Showed something vile had come aground
Bart O’Hurley of his titular general store, unfortunately dead among the rest
Told a strange and black-lettered tale with what was missing from his chest
The black and ragged tear through which could be seen his still-frozen guts
Started these dreadful rumors of the cause of the rips and cuts
What had been found on so many bodies befores
And until then passed off as mere frostbite sores
But Bart’s black wound put all in mind
Of savagery of a different kind
Despite the hunter Regan’s statement
That this was no evidence of such debasement
This, he said, was the work of a beast
Making of Bart a desperate feast
But none would hear his sensible voice
And so he felt, he’d little choice
But to hunt down the beast at fault
To ease the increasingly bitter assault
On the character of their neighbor’s who’d had it tough
In Regan’s opinion, these hardy souls’d seen enough
Recruiting the help of local Sheriff Arthur Camden
He set about to search every house yet abandoned
Finding naught but frozen bodies all of which bore the sign
They couldn’t help but catch of feeling of something malign
Finally they saw a glimpse of the prey they so sought
Some strange and monstrous beast that fled, but by its tracks was caught
They rounded up a posse and gave each man a gun
Foreseeing no problem since they outnumbered twelve to one
Regan found the beast’s tracks and soon they found its lair
Cast about by some cold mist that around it filled the air
The sheriff Camden bade any who were scared then to flee
And of the dozen men assembled, the only coward was me.
I dropped my gun and hoofed it back to town
Expecting fair derision when they shot the creature down
But after hours then days, none had yet sent word
And the rumor mill of fair Fortuna again had cause to be stirred
Eventually another sheriff came into our town
And a second posse was then assembled to see what had gone down
I lead it from the front this time at the sheriff’s side
Determined that my courage no man should again deride
I knew not what to expect in that cold and misty damned place
But there was no beast, no bodies, no mist… Imagine the look on my dumbfounded face
The walls were pocked with many a crater, the floor with many an empty shell
In one place I thought, perhaps, was even the mark where a body’d fell
No one found a thing, and I thought perhaps that that was best
For only I saw the vile tracks headed off toward the west
Those tracks, I try not to recall for the easing of my slumber,
Were more than one pair, horrid beasts great in number
What became of those monsters and their prey, I dare not hope to think
For already dwelling on these days, I’ll not tonight catch a wink
But in my anxious worries, this is the thought that truly stuns:
Not what became of the bodies, but what became of the guns?
Jed and the Cold Bloods Ch. 7
Enjoying these stories? Please leave me some feedback at peterdsheehan@gmail.com
——
Chapter VII
‘Maybe you’re out of ammo, maybe the gun is knocked out of your hand. Maybe you discover what you save in coin buying cheap tin-cased bullets ain’t worth your trusty .45 jamming at the wrong moment. The point is, sooner or later shooting won’t be an option. I’ve seen more than one deadeye put in the ground for lack of a backup weapon.
Boot knife, knuckle dusters, blackjack. Whatever blows your skirt up. Hell, it wasn’t too long ago our predecessors were buckling on swords every morning. Any idiot can shoot a pistol straight. What separates the true lawman from the meek pretender is what you do when the bullets run dry and the gloves come off.
I hope when they do, you’ve got a good knife at your side and you know how to use it.’
– ‘The Lawman’s Field Manual’ by Marshall E.G. Tucker
“…What do you mean you don’t have any bullets?” Jed demanded of the postman as Huber came loping up behind him, still a bit out of breath. The blue-shirted train official shrugged, shivering somewhat in the wind despite it being what the Dormians reckoned was a fine spring day. “Is that not self-explanatory?” The postman said irritably, evidently being in the closing hours of a very long day. “I’m sorry, sheriff, but your letter must’ve gotten lost in the mail. I have here on my ledger,” He tapped the leather-bound book in which he was checking off each parcel as its owner claimed it. “That we took on board some four letters on the last stop here before the snow made the tracks impassable in early winter. All four were accounted for when we transferred the postage on our stop in Briar Run to the main Fortuna post station there. If you’re unsatisfied with the post service, I suggest you take it up with them. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d very much like to get these parcels delivered and to put my feet up in the saloon with a nice mug of beer,” The busy postman pushed past Jed with the few remaining packages, calling out names and collecting signatures in return.
Jed looked mightily frustrated, and was gaping in disbelieve, sticking his head inside the train car to check for himself that there were, indeed, no packages meant for him, whether they contained bullets or otherwise. The sheriff shook his head, muttering, and pulled a pair of sealed envelopes from the inside pocket of his long coat. “What’re they?” The unlettered farmer asked interestedly. Jed placed the letters carefully into the outgoing mail bin and turned away from the train, deep in thought. “I been dreading the possibility, but I thought this might be a problem. I’ve heard tell a few times of packages going amiss what was meant for towns in Fortuna. Never thought much of it, but I’d figured as I better be prepared for the worst in any case,” Huber nodded, though he did not truly understand. “So you ain’t got no bullets?” The farmer said, with an expression of mute horror as if the implications of this were only then dawning on him. He relaxed somewhat as the sheriff dispelled the worst of his fears.
“Give me a little credit, Hue. I still got about a full box of .45’s. Shot, though, I’m about run dry on. I got a few spare guns, but they’re all scatterguns, so we ain’t got nothin’ to shoot until the next train comes, at the earliest. I was fixin’ to get you and the boys a bit of practice tomorrow and to keep ’em rotated through the watch so at least three of y’all is always armed, but that ain’t gonna be an option now,” Jed looked pensive, and Huber shared his ruminations. “Well, ‘spose I can go fetch my woodaxe after all,” The farmer said after a thoughtful pause. “Guess we’ll have to figure somethin’ else out for arming the rest of them boys. Maybe we can borrow Ed’s rifle, if he’s still feverish. I know he’s got at least a few rounds lying about, and it ain’t much use to him in bed as he is,” Jed said nothing, though he agreed the single rifle would be better than nothing if its owner could be convinced to part with it for a while.
“I didn’t say I was quite out of shells,” Jed said finally after a pause. “If’n you’re comfortable with a scattergun, what few shots I got left for ’em is yours. Just, er,” He hesitated, and Huber caught his wary gaze. “Do be careful with it, won’tcha? I’d rather not catch some careless buckshot in the back, and we ain’t got spare shells enough for you to get any practice in,” The farmer seemed only slightly offended, but he nodded in understanding of the sheriff’s concern. “Don’t you worry none, Jed. I won’t pull the trigger ’til one of them scaly varmints is right up against the end of my barrel,” Huber grinned beneath his wiry beard. Despite the farmer’s evident skill at putting up a tough exterior, Jed’s wary senses detected some unease concealed beneath what in his mind was a forced smile. He eyed the farmer for a silent moment, but turned away, headed back west toward the town and the sun that was now slowly beginning to sink below the tall hills.
“Where we goin’?” Deputy Hawthorne inquired, and Jed slowed his pace slightly in deference to the farmer’s shorter legs. “My office,” The sheriff answered. “We got plans to make, if’n we’re gonna go pay them lizards another visit,” Huber balked. “You’re still plannin’ on goin’? Don’t you think we ought to wait for the next train to bring us some bullets, Jed?” The sheriff shook his head, his mind made up. “It could be a week or better before the next train comes. I got bullets enough to put the fear of the Lords in however many of them lizards we find down there,” He turned back to look at Huber and the ghost of a smile was on the sheriff’s face. “Besides, I got a few more ideas floatin’ around in my head. Let’s you and me hash out a plan, Hue. Then tomorrow I’ll show y’all a bit about bein’ a lawman.” The farmer nodded. “Lead on, Sheriff,” He said deferentially.
The two made their way back along the winding path toward the town square. Eventually they came to Bishop’s saloon, not two doors down from the now empty pavilion, where evidently the tables had already been cleared off. Jed snorted, almost impressed by the efficiency with which the cleanup had been organized, to be finished already – Helena Cooper was not all talk, he had to admit. Jed came to a halt before the rather run-down face of the tavern, with its dangling wooden sign. Evidently one of the old chains that held aloft the large wooden plaque bearing the words ‘Bishop’s Waterin’ Hole’ had broken some days before, and Jed noted with some amusement the ramshackle repair that had been made by the penny pinching barman – the sign was now held up by a piece of old rope on the right side. He motioned Huber wordlessly to follow as he pushed through the swinging doors of the saloon.
“Gonna have us an ale?” Huber said with cautious enthusiasm. Jed smirked but shook his head. “Not just yet, though I’m fixin’ to have one before the day’s out. Just now we’re here on business, so look sharp, deputy,” Deputy Hawthorne nodded, squaring his shoulders as he trailed in the sheriff’s wake. Jed surveyed the near-empty bar – although not forbidden either legally or dogmatically, it was generally frowned upon to be getting sauced on an early Sunday afternoon. Myron Bishop, polishing a mug behind the bar, nodded to the sheriff and raised the mug in his hands with a questioning glance. Jed shook his head, tapping the badge on his chest and gesturing at the large room around them. Bishop shrugged his shoulders lightly and turned his glance away. Following his gaze, the sheriff saw what he had been looking for, tucked away into a dark corner of the establishment. He nodded his silent thanks and quietly approached, his muted footfalls not catching the attention of the figures slumped over the table in question.
“Deputies Fisher and Owens!” Jed announced suddenly in his most authoritative tone. The two figures at the table scrambled in their shock and slipped off their wooden stools, knocking empty glasses – and a pair of half full ones – in a clatter onto the floor. Jed stepped carefully over the shards of glass, the heels of his boots clicking on the hard wood of the floor. He stood above the fallen men for a moment in grim silence, hands on his hips, then he broke it with a congenial chuckle. “The cost of those glasses will be comin’ out of your pay, of course,” The sheriff began. “We get paid?” Owens said in confusion. Glossing over that for the moment, Jed continued. “But other than that, y’ain’t in trouble, so why are you boy’s so uptight? I just came to see how y’all were doin’ after your first time on watch,”
Fisher and Owens exchanged a look, struggling half-intoxicated to their feet and replacing themselves upon the stools. Bishop came by with a broom to begin sweeping up the broken glass. “Other than you scarin’ us half to death, we’re doin’ about alright, Sheriff,” Said Fisher. “Just havin’ our usual Sunday drink, beggin’ your pardon,” Jed waved him off. “What you do when you’re not on duty is your own business, Ford. I was just havin’ fun with y’all,” Owens look relieved at this, letting out a breath and turning to order another ale from the rather annoyed barman. Jed continued. “Speaking of duty though, I do have some orders for y’all, though I hate to interrupt your drinkin’,” Myron Bishop brought around another pair of ales for the pair of regulars, though Fisher had not ordered one. The two men gratefully took their mugs of beer. Jed heard the doors swing open once more with a clatter, and saw with a glance that it was the weary postman. Jed could not help but be annoyed with the man, though surely there was nothing he could’ve done about the lost letter. The sheriff shook his head, turning back to the deputies.
“Anyways. I need y’all two to go ’round to all the deputies and tell ’em to be at my office at high noon tomorrow. You remember everybody what volunteered, I trust?” The deputies nodded, sipping from their mugs. “Go ‘head and finish your drinks, but I want this done before sundown. J.R. has first watch tonight, and go ahead and tell, er… Deputy Bringham that he’s to patrol with Coleman. Might learn him a thing or two, I reckon,” The others nodded, having their own doubts about the slight, bookish lad. “Any questions?” Fordham Fisher raised his hand above the table and Jed regarded him wryly. “I ain’t a schoolteacher, Ford. But what’s your question?”
“Well, er… That is, me and Mitch was wonderin’ if we get guns, Sheriff,” Jed seemed to consider this, to Deputy Hawthorne’s confusion. “Hmm, might be as you could earn your way clear to bearing iron. Ol’ Huber here I know can handle a scattergun, and I know Coleman’s been in a scrap or two, but have y’all ever even shot before?” The two young deputies looked crestfallen, shaking their heads. The sheriff held his tongue in regard to the best marksman that unfortunately was not yet with them, young Edmain Larkin. He dug in his pocket, tossing a couple of heavy coins onto the table. “Don’t feel bad, boys. Wasn’t too many years ago I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with this here pistol. Buy yourself a couple of drinks on me,” He caught the grateful glint in their eyes and added after a moment’s thought “…After you deliver my message,” Owens looked crestfallen again, but Fordham Fisher looked taken aback.
“But of course, Sheriff. Duty always comes first! The lawman’s work is never started, after all,” He said gravely. Owens elbowed him in the ribs, causing Fisher to spill a bit of the beer he was quaffing. “Ford, you idiot, its never finished!” Fisher looked confused for a moment, to Jed’s amusement. “What ain’t? Oh! Right. Never finished, I meant,” The taller deputy said with some embarrassment. Jed dismissed them. “That’s all for now, deputies. Drink your fill, but I want you bright-eyed and sober tomorrow, got it? No drinkin’ on the job,” He turned to leave to a chorus of “Yes sir!” from the pair. Huber followed at the sheriff’s heels. After they had passed through the swinging doors of the saloon, the farmer spoke.
“What was all that about earnin’ a gun, Jed? I thought you was out of shot for the scatterguns,” Huber said in earnest confusion. “We don’t need to worry folks none about me bein’ low on bullets,” Said the sheriff. “You keep that under your hat, you hear? Might hurt morale if it got out. We’ll have more shot soon enough,” Jed was contemplative as they walked up the dusty road. The sun was beginning to sink behind the hills, casting longer and longer shadows. The days too had been lengthening, but as yet night still came fairly early to Dormis. “Reckon it seems like y’all are real excited to shoot, though,” Jed said at length. “I might just let y’all each take a shot with my pistol,” Huber seemed excited at this prospect. “That’d be mighty keen, Jed,” The sheriff did not share this enthusiasm, his mind working over his options.
On the one hand, he had only one box of ammunition remaining – fifty bullets, not counting the loose rounds he had strung about the waist of his belt holster. He had eighteen deputies, and he reckoned two shots apiece ought to hold over their excitement until the next shipment came in. Twice now in the scant hours since they were recruited, he’d been asked by a deputy about their armaments, and if that was anything to go on, Jed figured, it was at the forefront of the young men’s minds. There was a delicate balance of morale to be maintained, it seemed to the sheriff. The long winter had done little for the town’s well-being, and coming out of it right into a catastrophe of this magnitude surely hadn’t helped. These boys, young and eager, were potentially risking their lives to stand in defense of their home and their families. Yet Jed was leaving them all behind in town save for Huber, to keep them out of harm’s way. If he didn’t play his cards right, he thought, the deputy’s would be fixing to abandon their posts and turn in their badges before the week was out.
And before they might truly be needed, Jed added to himelf. He had to make the newly minted lawmen feel as if they were truly helping out, he resolved, and that meant some kind of demonstration of their new responsibilities, to reinforce their sense of duty and the trust Jed was placing in them. In the blessed absence of a public killing by the Boreans to cement in the deputies’ minds the gravity of the situation, Jed reckoned that he had better at least let them each squeeze off a couple rounds to get their spirits up. He keenly remembered when first his father had lent him the responsibility of bearing a gun, if only on the target range. The heavy iron shining in his hand, he had felt for the first time full of righteous zeal, even if his first shots had gone wide of the crude effigy of a bandit Marcus had rigged up for him to shoot at. He had, after all, been only ten years old. He expected about the same level of accuracy from his new deputies, despite their greater age, save perhaps for Coleman or Hawthorne, who had at least a smattering of experience with firearms.
That was that, he decided. It seemed like a terrible waste of his scant bullets, but what was that compared to the potential of losing a goodly portion of his new allies? The town watch was central to his plan for dealing with the Boreans, and if his inklings about the beasts’ intention were anything like true, they could at any time be stalking the village in the dead of night. Seeking a hole in their defenses, or perhaps just an easy meal, he could see in his mind the savage lizard men sneaking past unoccupied watch posts to steal away with their precious livestock – or worse, their children. He knew not if the beasts were truly malicious or if they were merely hungry. But Jed had a gut feeling that they were all too keenly intelligent. Having met the gaze of more than one of the cold-blooded monsters, it was all too easy to imagine a burning hatred stewing in the unreadable depths of those murderous eyes.
Or desire for vengeance, the sheriff reminded himself, remembering with regret the apothecary’s reckoning that those Boreans as he had slain were only juveniles. He’d little other option at the time, but now he wondered if perhaps his hasty actions had damned them all to the wrath of the vengeful mother of that cold brood. This was all speculation on Jed’s part, he admitted to himself, but all the same, if whatever passed for the Boreans’ society was anything like their own, it was only a matter of time until they wreaked a bloody vengeance upon Dormis. Family feuds were all too common an affair in the village, the sheriff knew all too well, and those were often began with some innocuous slight between fighting children. Lesser matters than murder, to be sure, but here Jed had slain five of the Borean young, if the apothecary’s guess was right. He knew not what to make of this, and for the moment only harbored some awful feeling in the pit of his stomach as he ruminated over the matter.
Now Jed and Huber had nearly reached the sheriff’s office, having walked clear across the village in the moody silence which the two had often shared in the day since their first adventure. Both nearly broke the dead air a few times, only for some reluctance to hold their respective tongues. Sometimes it was easy to make jokes, if only to mask their discomfiture a while longer with humor. Other times, like now, on their way to play a reluctant return to that accursed place, the two were each lost in their own thoughts as they pondered just what awaited them in their inevitable trek to Ricker’s Vale, and whatever lay beyond it in the den of the Boreans. The latter they still had to find, Jed reminded himself, and that was to be one of the more difficult tasks, if he was any judge. The beasts were quick and stealthy when they wanted to be, and according to Huber, they were camouflaged damnably well in the dark stretches of forest in which they hunted. He wondered how they were going to manage it without ending up torn apart in a forest ambush by the clever beasts.
The Boreans, though they were a great threat in their own right, were not the chief of Jed’s concerns, however. He would gladly have shot dead another ten of the beasts if they had the misfortune to cross his path, but the mere thought of hiking again into that cursed valley made his skin crawl. The sheriff tried to tell himself that he didn’t believe in curses, but he was increasingly certain that some blight lay upon that dread place. It was the policy of tradition in Dormis to not treat such things lightly, but Jed had never truly believed in witchcraft or monsters no matter how many fantastical tales he had overheard in the saloon or what he had found printed in the weeks-old copies of the San Marcone Soliciteer that occasionally made their way to Dormis on the westbound train. Now he was not so sure about monsters, or witches either for that matter. ‘Who knows what lay beyond our borders in the wild frontier?’ His father had often opined.
The sheriff was increasingly apt to agree. This was far from the first strange event to trouble Dormis, of course. As sheriff the past eight years, as well as the six years prior serving as Marcus’ deputy and constant companion, Jed had seen firsthand more than a few events which would be whispered about and exaggerated by the gossips for years to come. Investigating the occasional complete disappearance of as much as a dozen livestock, one or two alleged cases of daemonaic possession, the arrival and subsequent mad departure of a group of archaeologists from the university of San Marcone investigating a circle of standing stones to the south – evidently an artifact of some ancient people. Jed had been at the forefront of all these and more, albeit sometimes at his father’s side. None of these, nor any other event the sheriff could recall, had ever truly swayed his belief in favor of the mythical. All had been addressed without undue difficulty or any overt manifestation of the supernatural, but still each proceeding instance of the abnormal and the bizarre chipped away at his doubt.
Now Jed had directly confronted with a pack of monsters, and what seemed all to horribly like witchcraft. The latter most made his blood curdle. Monsters like the Boreans, the sheriff felt, could at least be gunned down like the beasts they were, but what was a mere man to do against the occult powers said – in tall tales, Jed reminded himself – to be at the call of a practitioner of the dark arts? The sheriff scolded himself halfheartedly, supposing that he was jumping the gun in deciding what was and was not black magic without so much as considering the rational explanation that there surely was. No matter how he tried, though, the worry crept back into his mind, for what else explained the eldritch glow that had suffused that abominable valley, and for that matter the thick fog that ever covered the land? He tried to imagine some other explanation.
Perhaps the light was a side-effect of the bizarre now-inhabitants of that dread land, Jed reasoned. Who knew what those aberrant beasts with their icy blood left behind in their droppings. Perhaps they had infected the whole of the valley with their frigid blight, some poison the strange creatures exuded. That thought made the sheriff stop in his tracks. Unheeding, Huber kept trudging along wearily ahead. Jed caught a grimace of discomfort pass across the farmer’s face, but the stalwart deputy seemed to be taking it in stride. He too had not felt quite right since visiting Ricker’s Vale, and now Jed began to wonder if that sickly light had infected them both with some disease of the body – or of the mind, he thought with horror, dwelling on the farmer’s apparent trepidation compounded with his own unceasing worries. He had at first dismissed it as an entirely rational response to the horrors they had seen in the valley, but now he was not so sure.
Huber stopped, looking back at Jed and scratching at the bandages on his wrists and arms, where he had been clawed and gouged by the Boreans’ cruel talon. That too, Jed wondered about. The apothecary had treated Huber’s wounds before they had even had time to discuss their encounter, and the prospect of the creatures harboring some venom or poison had never come up in the frantic discussions that followed. He and Huber both had reason to be as weary and worrisome as anyone had a right to be, but the sheriff’s instincts told him it was not some mundane apprehension that was gnawing ever at his mind. Jed turned and gazed back on the village. Huber cleared his throat. “Change of plans, Sheriff?” Jed didn’t respond for a moment, commiserating with himself. “Huh? Er, yeah,”
“I reckon we ought to include Maria in our plans. She’s learned as they come, like as not it’d do us good to get her counsel.” The sheriff explained, turning to proceed back down the hill that they had just climbed to reach his office. With a huff, Huber followed, making his weary way down the slope. At least it wasn’t too far to the apothecary’s shop, the exhausted farmer reminded himself. Indeed it was not, and in a few scarce minutes they were knocking upon the door of the small shop bearing a sign that read ‘Tomasic’s Apothecarium’. There was no answer, and they wondered perhaps if the proprietor was out making a house call. Jed walked around the side of the shop to look in the window when he heard a quiet humming from the rear of the building. Waving Huber to follow him, the sheriff proceeded to the small fenced garden behind the shop. Just now was it was in direct sun, but Jed reckoned the plot would be pleasantly shaded in the quiet of the early morning.
Marianna Tomasic was hunched over one of the carefully spaced rows of the small patch, pulling out weeds and humming quietly to herself. The apothecary had on a pair of light gardener’s gloves and was wielding a small spade with evident skill in picking out the less desirable plants. She looked up, putting down her tools as she noticed the sheriff and his deputy standing on the opposite side of the small fence over which she was casting the unwanted weeds. “Ma’am,” Jed said politely, with Huber nodding at his side. “Ah, good afternoon gentlemen. I’d hoped you would come by. If you would follow me inside, I believe I may have some insight yet to offer,” She picked up her tin bucket, placing her tools and gloves in it and ushering them into the house. The ever-burning fire in her brazier glowed dully beneath a small cauldron of black iron, in which some sweetly fragrant mixture was bubbling.
“Perfume?” Huber guessed with an inquisitive sniff. “Ah, no,” The apothecary began as she fed the fire with slender pieces of split cedar. “Just a small experiment, hoping to improve upon one of my concoctions. Tea?” The healer inquired, shuffling a few things around. She filled the copper-bottomed kettle and placed it in the glowing coals on the outer edges of the fire. She sniffed tentatively at the steaming cauldron as she did so, uttering an interested ‘Hmm,’ and consulting a large book which lay open on her desk. Jed walked over, taking his seat and a curious peek at the book. The symbols and formulae upon the page may well have been magical incantations for all he knew. He could read as well as any, but it looked like gibberish to him nonetheless. The apothecary snapped the thick tome closed, tucking it away on its shelf without a word and pulling out another of the weighty books.
“After a fair bit of research, I’ve managed to uncover some additional facts that may be of help,” Tomasic began, turning the heavy book over to a page she had marked, but Jed interrupted. “Actually, Maria, I had a few concerns if we could see to them first?” The apothecary appeared eager to get to the matter at hand, but she patiently took her seat, turning away from the book for now. “But of course, Sheriff,” She said politely. Jed nodded to Huber, getting right to the point. “Me and him, we been real tired ever since we came back,” Huber looked taken aback. “Huh? No, I’m fine, don’t worry about me none,” Said the deputy, stifling a yawn. “You fess up, Hawthorne. You must feel at least as bad I do. I was thinkin’, how do we know ain’t afflicted with some poison or disease from the Boreans?” Tomasic considered this, to Huber’s dread. “We know little enough about the creatures’ makeup to make anything possible at this point, but I imagine we would’ve seen some sign of infection by now if it were as you suspect,” She said thoughtfully. The farmer tried to hide his sigh of relief.
“All the same, you best let me know if your symptoms progress. Otherwise, I would just suspect its the usual effects of stress on the body. It can really take it out of you,” Jed seemed ill at ease to accept that explanation, but he said nothing more about it. “Was there something in particular you recalled that made you suspect you were infected with some illness? Neither of you were in shape to recount your trip in that fine of detail. Overlooked facts often have a way of working their way out into the open, sometimes hours or days after a traumatic event,” She added studiously. “Well, there was one thing when we were fleeing the valley… ” Jed said and looked at Huber, who had a look on his face which the sheriff couldn’t read but which seemed to fall somewhere between dread and skeptical disbelief. Jed had been trying to put into words his memory of the strange glow that he was now definitively certain he had seen suffusing Ricker’s Vale. The worrisome look of doubt in Huber’s eyes as Jed ruminated was enough to dissuade him from telling the interested apothecary what he supposed he had seen. “…I noticed the place was real dirty, is all,” The sheriff finished with some reluctance. “Ah, well,” the apothecary responded tacitly. “I have sanitized your wounds, so you’ve nothing to worry about. If it’ll put your mind at ease, I’ll change your bandages before you leave,”
Jed nodded uneasily, as if this had brought him comfort. He dared not to voice his concern in front of the others. Mundanely minded Huber Hawthorne was like to think him a loon if he started talking at this stage about lambent earth and witchcraft, the sheriff thought. The aged apothecary would probably believe him, he reasoned, but the last thing he needed was the common folk thinking he’d snapped. For good or for ill, he needed the farmer at his back if he they were going to scout out the den of the Boreans. The deputies, too, had their place guarding the village, and if they thought he was gathering them all up for some crazed witch hunt, the more earthly-minded watchmen were like to turn in their badges, or even demand his. Jed had heard tell of more than one sheriff snapping under the pressures of their job and having their badges and guns taken away by the concerned populace. He needed the people on his side, and that meant keeping a lid on it until he either discovered some concrete evidence or that he was indeed crazy.
I suppose either is possible, Jed reflected to himself as the tea kettle began to whistle. “If your concerns are suitably put to rest, I’ll show you what I’ve found… Huber, would you be a dear and see to the tea?” Tomasic said distractedly, fumbling through the thick pages of the tome she had laid on her desk. The deputy stood to comply as the apothecary came to the page she had sought for, waving the sheriff over to look. Like the other tome, it looked like nothing so much as gibberish to Jed’s untrained eye. Charts, lines, and symbols with which he was unfamiliar. “Another book of arcane lore?” He said to Tomasic’s evident amusement. “In a manner of speaking,” She said wryly. “It’s a book of maps and charts that I’ve compiled over the years from various sources with which I’ll not bore you. Suffice to say, this tome contains all we’re like to know about the surrounding miles, including the crucial piece of information needed to make your next step,” The apothecary left this for Jed to guess at in the schoolteacher fashion which rather annoyed the sheriff.
When he said nothing, though he had a few guesses, she continued, directing his attention to the page before them. She pointed to a name scribed upon a particular parcel of land. Something about the lay of it looked horribly familiar as he tried to decode the antiquated script with which this particular map was labeled. His mind went back immediately to their hike that morning, where the hand had been so cleanly laid out before them in the bright sun. ‘Ricker’ the name read, though surely this map was terribly old. He supposed the miser’s family before him must have been dwelling in that valley for some time. ‘Scribed 66 A.L. by Jackson J. C.’ the cartographer’s mark read. A.L. was After Liberation, the years since the people of Mescona won into sovereignty from the clutches of their foreign oppressors. It was now 339 A.L., making the map 273 years old by Jed’s reckoning. “I was already aware that the Ricker family had long dwelt here, of course. Most important is a small mark that I almost missed when I was reviewing these maps for anything of interest,” Her finger tapped a small circular symbol some half a league past Ricker’s homestead. “Thank you, Huber,” She added as the deputy set a steaming cup and platter before each them.
Leaning over the book and consulting the legend at the bottom of the page, Jed tried to decipher the symbol as the apothecary stirred her tea. As she spooned in a small amount of sugar, spoon clicking in the fine porcelain, Jed finally figured it out, his eyes wild and excited.
“A cave?” He said breathlessly. The apothecary nodded, favoring him with her teacherly smile. “Quite a large one, at that,” The apothecary explained. “Then they’ve been here longer than we thought, since the very founding of the village…” Jed trailed off, considering the implications of this, but Tomasic cut him off. “Oh, no,” She said simply. “Evidently this J.C. fellow – a surveyor, of course – explored the cave in question, finding it empty. It would seem our reptilian friends are more recent neighbors. Unless I miss my guess, this is undoubtedly the cave in which they reside. Not many large caverns to be found in these parts, and it seems he made a rather thorough canvassing of the countryside,” Jed pondered at this, admitting to himself that he had jumped the gun. Now, though, they could form a real plan of attack. They knew just where to find the beasts, and Jed already had a few things in mind.
With a breath of renewed confidence, he looked up at the apothecary, who was smiling modestly. “No need to thank me, Sheriff,” She pre-empted. “Just doing my job as lorekeeper. Now then, I believe you boys need a plan of attack, or did you not come here seeking my counsel?” Huber nodded as he sat back down with his own mug of tea. “Yes ma’am we do. …Begging your pardon for talkin’ out of turn, Jed,” Jed waved him off, eyeing Tomasic. “How’d you know we was planning on going back tomorrow?” The apothecary scoffed. “As if anything could keep you from making another run at the Boreans,” She said with easy humor. “Marcus was much the same, always ready to run into danger if he thought folks were in peril. If I was forty years younger and in your shoes, I’d be planning much the same. After all, as you helpfully pointed out they are quite susceptible to bullets,” Jed was surprised at this, but pleasantly so.
“Alright then,” Jed said with quiet confidence. “Let’s plan us a lizard hunt,” He grinned at his companions, a determined smile which Huber and even the aged apothecary returned in kind.