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My Own Worst Enemy 8 - It's Rude to Refuse
🕑 Added 2025-06-27 17:55:59 +0000 UTCElder Saara and the others lead us into the village proper—a tiny little fishing community on the edge of the Sagaa river. There are no roads or paths except for those that have been beaten into the ground by the natural foot traffic of the village, though Fa’aun hooves clearly do a pretty good job of that. The houses are all small huts made from a mix of wood, clay, and thatch. They don’t look very sturdy, and if the men I see working on various new constructions are any indication, they aren’t meant to be.
The only really permanent looking structure is a large house built from what looks like heavy sandstone bricks, complete with clay roof tiles to protect it from what little rain the village must get. That building turns out to be our destination, and as we get closer, I spot a truly bizarre creature tied to a post beside the building.
Standing over six feet tall on four thick legs with banded scales like an armadillo and a mottled grey and brown hide, the animal looks like a weird cross between a rhinoceros and an ant-eater. It’s got a long prehensile snout—currently munching away on some dry grass in a nearby trough—and beady vacant eyes that give it a certain dopey quality. It’s kind of cute. Weird, but cute.
“What the heck is that thing?” I ask Talla, pointing it out.
She glances up, following my finger, then gives me a strange look. “It’s just a horse.”
...
I have no words. Maggie starts cackling hysterically while Vi is just as dumbfounded as I am.
“I don’t see what’s so funny about a horse,” Evelyn says, which just prompts Mags to laugh even harder.
Okay then. Sure. Let’s just call it a little glitch in whatever shared understanding we have with Evie that lets us comprehend the Fa’aun language without being able to fully speak it yet. Beady eyes, long nose, hooves, beast of burden. Close enough. Horse it is.
“Right. Silly me.”
“Hey Miss, how come you’ve never seen a horse before?” one of the boys that tried to rob us asks. “Is it because you’re from across the sea? Is that why you look so weird too? Or did your mom shave you?”
Is...is that a real punishment they have here? It’s more than a little unsettling how quickly the young men that were holding us at gunpoint less than an hour ago have reverted to a bunch of gormless kids now that they’ve been caught by their mothers. They could have killed us, or been killed by us, but they don’t seem to treat that with the same kind of gravitas that I’d expect.
In fact, nobody does. Talla and Draga are more interested in finding out where the weapons came from, and while the boys’ mothers are appropriately angry, the tone feels a bit closer to “caught raiding the cookie jar” than “attempted armed robbery and possible murder.”
The blonde-furred woman grabs the kid by the horn and pulls him away from me.
“Stop bothering our guests, Gavin! You’re in enough trouble as it is!”
“Aw! But it was all Sam’s idea!” he protests weakly.
“Would you cross the desert if he told you to?”
The boy stops to think about it, which is enough hesitation to elicit a smack on the back of the head from his mother.
“Goddess save me from the stupidity of boys,” she sighs. “And may she grant me a daughter next time.”
Well that was weird. After that, the boys give me a wide berth, though they can’t hide their curiosity. Nor can anyone else—I’m getting a lot of stares.
Saara leads us inside, where the bulk of the house is taken up by a single large room furnished with cushions and very low wooden tables. At a glance, it feels like a meeting room of some kind, with most of the seats arranged around a central area and a few off to the side—maybe for sidebars?
“Please make yourselves at home,” Elder Saara says, gesturing to the cushions. “We have little to share, but you are honored guests and may enjoy our hospitality. Kiina, please bring some refreshments from the storehouse.”
The tawny-furred mother of the would-be bandit leader ducks her head and disappears back the way we came as the other women start lighting oil lamps that smell faintly of fish.
“That’s really not necessary,” Talla says. “We’ve got our own supplies, and I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’ve been wronged by the sons of our village,” Saara insists. “It would be disgraceful to do any less.”
“As it should be,” Evelyn agrees. “They’re lucky Lady Baanu doesn’t demand those boys’ horns—or their lives.”
Once more I’m struck by how little people seem to value life in this world. It’s not just Evie, either. I’m starting to suspect that death is a much more common part of life in this world than I’m used to.
Interestingly, Draga is a lot more comfortable accepting the village’s hospitality than Talla, immediately taking a seat on a comfy looking cushion and pouring himself some water from a carafe that was set out before we even arrived.
“Just relax, Talla,” he says. “That’s how it is out in these villages. They’d sooner starve than break tradition.”
The elder ducks her head. “By honoring the Goddess, we earn her blessings. It is the other way around, Sir Ranger—we observe tradition so that we will not starve.”
Talla scratches the base of her horns and sighs. “Alright. I’m not used to frontier villages like this. Things are a bit different closer to home.”
Only once Talla and I have taken seats on either side of Draga does Saara herself sit down across from us. The others—Gavin, his mother, and Samaa—then take their own seats in one of the smaller corner tables, remaining silent.
Oh boy, I feel like there’s a whole lot of formality that I’m missing here. I don’t know the proper etiquette, and I’m terrified that I’m going to mess something up by speaking out of turn or saying the wrong thing. Thankfully, Draga is right at home in all this and doesn’t miss a beat.
“So, Elder Saara, please tell me more about this stranger of yours,” he begins. “He came by boat? From the north or south?”
“South,” she answers. “From the blessed lands, I think—we didn’t ask. It was a small personal craft, and he only stayed long enough to finish maintaining it before continuing north. We watched him the entire time.”
Draga nods. “Except when he camped. Across the river, you said? Odd that he’d stay there if he was repairing his vessel here.”
“That was by my request,” Saara explains. “I did not trust an unknown stranger—much less a man—to stay within the village. He borrowed a raft to make the crossing.”
Talla cocks her head, frowning. “A raft? To cross Sagaa?”
“It may sound strange to you, my lady,” the elder says. “But Sagaa is our home. Some of our men spend more of their lives on the river than on land, and many also lose them there. Even the children know how to make rafts and navigate the waters.”
She casts a sidelong glance at the two boys that were brought along for questioning, and neither can meet her gaze. Saara shakes her head and sighs.
“In any case, the river is slow and shallow this time of year,” she explains. “Some boys like to swim across just to prove they can.”
The discussion is interrupted briefly by Kiina returning with a basket full of food and a pair of clay jars.
“Sorry it’s just dried fish and forage,” she says, setting it out for us. Notably, none of the food goes to the corner table. “I did manage to find a couple jars of wine, though.”
That gets my attention. Other than the tincture—which absolutely does not count—the only thing I’ve had to drink since arriving in this world is water. And soup, I guess, but I don’t count that either.
Kiina spreads a big waxy leaf out on the ankle-high table between us and sets out a spread of small whole fish, bright red fruit that resemble raspberries, and some kind of fibrous tuber looking thing. Aside from the berries, none of it looks particularly appetizing—especially the fish, which despite being gutted and dried still have their heads, eyes, and presumably bones.
“Please help yourselves,” Saara offers. “We can also have some soup prepared, if it pleases you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Talla replies. “This is already more than enough, thank you.”
She ducks her head, then watches expectantly along with Kiina. Draga sighs.
“Dig in, you two. It’s rude to refuse, and our conversation won’t continue until we’ve eaten.”
I shrug and go for a couple of the berries. Something sweet would be a nice change of pace from lizard jerky and stingroot soup.
“Oh, Allie watch out that’s—” Talla’s warning comes just a moment too late as I bite down on a small handful of berries.
The juice fills my mouth with a slightly sweet, slightly bitter, and very sour flavor—followed immediately by a searing pain on my tongue. It’s like a cross between a cranberry and a jalapeno. I don’t mind spicy food, but it’s so unexpected that it causes me to choke, getting some of the juice up in my sinuses, which just makes it all that much worse.
“Frick!” I cough, eyes watering as I try to pour myself something to wash it down. “Not again!”
“Allie, don’t—!” Once again, Talla is too slow to stop me from gulping down a mouthful of the wine.
It’s sweet, aromatic, and of-fricking-course it’s spicy! I just barely manage to avoid spraying it all over our hosts, choking it down and accepting the cup of water Draga wordlessly offers me.
“Come the heck on,” I complain. “Is everything you eat so spicy?!”
Kiina and the elder both look mortified, unable to understand my words but obviously picking up on my tone.
“I’m so sorry Miss!” Saara says urgently. “I should have warned you about the stingroot berries.”
That again? “Is every part of that fricking plant both edible and deadly?” I ask Talla.
She chuckles. “Pretty much. It’s thorny, too—and it gets stuck between your hooves if you step on it.”
“But it’s everywhere,” Draga adds. “You can even find it growing out in the desert. And it makes good wine.”
He takes a sip of his own for emphasis and lets out a satisfied sigh. “Thank you for your hospitality, elder. Our friend here isn’t used to local fare, but she’s not offended.”
I nod in agreement. “[Sorry,]” I say in Fa’aun. “[It’s good. I was just surprised.]”
The two women relax, and Kiina finally takes her own seat next to the elder. “Try chewing the river shoots,” she suggests, pointing out the pale tubers. “I find that helps.”
Taking her up on the suggestion, I find the shoots to be soft but slightly woody, with a mild earthy flavor that I place somewhere on a distant tangent from potatoes and radish. It doesn’t really cut the spice, but it’s so chewy that it takes my mind off of it—sort of.
That effect is slightly spoiled by the fact that I have to wash it down with some more of the stingroot wine, but the wine isn’t as spicy as the fruit—just enough to add some kick to the weak but distinct alcoholic aftertaste.
We take a break from serious conversation to eat dinner—made slightly awkward by the three waiting patiently in the corner—during which I even try some of the fish. On its own, it’s not as bad as it looks. Salty, crunchy, and strongly fishy, it’s a nice contrast to the bittersweet stingroot berries, and the strong flavors of the fish and fruit last long enough to enhance the experience of chewing on the river shoots.
It’s a weird combination of flavors, but it works, and everything goes down easier with a bit of alcohol. The wine is weak, but I’m still pleasantly buzzed by the time we get back to the matter at hand.
“So,” Draga begins once dinner has wound down. “Samaa and Gavin, was it? I’d like to ask the boys if they met with this stranger across the river.”
Kiina nods and turns to the three still sitting silently at the corner table and finally calls on them.
“Gabby, bring the boys over.”
Gabby—the blonde-furred woman—and the two boys quietly join the other two across from us.
“I’m only going to ask this once,” Draga says firmly, staring down Samaa. “And if you don’t answer truthfully, your mother’s threats will be the least of your worries. Understood?”
The boy gulps, looking much smaller and more frightened now that he doesn’t have his gang of gunmen behind him. He glances up, then away, unable to meet the ranger leader’s eyes, and nods meekly.
“Good. Now—did you and your friends cross the river to meet with the stranger, and did he give you those weapons?”
Samaa looks to his mother and the elder for support, but their glares are even harsher than Draga’s. Swallowing nervously again, he turns back to Draga and nods.
“Y-yes—I mean, yes sir. Sir Ranger. Uh, sir.”
“Sir Draga will do. Why?”
The boy casts a sidelong glance at Talla, who watches impassively as he answers.
“He said...” he trails off, eyes swimming, trying to find the right words. “That they’d make us stronger. Strong enough to take what we need from the higher clans, instead of giving them what little we have while the village starves.”
Oh my. That’s a pretty clear incitement. I...don’t think I know enough to judge on moral grounds, but starting a rebellion in a little backwater like this would be suicide. Suicide that might incite other frontier towns and villages to anger—which would also be suicide. But with enough unrest, it would be easier to drum up support for a more organized rebellion, filling the ranks with survivors and relatives from the failed uprisings.
In other words...
“He was trying to create some martyrs...” I mutter quietly.
Nobody understands my words except Talla, who gives me a wide-eyed stare. Draga ignores us both, giving the elder a grave look.
“We won’t be reporting this as a rebellion,” he says. “But I am going to need an extremely thorough description of this man, his vessel, and every single person he spoke to.”
Comments
TheBotler
I have caught up!
