The River

Shellah stood on the deck, impatient to be on the next stage of their voyage. The sailmaker had already come with the special tent for the deck, the rigger once more showed everyone how to raise and lower the sail without getting the lines tangled. Shellah sensed they were wearing out their welcome in port. The sailmaker and rigger had both been uneasy on the ship, and the original curiosity she had witnessed a few days before was completely gone. She was not sure what had changed. The boat looked friendlier with the Corom flag and the painted sail. Even the white figureheads appeared much less menacing, especially as Stew had wrapped a string of red and blue pom poms around the wooden serpent’s neck. Apparently pom poms were how the Ice Peoples knew whose sled from whose.

“Your shaman knows to meet us here, right?” asked Shellah, again. “This boat is pretty recognizable.” She looked about. Stew had seen that everything was neatly stowed and ready for departure.

“Yes, he’ll be here,” said Nessah. “He knows where the old loremaster is upriver and is eager for a ride. A big gathering is happening there.”

“Ahoy!” they heard from the foot of the pier. “It’s me, Stennigar.”

“Welcome aboard,” shouted Lloel. Jonas reached an arm out to assist a heavyset, black bearded young man dressed head to toe in heavily beaded skins, bearing a bead-wrapped staff to match.

“Sorry, I don’t move around that well,” Stennigar said, having some difficulty in stepping over the rail. “I’m so happy I met you all so I don’t have to walk to the Iyarian Glade. That track can be difficult in a cart.” He then stared each of them deep in the eye, which Shellah found to be a little startling.

“I know you met the others yesterday. I’m Shellah Skyfast, a swordsman, working with Jonas to support Nessah and Lloel.” She extended a hand in greeting to break the spell of his gaze. “And this is our newly hired steward, Stew.”

Stennigar shook Shellah’s hand, and held it a little long. “Nice to meet you, Shellah. Annar, I already know.”

“On this vessel I am to be called Stew,” Stew clarified.

“Very well, I meant no offense. I can only imagine how difficult it is to be an ennigo.” At that Stew reddened and returned to some task in the bow. Shellah half-recognized that term as what the rigger had said about Stew the other day and stiffened. “And you, Shellah,” the shaman continued, “You have the garb and spirit of a Shieling but I sense the bones and blood of a Reaver in you?”

“Reaver blood is all over the Shielings,” Shellah said sternly. “And I’ve seen enough blood over the years to know everyone’s looks exactly the same.”

“Again, no offense,” Stennigar bowed awkwardly as he struggled to maintain his balance on the ship, keeping a firm grip on his stout staff. Shellah let a breath go. She looked down to see one of his boots was constructed with a much taller sole than the other. She gestured for him to take a seat. “I see things in people,” he continued. “It’s my job to see the alterworld and our own at the same time. It can be transparent and uncomfortable. I share what I see just so everyone knows what I’m seeing.” Shellah nodded.

“Make yourself comfortable, Stennigar. Your assistance with my research is much appreciated,” said Nessah. “Let’s depart! Per our conversation yesterday, the Iyarian Glade is a three day sail upriver.”

Per information Shellah had gathered from the other mariners in port, the Boraeian River remained broad, placid and easily navigable all the way to the glacial lake. Later in the year it would be full of barge traffic with the lumber harvest, but as it was spring the water would be at its highest and the main risks would be the stray storm-born snag or ice shed from the glacier. As a trade waterway, though, the Ice Peoples tried to keep it clear and well-maintained after the spring melt. Shellah anticipated no difficulties if they were careful. Soon, they were underway. The dark wooden buildings and bright tents of Inartikuk disappeared behind them as they rowed out of the wharf into the river’s mouth. Shellah pulled up the sail, and they were off.

—---------

“It’s not the big things that will kill you,” said Jonas as he swatted away a tiny black fly. “It’s lots and lots and lots of little things.” Three days later up river, the waters remained wide and slow but the increasing density of the woods, unexpectedly warm weather, and occasional slack wind encouraged hoards of hungry spring flies. Stew had said something about a sugar moon and a fly moon, but it never occurred to Shellah that those periods might overlap if the weather was right.

“I guess that’s why there’s no barge traffic this time of year,” said Shellah. “Nobody would be fool enough to be out working in the woods with all these flies!” She had a cantrip that worked to dissuade the midges of the Shielings but the Boraeian black flies were different. Morning, noon and night these flies were voracious. She was already covered with dozens of itchy bites, and Jonas looked a little feverish. She shared a small pot of balm for relief.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“And now, we get to head into the woods to find this big gathering of tree blessers, in even more flies,” said Nessah through the fine silk scarf she had wrapped around her face for protection. “We’ve arrived. So, who’s going?”

“I’ll go,” Shellah volunteered. “Jonas, why don’t you stay here? If you and Stew move the ship back out to mid-river there might be fewer flies there if there’s a breeze. We only have room for four people in the canoe anyway. I can’t imagine there’s much risk here, especially as we’ve got Stennigar with us.”

Jonas sighed in relief. “Deal.”

Shellah pulled up the canoe, and shortly had it loaded with whatever gear they might need onshore. She then helped Stennigar and the others in. As they rowed toward the shore, the flies grew even thicker. A rainbow of felt tents were already pitched along the shoreline and in the woods just inland.

“Anywhere along this stretch of beach is perfect,” said Stennigar. “This is where folks camp for the gathering. The path to the Iyarian Glade is somewhere behind here.”

“I packed a tent but I can’t imagine we’d want to stay here with all these bugs if we might be back tonight,” said Shellah. As soon as she felt the canoe scrape the sandy river bottom she hopped out to give Stennigar a hand. Lloel and Nessah followed. Soon they were walking amidst the colorful, sigil-embroidered tents. Camp appeared to be empty. All the shamans must have already left for the holy glade.

“The path is this way,” said Stennigar, pointing his staff at a large boulder with a curious glyph painted upon it at the foot of the forest. “It’s maybe an hour’s walk from here? You can’t really see from here but it does get hilly further in.”

They followed Stennigar single file into the narrow trail through the woods. Leaf mulch muffled their steps, and the morning light was filtered through the new green leaves of the trees; oak, white papered birch, maples. If not for the flies, it would be a pleasant walk.

“So, Shellah, question for you, now that we’ve stepped away from the ship,” said Lloel. He paused to turn behind to face her. “Ummm…”

“Yes?”

“This is awkward: Is Stew a boy or a girl?” Shellah could see Lloel’s white-beared cheeks reddening a little under the dappled morning shade.

“Huh, I don’t know. They haven’t said. Does it matter?” The others stopped ahead of them.

“No, no, just curious, is all,” said Lloel. “I’m certainly not going to bother Stew about that.”

“It’s a small boat,” said Nessah. “If anyone really cares, it’s not going to be a mystery for very long.”

Stennigar cleared his throat. “They're neither, or both. We have a tradition when you come of age to adulthood. Each summer, all the young people of the Ice Peoples gather for the Festival of Rites. You accept the rites of manhood or womanhood, and then you might find your mate right there at the festival. You have three summers to accept the rite. Not everyone is ready the first year they attend, and sometimes people might be sick or injured either of those first two years, but by the end of your third summer, you should have made the journey into adulthood. Annar, whom you all know as Stew, did not accept the rites. As such, they’re neither a man nor woman, but they cannot remain a child. Such people are called ennigo. They cannot bring the happiness of a partner back to their tribe, and are thought to be cursed with incomplete spirits by our gods. They’re often cast out as unlucky or a bad omen.”

“Not everyone wants a husband or wife,” said Nessah. “And, in Corom City it’s not uncommon for men or women to take someone their own gender as a spouse.”

“That’s true,” said Stennigar. “And I did exactly that. You’ll meet my husband at the glade in a little bit!”

“Well, not everyone has their lives figured out by an arbitrary societal timetable,” said Shellah. “I’m happy to accept people at face value. What you are, you are. Nobody has the time to dig deep into others’ personal business. Stew is on our boat to do a job, so let’s be professional and not bring this up back there. As with the tradition of the stewards, if they want to share personal information, they will. Otherwise, no questions.”

“Understood,” said Lloel. “I’m already feeling protective of young Stew, that’s all.”

“I think we all are,” Shellah agreed. “Now let’s get to this grove before these flies eat us alive.”

As Stennigar had warned, the path through the trees became steeper and windier, parts of it slick with damp leaf litter or tricky with exposed roots. Conversation ceased as they carefully wound through a ravine. The warmth of midday only further encouraged the flies, which gathered in dark murmurations in and out of the sunbeams. Once they reached a clearing, Shellah took a moment to sip from her flask, as did the others. Her head spun from the shifting light.

“Stennigar, can you explain what we’re going to see?” asked Lloel. “We won’t be interrupting anything secret, will we?”

“Sugar and lumber are the main trade of the forest peoples. We sing to the trees, praising their strength, health and sweetness. As the ceremony will be in our own language, you likely won’t understand it anyway. We do get guests and observers on occasion. Nobody will question the presence of researchers from Corom. And we’re getting very close, you should be able to hear it in a moment! The ceremony will pause before nightfall so everyone can return safely to camp, nobody sleeps in the holy glade.”

“And your senior loremaster will be in attendance?” Nessah asked.

“Yes, Olligar leads the celebration,” said Stennigar. “He’ll be very curious regarding your riddle about our deadfall. ‘Amber Resin glows. The jewel in the deadfall reflects the lake of autumn leaves.’”

Once they crossed the clearing, Shellah could hear something resembling the hum of bees, if bees could hum from human throats, and wondered what might be the Ice People’s equivalent of a hogboon.