(( (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gWg7dVbYu4I) ))

It was a tavern…it had to be a tavern. Dabney Fleeke was a newcomer, but he certainly recognized the smell of liquor when it reached his old nose. Even Flut-Flut – the scruffy whice clinging to Dabney’s shoulder – could catch the smell of strong drink, and would usually alert his owner to the source; Flut-Flut liked a swig of hatcher piss now and then, too.

The old wick, dressed in mismatched attire with a long and very patched overcoat draped over his gangly body, stumped inside the building, leaving a trail of rainwater behind him while his peg leg thumped noisily over the thick carpets. It might’ve been somewhat unusual to see such an old codger with a violet-and-green messy mohawk, especially in Anhau, but Dabney didn’t care a whit what others thought. He was a spoke, and spokes could do as they dadgum-well pleased. And besides, the longer part of his hair in the back served as a natural windbreaker.

He flopped unceremoniously into a nearby overstuffed chair and proceeded to roar, “Wot’s a bloke gotta do ta get a drink ‘round here?” He paused to snort loudly – rainy weather always made his aquiline nose run like a river. On his shoulder, Flut-Flut hunkered down and ruffled his feathers around him until he looked like a pincushion, and then he closed his eyes.

“Well, ‘praps I needs ta trade fer me drinks,” Dabney went on. “Youse folks like a good tale, eh?” He peered around at those clustered within who were eyeing him with disgusted and somewhat worried expressions. “Any youse hear what goes on outside these walls? I come from Dorhaven, from Old Rose Harbor, even from Vienda herself – an’ I come with news. Times are changin’, they are, and things are gettin’ worse afore they’re gettin’ better, lemme tell youse.”

He paused again as he sat back. Already some bystanders had begun to approach and sit nearby, not so much out of interest in him so much as interest in his tales. Fair enough, so long as it got him a drink or two.

“I ent gonna skimp out on youse all – youse needs the truth, plain an’ simple.” He jabbed a gnarled finger towards one of the windows. “We tekka outside o’ here, we’re sufferin’ powerful. Ent no lie I’m tellin’ – them gollies’re on the move! Youse Anhai in here, youse all packed in, safe an’ quiet-like, like a jar o’ pickled greens on a shelf. Youse don’t know nuffin’ o’ what’s goin’ on outside.” He shook his head in a saddened but knowing way. “Ent right, eh Flut-Flut?” He poked the whice roughly, and the bird blinked sleepily, clacked its beak in a brief yawn, and went back to sleep.

One of the patrons – a wiry fellow with a ponytail – piped up from his place at a table. “Please forgive any impertinence on my part, old one, but of what are you speaking? How do you mean ‘the gollies are on the move’?”

Dabney looked at the young man like he’d just sprouted a third nostril. “Are ye mung, kov?” He glared around at his meager audience again with his squinty eye, seeing the same look in each face. Then it hit him: they didn’t quite understand him. Or if they did, it was rough going in the translation.

“Look, I’ll be sayin’ it slow, then,” he replied. His hands had come to life as he spoke – they always did whenever he told tales. “Them gollies – jents as we call ‘em – they’ve become worse than ever, ye chen? Why now, a kov can’t get into Vienda without showin’ a writ o’ residence ‘cause of the riot!”

“Riot?” someone else said. “What riot?”

“What, ye didn’t hear? ‘Twas back on the twentieth of Intas…the mant riot…” He scanned the faces again for any recognition, but there was none. “None of ye know? Clockin’ ‘eck…” He scratched noisily at his scalp, sending a blizzard of who knows what onto Flut-Flut, who flinched awake and scooted away from the barrage.

“Well, if youse ready for a tale, I’ll fill youse in on the riot,” Dabney went on, leaning into his story-teller’s pose. “But it’s not fer the likes o’ the faint-hearted, by ‘ecky. Wouldn’ta believed it meself if I hadn’t been there in the flesh.” He nodded solemnly for emphasis.

(( Hey, guys! It's a chance to socialize in Anhau! Let's get as many people here as possible! ))

Matsi was hoping to see the foreigners. She'd heard rumors swirling about since they showed up at their city, all colors and piercings and... hair. What was it with these newcomers and their hair? Her brothers said they'd seen more vibrant shades on the heads of these newcomers than upon the backs of any whice.

When she came to Anestin, bearing leeks in trade for dinner and a story, she was not disappointed.

She stepped in the door, shaking out her woolen poncho (her only safeguard from the cold and the rain) while avoiding shaking off Ruha, and stopped as her eyes fell on him. He was all color and noise. And... wonder of wonders, he had replaced part of his leg with a bit of wood. How strange. Is there any part of their bodies that is not sacred from modifications? Her mind wondered momentarily, but she shook that thought away, blushing.

She realized after a moment that he was talking.



What?

She watched his mouth carefully as he spoke. There were a lot of words that she didn't understand, and a few that she did, and a few that sounded familiar.

Someone voiced what she was thinking, and he asked,



Then it struck her, he's mixing Deep Tek with the rest. It was extremely unusual, and her mind was spinning at the odd blend.

Then he slowed down, and it got easier. She sat down on the floor nearby after making a quick trade for a hearty bowl of stew.



Well, it was hard to decipher, but she was slowly getting the feel of his speech. It seemed that he would be good for a tale.

Ever the avid listener, she encouraged him, "Please do tell us of the riot. What happened there? Were many hurt?"

Dabney had been smacking his lips before continuing – his mouth tended to go dry on a regular basis these days, especially when he didn’t have something to drink. It tended to make his tongue fuzzy, and that was never good for storytelling.

Then the pixie-faced witch had seated herself nearby, a wonderful-smelling bowl of stew cupped in her hands, and she had proceeded to ask on about the riot, leaning forward in her interest.



The old wick grinned at Matsi, revealing more than one empty space between his already spacious teeth. “Good ta have some young list’ners, oes indeedy. Future storytellers, them.” He winked solemnly at Matsi. “Learn well, pina boch.”

He scanned the crowd again and began. “Things ‘ad got outta hand since the Orphan’s Riot – that’d come on a few days afore, but I weren’t there to see it. This wick riot, now…whooee, it was somethin’.

“Were a couple o’ tekkas who started it, too – right inna middle o’ the urbo in the Kingsway Market, the yabbos.” He grumbled darkly as he snuffed again and drew a raggedy sleeve beneath his nose. “But don’t none o’ you get me wrong – what ‘appened that day…all the hurts an’ killin’…that goes on them gollies’ shoulders. The lot of ‘em!” He went to spit, but realized he was indoors (besides the fact that these folks weren’t as “homey” as he’d expected), so he swallowed quickly.

“So anyways, these two tekkas – a Red Crow an’ a Yellow Eye – they start hammerin’ each other around like a couple o’ rabid elephas, an’ soon the crowd around gets bigger ‘n’ bigger, an' soon everyone's fightin'. I was in one o’ the upper floors o’ some drink joint there…can’t ‘member the name, but I heard all the noise an’ poked me head out o’ the winder ta see what was up.

“Boy, the mona was cracklin’! Some Sev’ten came in, lookin’ fer an excuse ta beat some brains in, an’ then spells flyin’ ev’ry whichway an’ people shoutin’, screamin’, runnin’ around like moas with their ‘eads cut off. It was a grand ol’ mess. Then some clockin’ gollie shoots off a Magma spell, an’ it went all over like a shower o’ fire! It was rainin’ all over the crowds, an’ they scattered back like the sea wavin’ from a unnerwadder volcano.” He tapped the side of his big nose knowingly. “I seen one o’ them, too – an unnerwadder volcano…but that’s a differ’n’t story.”

His hard, wrinkled features smoothed with the sadness that enveloped them. “So many folks was hurt an’ killed, if not dyin’ right then; I’m only glad I was up high where I couldn’t see none o’ it up close. But I saw enough. Wo chet, did I see enough.

“So then while medics an’ s’more Sev’ten buggers start tryin’ ta clean things up an’ get everythin’ back ta normal, some other clockin’ golly sets off a Conflagration spell! A clockin’ Conflag spell, of all the spells for ‘em ta use!” He spread his arms slowly above his head in a wide arc. “It ‘sploded across the sky like a flower o’ doom openin’ over springtime, an’ the force of it knocked me down, right on me erse. Scared th’ ticks right outta me, lemme tell youse, but it didn’t keep me down, ne sir. I was back up ta see what else was ‘appenin’.” His eyes widened. “The sky went dark, ye chen – dark like ‘twas night, so big was the blast. An’ sparks came down from it, like a shower o’ starflies, an’ they was burnin’ people an’ anythin’ caught in the way. Some e’en flew in through the winder an’ got me hands an’ arms a bit.” He rolled up one sleeve to show off a few pock-marked burn scars hiding between bristly arm hair and liver spots on his stick-like arm.

He then sat back a bit and pressed his spidery hands onto his knees. “That’s when a whole gaggle o’ Sev’ten came trompin’ in, an’ then everyone scattered. Whole mess o’ bodies in the streets – terr’ble sight it were. An’ with no one around but them Sev’ten an’ the dead, ‘twas like lookin’ over a battlefield – it got to be so still as one, too.” Dabney twitched against the shudder that coursed over him; the memories were still fresh in his mind, and they were far from pleasant.

He scanned the faces of those listening again and shook a knobby finger at them. “Take heed o’ this, youse Anhai. Things is changin’. This ent jus’ a story – this happened, an’ we best not be ignorin’ it.” He began to smack his lips again. “Since I told me tale, can I get somethin’ ta drink in trade?” He let a cheeky smirk slip by as he flapped his hands against his knees in anticipation. “An’ if I tells some more, does that get me more?”

Sabu had been listening silently from his place in the corner. He was nursing a few bad bruises from being menaced by howler monkeys with rocks, and decided a nice quiet drink was what he needed.

He got up and made his way towards the strange old man. Such colors, such language, it was as if the man radiated his own field, not unlike the fields of magic that wrapped his people, yet different. It was as if he was projecting his personality through his appearance.

"These things are happening out of here? Who are the seventen? Are they an army? If it is, where is ours?" Sabu's questions came fast to the old man. Then, realizing his manners, he reached into his bag and took out a hollowed out gourd plugged by a wrapped twine cap. Of course he couldn't let the story teller answer so many questions with a dry throat. "I'm no brewer, but fermentation helps the berries I gather last through the off seasons. Would you take some young wine in payment?"

“A narmy?” Dabney spluttered incredulously at the young man heading towards him. “‘Course they’re a narmy! A narmy o’ gollies is wot they is! Heavens ta Betsy, kov, ent you ever been ta Vienda?” Then he remembered: he was in Anhau, where a good portion of the people probably hadn’t even seen a gollie, let alone the Seventen.

The old wick sighed and rubbed his face. “Ne’ermind, lemme explain…”



If Dabney had been born with hingle ears, they would’ve pricked up noticeably. “Ah-ha, mujo ma, me benny kov! Aye, I’ll take some o’ that juice – I us’ally like the harder stuff, but this’ll do fer now.” He took the gourd from Sabu’s hand, uncorked it with his teeth, and swigged noisily. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he lifted the tilted gourd up towards the snoozing Flut-Flut. The bird opened one beady eye, examined the gourd, and then tilted forward towards the opening until its beak was inside. Its tiny throat bobbed a few times before it pulled back, smacked its slightly stained beak, and went back to dozing.

“Har, lil’ Flut likes ‘is drink jus’ as much as I do,” Dabney chortled, and, putting the cork back in, handed the gourd back to Sabu. “Don’t youse fret though, kov – Flut-Flut ent sick or nothin’ - jus’ a mite dirty, is all. Have a sit-down an’ I’ll tell ya s’more.” His shaggy brows scrunched together. “Hrm, where wuz I…? Ooh, oes…the Sev’ten.”

He hunched forward again, and his voice became cryptic-like. “Them’s the guards in Vienda, the Sev’ten. But they ent there ta guard us tekka, ne siree – not in the way youse thinkin’ anyways. They guard wicks like a jailor guards ‘is pris’ners. To gollies, we’re jus’ trash; to the Sev’ten, we’re mona fodder.” He nodded at some of the whisperings and hushed gasps. “Aye, we’re naught but targets to them chrove-ridin’ sons-o’-tumbles. They don’t care if we get killed – we’re jus’ cattle!” His eyes flashed as he spoke, and his voice cracked like a whip in time with a distant rumble of thunder outside. Some of the gathered patrons jumped in their seats, but still stayed enrapt with the old man’s words.

“And what was it youse said about us havin’ a narmy?” Dabney continued, glancing at Sabu. “Us?! Hoo, kov, we’d nary stand a starfly’s chance against e’en a handful o’ gollies. The mona’s ‘round ‘em like a blanket, an’ they’ve got spells they’d be all too ‘appy ta use against youse, like that day of the riot. Weren’t youse listenin’?” His eyes shifted to the floor as he mumbled to himself in a growly, despairing tone.

Then his head lifted again. “We’re many in Anaxas, an’ that’s wot scares the gollies. We ent as as powerful, but by gum, we outnumber ‘em a hunnerd ta one, easily. But as long as they got their powerful magics ta back ‘em up, they’ll treat us worse than dogs. An’ why?” His voice took on a sneering tone. “‘Cause they’re the master race – they’re the ultimate rulers of Anaxas. Feh!” He caught himself a second time as he was about to spit, and this time he rose, gesturing with one finger for the audience to wait a moment. He stumped over to the bar and snatched an empty jar from the counter, and then stumped right back to his place. He put the jar on the floor beside him, seized it up, and then spit ferociously into it. Several of the patrons snickered and applauded softly in their agreement.

Dabney cleared his throat a bit. “Ent right that a race o’ people should be treated so. An’ yet it’s been so fer hunnerds o’ years. It ent jus’ us neither – humans get kicked ‘round, too. Ent right, I says.” He shook his head glumly.

Then the old wick seemed to perk up with a new thought. “There, I told youse all that rot – I’ll tell ya more of Vienda, an’ even Ol’ Rose ‘arbor if ye likes. Better tales there, eh?” He nodded towards Sabu. “I’ll take s’more o’ that jucie ya got, too, unless I can get somethin’ stronger in me…”

Matsi's brows were knitted together, and she was rocking back and forth on her heels. The words he spoke were confusing, and what she understood was frightening. It seemed the threat from Bruannhald hadn't changed in over two hundred years.

She traded her leeks for more soup and a small jar of a bitter, caustic drink. She didn't like it, but this stranger had said something about liking stronger drink.

She was curious about something he had said, and so held out the jar before asking, "What is this Mag Ma spell they cast? Is it any sort of thing like Mans? What is this Vulcan-oh that it is like?

"And do the gol-lees" she rolled the word around her mouth, feeling it out like a pebble, "know of us yet?"

Rather unrelated questions, but she had to know.

Flut-Flut’s eyes opened, and his small head thrust forward sharply towards Matsi. “Give us a drink, eh?” he squeaked in a tiny, gravelly voice. Several young women in the front of the small audience tittered at the bird’s mimicry.

“Har, taught ‘im that meself,” Dabney explained, nodding in gratitude towards Matsi as he took the jar from her. “Ol’ Flut-Flut, he kin smell alcohol through a rainstorm. An’ I taught ‘im all sorts o’ things to say – he’s a smart lad, aren’tcha?” He reached up to scratch the whice’s head. Settling back, the little bird ruffled his wings calmly and let loose a rather nasty expletive. Amidst the widened eyes and sharp gasps, Dabney quickly pushed Flut-Flut’s beak closed with two fingers. “Eh-heh. ‘Scuse ‘im, folks. He don’t know no better.” He frowned at his pet, who was still looking nonchalant despite having his beak forcefully shut.

“Anyway, whadja say, rosh? Oes, about the spells an’ such…” The old man scratched at his chin, the sound bristly and loud. “All I know is that magma spell ent one us tekka kin use. It’s a golly thing, ye chen; has ta do with the mona or some such hootenanny. I ent no golly, so I don’t rightly know – all I do know’s that it’s not somethin’ ya want getting’ shot over ya.” He set his jaw firmly so that the wrinkles in his pursed lips were more pronounced. “It’s baaaaad mojo, that stuff is.”

"Now as fer a volcano..." His eyes twinkled adventurously. "Ya gotta see one yerself sometime, me chip, ‘specially an unnerwadder one. Right, now think of a mountain, ye chen? Then all o’ a sudden, it starts ta boil from the inside with all this red, fair hot stuff called lava (‘s like what them gollies was shootin’ out through their magics). It’s got nowhere ta go but up, an’ so it boils up an’ out through the top, poppin’ it off like ye’d pop off a bottle's cork. It roars an’ rumblin’ like a giant, an’ chucks its guts all over the place - burns a lot o’ things in its path. ‘Tis an awesome sight, but it’s a power youse don’t wanna get near.” He had a faraway look in his eyes now. “Not unlike them gollies, eh? Long ago, they was quiet for a while until they wanted loose, an’ then they ‘sploded everywhere. They’re like lava – sometimes slowish, sometimes fair fast – an’ in the end, they kill off everythin’ they touch.”

He grew silent for a moment, weighing the words he had just spoken. And then he looked over at Matsi and smiled sadly. “Remind me ta tell youse about them unnerwadder volcanoes sometime, chip – they’re a sight prettier than the ones on land.”

He stretched his arms briefly, hearing the dull crackle within. “An’ honestly, chip, I dunno if the gollies know ‘bout Anhau,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. “I s’pose that’s why I came here when I did – ta look at the home o’ me ancestors, an’ ta fill youse in about what all’s goin’ on.” For the umpteenth time, Dabney shook his stripe-haired head. “Best ta know what’s goin’ on instead o’ lettin’ it sneak up an’ nip ya in the er—bum.”

Momentarily finished, Dabney lifted the small jar to his nose and sniffed. It smelled awful – that was always a good sign. He took several long chugs before feeling a slight nibbling on his ear, and then he offered some to Flut-Flut. Whatever the drink was, it burned all the way down, and that was just how Dabney liked it.

Matsi's eyes widened. "Oh..."

It all sounded so dangerous outside Anhau's valley. And yet so exciting. But dangerous! But mysteriously invigorating!

She rocked on her heels again, pushing herself up to a stand. She couldn't be sitting at a time like this! There was so much going on in the world that she didn't know about!

"Well, if it is that they do not yet know of us, then we are safe for now. But assuredly, it will not take long at all before word must needs reach their ears. Do you think they will attack us again if they hear of us?"

Sabu crossed his arms and looked at the ground. The outside world, was it truly so dangerous for his wick brethren there? His father had told of the times when his tribe had fought bravely against the galdori, when they even endeavored to march on their capitol. All he could think of was his sister. His parents said she was dead. The Mansi that were cast for her only had vague, violent visions. He himself was sure she had departed this world. But a part of him had always belived that Sita was out in the real world, as strong and as proud as she always was. Yet, the outside world seemed so much more dangerous than Anhau.

He felt the pulling that had been dying away. The urge to follow in his sister's footsteps, to go to this dangerous place beyond where the mists once were.

But, if what this old wick said was right. The outside world might be coming to Anhau instead. His jaw set, he turned to the old man and said, "If they wish to come here, they can bring all there magic. They can make the very mountains rumble. As long as the Roek still stand upon the ridge, there shall always be Anhau. There shall always be this place, so that we too, can feel safe."

“Aye, yer safe fer now,” Dabney replied. “But who knows if them gollies’ll hear about Anhau? I dunno meself. It’s jus’ somethin’ ya gotta keep an eye out fer. Be prepared an’ all that.”

He nodded steadily as Sabu spoke up again. “Brave words, kov – jus’ make sure ya back ‘em up if an’ when the time comes. I seen too many o’ my mates turn tail e’en after puttin’ up a good fight.” He squinted thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Best thing ta do as of now is lay low an’ fortify yerselves. As fer me, I’m puttin’ down roots here – had enough o’ the spoke days.” He nestled himself further into the chair as if to prove his point.

Sabu grinned humorously at the old mans warning. "Good sir, you have obviously never heard of us. We are the Roek! We have fought the galdori of Bruannhald countless times! And won! We have no fear of magic, and nothing but loyalty to our tribe and city!" Sabu found himself being pulled in so many places, talking to this strange old man. He felt pulled towards the strange and dangerous realm outside of the valley. Yet at the same time, he could feel his feet digging into the ground under him, staying here and defending his city, as was his right and honor from birth.

These feelings and talk of the outside world brought other thoughts to him. "Er, good sir, I'm not sure how to ask this. My... well you see... you seem well travelled. Did you ever see, or hear of a wick girl, with long black hair and eyes like mine?" He pointed to his eyes, dark, deep metallic brown flecked with lighter specks. These brushed bronze eyes were one of the marks of the Imani family.

Dabney smiled a sort of sad, knowing smile. “Oh, I knows plenty about youse Roek sorts. Yer braver than a cornered chrove, an’ more than willin’ ta die fer yer kith an’ kin if needs be.” He leaned forward again, squinting hard to make his point. “But have youse actually fought, kov? Do ya really know what it’s like ta fight, tekaa ta jent’, watchin’ yer mates drop ‘round ya like starflies in a rainstorm, listenin’ to ‘em screamin’ fer a quicker death? Watchin’ them gollies shootin’ off their magics like it ent no one’s business save their own, an’ hittin’ not only us, but folks not involved as well?” He was staring off into space, but the look in his eyes was enough to make some of those seated closer cringe back a bit. “Them gollies is worth fightin’, no mistake there,” he went on, “but when ya lose mates for a cause ya think was worthwhile, ye chen wot I mean, kov. It’s all well an’ good ta go on about fightin’, but once yer in the thick of it, it’s a whole ‘nuther gkacha.” He looked up at Sabu. A lot like me when I was a nipper, that one. “Fight fer yer cause, but don’t go wantin’ ta kill. That’s when ye’ll become jus’ as bad as them.”

He paused as Sabu mentioned if he’d seen a girl in his wanderings – whether or not it was family or a beau, Dabney couldn’t say. In fact, the only honest thing he could say was, “Sorry, kov, I’ve seen a lot o’ tekaa girls with black hair in all me years on this earth. Can’t say I ever met one who looked like or mentioned youse…in fact, what’s yer name? Mayhap I did come across ‘er at some point an’ just ent ‘memberin’ right now…”