Link to NaNoWriMo 2013, Day 1: Bren gathers mushrooms; lunch with Alina; they walk to the spring
Link to NaNoWriMo 2013, Day 2: Magda muses on trades, delivers a message to Bren
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Alina left shortly after her sister. Her mood had lightened somewhat. She didn't really believe that he would do it. She didn't actually think that he would leave. Bren turned this thought over in his mind as he continued to wander through the forest--not gathering, now, only enjoying one of the pleasures accorded to him as a gatherer--the limited accountability. As long as he returned with the right variety of mushrooms in sufficient quality by sunset, no one checked to make sure that he was on the job.
There were large, mossy rock formations throughout the forest, but this one, on the westernmost edge, was the one that bordered the forest. Stretching west, the trees stopped abruptly, and the rocks spread out in a honeycomb-pattern labyrinth. There were many hiding places, but it was also easy to get lost in the formations. At least once a year, a part of men had to go in to retrieve one or two of the errand-runners who thought to take the short cut from the northwest to the southwest to deliver a message to a gatherer or tree-tender. The rocks cut into the forest, right where Bren and Alina had stopped at the spring, and there was a path behind those rocks that could trim several minutes of of a sprint from north to south, but it was a gamble. Bren was one of the few who could actually navigate the path. He and Alina had explored it thoroughly during their years as errand-runners.
Bren walked along between the rock and the forest, considering. It was tempting to disappear into the rocks and not emerge for few days, but with only a half-wheel of cheese, that wasn't really practical. And he was nothing it not practical. He sighed to himself, and decided to cut straight across the forest.
The forest was, at it's widest point, a day's walk. But it widened out considerably to the south. The trees cradled their village, so that there were trees to the south of the village, and to the west, and then to the north some grassland between the continued outcropping of rocks. Further north, there was a narrow passage to the river, which traveled east several leagues before doubling back and continuing south. To the south, there were towns scattered along the river, which opened up to the sea.
Bren did not notice the trees as he passed through. He did not glance at the roots of the tree or the carefully cultivated logs that grew the mushrooms. He had fulfilled the days duty. Instead, he thought of the sea. He had been to the river before--a wide, wild, rushing thing, brown and turbulent, that ate through its banks and carried the earth to the sea. But the sea itself, he had never seen. One day, though. One day soon. It had to be soon, because Alina... Well, she would wait for him if he had something to promise her, but she was outgrowing her mother's home, and she--rightfully--wanted to make a life for herself. Which meant that she wanted to start her own family. And he thought... he thought that she had chosen him. If he did not act on that choice, and soon--well, there were others to whom she could turn. But he did not want to offer her himself. Not now. Not as a gatherer.
He didn't know much about the towns to the south. He knew that his people preferred their own way of life, and why would they not? It was peaceful, and they knew no other. But the southern towns were supposed to be stony, and grey, and sad. They were said to be dirty and full of disease. People were cut off from the land--they did not look to forest and field for food, but looked to the sea, and to ships. Occasionally, they would journey north too look for a better life. Rarely did such travelers reach the village, but it was known to happen. There were families who traced their artisanal misfits to blood from the south. Bren thought he might have been one of these. His sandy-blonde hair and apple-cheeks were different from the creamy-tan complected, reddish-brown hair that characterized most of the families--including his own.
He had been walking for another hour or two now, and the shadows were lengthening around him as he came upon one of the rock formations that seemed to be planted throughout the forest by a giant's hand, arranging objects in a garden for his pleasure. This one was on a little hill of earth, and with its earthen base, towered a good 15 meters high. A giant hand had stacked the rocks, and, when the stack became unstable, leaned it against another, shorter stack. The effect was one of deliberate bracing, and also a kind of window onto the sky--as if the rock-window cut a hole in the tree canopy above. The light had lost most of the gold of midday by this time. The shadows were long and purpley-grey. The sky that peeked through the rocks was deepening, with hints of pink and orange creeping. Bren started, realizing that he had walked far out of his way. The window-rock bordered the wider part of the forest. He would now have to quicken his pace, and turn to the north.
But the time had slipped away from him, and now he realized just how long he had been walking. He might not make it back home before dark, and it was possible that, with Alina and Magda able to say when they had last seen, him, and with a full bag, a group would have been sent out to search for him. So he removed from his bag a special creation of his--a hollow wooden tube holding paint, with a brush attached. The gasket within would allow the paint to flow when pressure was applied, but would keep the paint from leaking when it was stored. He removed its protective cover, and on the rock, inscribed the series of sweeping characters that was his particular sign. Then, he put his instrument away and walked to the other side of the hill to take his relief. He heard a slight rustling, but when a small quadruped dashed from a bush into the deeper brush, he relaxed. This part of the forest was beyond what was currently under cultivation.
It was a different sound--a cracking and crashing--that made him spin around, but then something happened, and he fell. He awoke with searing pain in his head, and a face above him haloed in painfully bright light. "A--lina?"
A sigh. "No, silly."
"Oh, Magda!"
"Right. And glad I found you! Now, I need to send a signal. Try to stay still, and take this...." She put a bitter tincture to his lips and he gagged slightly, but choked it down. There was that damned versicolor again. "Yes, I know you hate it, but it will help...." He swallowed hard and choked a little. The splitting pain pierced deeper into his skull, and he moaned. "It will help soon. What happened? No, don't tell me what happened. I will be over in the clearing making the signal."
Bren closed his eyes, but the sunlight invaded, painting neon stripes and spots across his inner eyelids. The world seemed to be moving, and he tried to piece together what had happened. He tried to ask, but couldn't seem to form the words. Something was troubling him. Where was he? He opened his eyes abruptly and sat up, then doubled over and retched. Magda started, then shook her head and pursed her lips slightly, imitating Bren's grandmother. "Oh no. The medicine won't work now."
They were in the clearing where the Gatherings were held. His head had been pillowed on a folded scarf--Magda's own, he assumed--on top of one of the lower split logs. He looked for his bag, but it didn't seem to be with him. Overcome by pain and nausea, he lay back down. Magda packed the powders into a hollowed cylinder of wood, then tossed it up into the canopy, where it emitted a shower of green sparks--green, for a successful search and recovery. They would come now, to transport him, and he could rest. Magda came now, gently, to his side, and placed a cool, damp compress on his forehead. She took his hand and stroked it, and for a moment, she seemed older--older, even, than her sister. He smiled at her through the pain, and mouthed a thank you.
"How long have they been searching?"
"Since you didn't come back last evening. Alina and I thought that perhaps you were taking a long route, but after dinner, then sent the men, and today, the errand-runners joined the search." Bren very nearly nodded, but the vertigo stopped him. "Water?"
He thought he might be able to handle water, and his mouth was parched, so he leaned slightly toward the water-pouch she offered and sipped. She took the pouch from his mouth and watched his face, then offered more. Again, he mouthed a thank you, and she smiled, looking very like her sister. He leaned back and closed his eyes, and slept.
When he opened his eyes, he saw her rich, red-brown hair, but when she turned to him, he blinked. Alina sat beside him, now, in her grey dress. He frowned, and sat up. Alina grabbed his hand to steady him, then quickly brushed his lips with hers. There were others in the clearing--preparing to transport him.
"I think I might be able to walk." His mouth was parched, and he croaked rather than spoke. The attending matron eyed him skeptically. She was his mother's sister. She gave a small "hmph," and continued to make arrangements to have him carried out.
Alina frowned, and looked into his eyes. "What happened? We left you not far from here. Did you fall? Or become ill?"
He shook his head, still confused, but realized that was a mistake and closed his eyes, hands to his head. She helped him to lie back down again.
He spoke in a low whisper. "I wandered a bit after you left, then decided to head home. I walked too far south, and came to the window-rock. It was late afternoon, so I marked the rock in case any came searching for me. Then, I heard what I thought was a falling tree, and turned--but that's the last I remember. I fell, and blacked out. Magda found me here. I don't know how I got here. I don't think I could have walked--not with the pain..." Alina's fine brows creased together.
"I will tell them..." But as she rose, Bren squeezed her hand.
"Not yet. There is time. Stay with me, please." He paused. "Where is Magda?"
"She had to leave you. She would have preferred to stay." Alina smiled. "But she has a fitting this afternoon. For her dress. For the Gathering."
"Aaaah, yes." Bren sighed. "I will have to thank her."
The transport arranged, a team of men and women lifted Bren onto the taut fabric of the lift and carried him in turns out of the forest. They gave him Magda's scarf, which had rust-colored stains from his head. Apparently, something had hit him--hard--as he fell. Then, something else struck him--almost as hard. The mushrooms. He groaned, and closed his eyes.
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