The Deepcombers

Chapter Twenty

A little green bird with an orange band across its wings repeated an oscillating four-bar ovation as it perched in the sunlit opening in the granary wall. The morning-crier sang loudly to wake all slumbering feigor and the fresh breeze brought a bouquet of nearby fragrances.

The birdsong woke Lon and he sat up and stretched in the sun. He breathed deep and smiled with joy as he remembered the day before. He replayed all the events that'd brought him here, and the steam bath and the meal they shared with the freckle faced girl. The flowering hibiscus filled the gazebo and its perfume added to the majesty and splendor of this world. 

The granary was tall and well-shelved and he wondered about its capacity.  He recalled how his own grandfather had told him that their family needed to set aside twenty-four large pots of wheat in order to be able make one loaf of bread per day for a year. Smart families kept double what they needed plus the spring seed and sold the rest. This granary could hold hundreds of pots and it'd been freshly swept and prepared for the harvest.

Jarl was still asleep. 

Lon grew anxious at the sight of the empty blanket beside him. Tharus was missing.

Before Lon could wonder where the swampkin had gone, the green feigor entered the granary fully dressed and ready for the day.

"There'ss no hurry," Tharus said. His new sandals clacked on the boards as he walked. "We've already missed breakfast." His heavy footfalls woke Jarl.

"Where did you get the clothes?" The big cat looked up at him, "you look... civilian ized "

"They're here," He pointed at the fresh apparel that included wood and leather clogs. "Garmetss for everyone." The late sleepers were pleasantly surprised to find fresh clothes piled by their bedrolls. Here were knit tops and heavy cloth trousers with leather-patch knees. Lon tried-on the sturdy sandals which fit perfectly as though his feet had been measured in the night.

As he dressed, the young lad thought about all the handcrafted armours he'd seen yesterday and all the different artisans he'd glimpsed in the village. He could hear the woodfeigors' hammers and saws and their shouts and calls and all the Calbian children at play around the compound. He thought about those two female hunters and their blue light weapons and he grew excited and happy to be alive and to be experiencing Atarskal this way.  He contemplated how this development might somehow balance the primary anxiety in his life. He was a Wanted Feigor pursued by the most powerful priest in the world.

Jarl sat on his blanket and Tharus changed his bandages. The swampkin tore a new linen shirt into strips to make tight wraps around the worst of his puncture wounds. The lionsfeigor admitted he felt better today. They'd all been through some things together and Lon felt a strong bond with them both. They were three foreigners from the far corners of Tokal united in a common struggle to survive.

Outside the sun was too bright at first and already hot. Tharus directed their way back to where they'd dined the night before. Lon only remembered the interior. He hadn't thought to look at the buildings when Saeya had led them away and now everything looked new and unfamiliar. The swampkin must have selected a fresh route for instead of smelling ox and tanner, he saw other industries.  Here were Calbians doing morning chores, watering livestock and grooming horses. A weaver prepared her loom and a sweeper pushed her broom across the workroom. A thatcher turned bundles of reeds in the sun and more horse-teams hauled trailers filled with timber and stone up the hill. All this commotion impressed the travelers who meandered through the settlement toward the dining hall at the center of the town.

Halfway up the slope, Lon knew they were in the right place when he smelled wood smoke and fried pork and heard the familiar tinkle of ceramic plates in a scullery. How many people ate here every morning? He wondered about the capacity of this large kitchen which probably fed most of the community. He recalled how Atar had his own supper-house atop the hill. There was a tap house up there too and Clyde was hustled away toward what looked like a monastery with red brick buildings. They'd feed themselves likely. Lon wondered just how big Atarskal really was? Were there five hundred people living here? Or five thousand? The higher amount seemed more likely.