Richard Tuttle - Web of Deceit

“Do whatever you want,” shouted Grulak as he spun towards the doorway. “Just get me his head. I am putting you in charge of that army. See that he does not escape.”

Grulak stormed into the building and Veltar turned and walked back to the edge of the platform. He smiled as he gazed down at the people milling around the fallen soldier and looking up. He looked momentarily at his bloody left hand and turned towards the doorway to the temple.

***

“This is more like a town than a village,” Rejji announced as they left the game trail and wound their way through the fields. “It is many times the size of my village.”

“It is large,” agreed Mistake. “Perhaps someone will know where to find the Sage.”

“Perhaps,” replied Rejji, “but remember your pledge, Mistake. We will be thankful for whatever these villagers are willing to share, but we will take nothing they do not freely offer.”

“I will remember,” scowled Mistake. “I do not need to be treated like a child.”

“It is still just a village,” interrupted Bakhai. “Larger than most, but I see no inns or shops. It is just a large village.”

“Let’s split up,” suggested Rejji. “Mistake can seek out information on the Sage, while I try to gain knowledge of the tribes. Bakhai, you can see if there is any need for labor so that we may earn what we need.”

The three Fakarans split up as they entered the large village. Bakhai headed towards the huts that lined the edges of the fields. Mistake saw a large gathering of women husking corn and moved towards them, while Rejji headed straight for the well in the center of the village. Rejji knew that several elderly men would be there to entertain the children and these men would likely know the most about the tribes.

Rejji received a few stares from the local villagers as he made his way down the main street and responded with a smile and friendly nod of his head. The villagers returned the gesture and went about their business. When he reached the well, there were half a dozen old men and a like number of children. Everyone’s attention was on a single old man who was telling a tale of a great dragon and the children reacted with a mixture of dread and excitement.

Rejji went right up to the group and sat on the side so he could see both the men and the children who were facing each other. A few of the men nodded to Rejji and he smiled and returned the nod. He listened to the stories patiently for a while and a woman came over to the group with a basket of food and an urn of goat’s milk. The children squealed with delight as they grabbed pieces of bread and cheese from the basket. The woman produced a cup and filled it with milk and handed it to one of the children. When the little boy had drank the cup dry, he handed it back to the woman and she filled it for another child.

The men waited until the children had grabbed what they wanted and then passed the basket of food to Rejji. Rejji looked inquiringly at the old man as if to ask if it was permissible for him to eat. The storyteller’s face broke into a wide toothless grin and he nodded his head.

“Hunger has a face of it’s own,” he chuckled. “Eat your fill young man. There is more if you finish it.”

“I am most grateful, Sir,” Rejji said. “I fear I have lost any means of repaying you though, unless you will accept my labor.”

“Your offer is acknowledged,” grinned the man. “If you are passing through, then consider it our gift to you. If you wish to stay in the village, there will be time to talk of labors another day.”

“You are most gracious and I thank you,” smiled Rejji. “I am just passing through. I am in search of the Sage of the Mountain and was wondering if there was a great deal of tribal activity in these parts. I am hesitant to be involved in their troubles.”

“The tribes are in turmoil these days,” responded the storyteller. “Our local tribe has quit their fortress and have not been seen for some time. Some say the Jiadin are to take over all of the tribes. Others disagree. We do not get involved in their affairs and hope they meddle little with ours other than the annual tribute. Some Jiadin were here not long ago. They spoke of a demon that has come to our lands and they claim they shall remove him, but many have little belief in demons.”

“Demon or no demon,” added another old man, “the Jiadin have amassed a great army to track him down. They have warned us not to allow the demon into our village or they will kill every single one of us.”

“They may decide to do that one day anyway,” sighed the storyteller. “The tribes need no excuse for violence, and we have no means of defense. Such is life.”

“I passed the site of a great battle on the other side of the mountains,” Rejji informed the storyteller. “The Jiadin destroyed the Chadang tribe. I do not wish to see more of that.”

“Well if you are seeking the Sage of the Mountain,” smiled the storyteller, “you will see little of the Jiadin.”

“You know of the Sage?” Rejji asked excitedly. “Where can he be found?”

“Well I know of him,” nodded the man, “but not where he is. It is a quest of considerable effort to find him. Many speak of him as living high in the Bone Mountains, far to the northeast. Some have searched the mountains their entire life looking for the Sage and have died disappointed. There was a man, however, many years back. He claimed to have found the Sage. He wouldn’t say where though.”

“He was a crazy fool,” interjected another man.

“Of course he was,” nodded the storyteller. “The Sage speaks the truth that no man knows. Many want the answers to questions, but their minds are incapable of accepting those answers. There are many tales of men gone crazy after visiting the Sage. Sometimes the truth is better left unknown.”

“What happened to him?” Rejji asked.

“He was crazy,” sighed the storyteller. “He was searching for the lost city of Angragar. He claims the Sage told him where the ancient city was, but he would not tell anyone. Despite our pleas, one day he wandered into the Qubari Jungle. He was never heard from again.”

“That must be the jungle we saw from the mountains,” surmised Rejji. “What is wrong with going there?”

“Death is what’s wrong,” warned one of the men. “If your are lucky that is.”

The storyteller looked at the man and shook his head. “The lad didn’t say he was going there,” the storyteller stated. “He just asked about it. The Qubari Jungle is a dread place, lad. Nobody has ever gone there and come back. Once you enter, you are just food for the jungle. Every creature in there will devour you. Some even say the plants will eat you alive in there. Whatever you do, stay clear of that jungle if you value your life.”

“Tell him about the tyriks,” prompted one of the children.

The woman with the urn of milk had worked her way down the line of children and handed Rejji a cup of milk. He smiled at her and thanked her.

“The tyriks are a nasty creature,” nodded the storyteller. “As old as time itself, they say. The tyriks have infested the Qubari Jungle forever. Picture a huge nasty spider, lad. Now make it bigger and meaner. Then picture it as large as that hut over there. Can you picture a spider that big? That is a tyrik, lad. Their webs are so large they could capture wasooki or horses in them. Not a pleasant death, being caught in tyrik web and waiting to be chosen for dinner. You might be stuck there for days if the tyrik had eaten recently. Not the way I would choose to go.”

When Rejji turned to look at the hut, he noticed that Bakhai and Mistake had arrived and were listening to the storyteller as well. They also had been offered the basket of food and were eating bread and cheese. Bakhai appeared to be trying to get Rejji’s attention, but Rejji could not figure out what his friend wanted and he refused to be rude to the villagers.