Runaway

The 3rd story in The Oracle of Toko-Ri

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Fnarten ran up the trail. It wasn’t fair. No one else had to do so many chores. Everyone else had a father, and a mother who was at home and didn’t have to go to everyone else’s house to do their cooking and all!

He ran because his mother might have figured out he was gone by now and send some village sister after him… his own sisters being far to busy. And maybe they would guess he had come this way.

“Boy! What are you doing?” he heard, as he came up to the clearing. Not sure why they were yelling at him. Maybe because he was running? Anyway he ignored them and ran straight toward the cave. Wasn’t like there was a line…

He ran through the cave entrance and skidded to a stop. He was in the middle of nothing but swirling fog. He couldn’t even see anything in any direction.

He turned, panicked, and looked all around and, finally, he spotted a light and hurried toward it.

He walked and walked and it never seemed to get any closer until, suddenly, he almost ran into the side of a cottage. The light was to the side of an open doorway and, focused on the light, he had almost run into the wall.

“Get in here!” a voice barked from inside the cottage and, not knowing anything else to do, he went in.

“You are a very naughty boy!” he heard and saw a woman, about his mother’s age, her apron covered in flour and other things, with her hands plunged deep into dish water. “Get over here and help!” she barked and Fnarten hurried over and took a rag and started frantically drying. She was a very fast washer!

“You are a naughty boy, but there isn’t any rule saying naughty boys can’t come to me, so here you are. If I had my druther’s I’d turn you over my knee and paddle you black and blue.”

Fnarten shuddred. She looked like she could paddle. Hard. And would, too.

“So here are my instructions for naughty little boys who want to run away from home and not get eaten by wolves or taken by kidnappers or fall in some pit in the woods. You will NOT like them, but you have no choice now. You obey my instructions or that fat girl that lives next to you, who ran all the way up here and is even now being told you came in here, will catch you and she is VERY angry at you because she is too fat to want to run.”

The lady chuckled, “Good for her, though.”

“Now, here are my instructions. When you leave my cottage you will walk into a stream…. Just a little stream and you can swim, anyway. You follow that stream. It will get bigger and become a river, and there will be falls and all. But you follow that stream until it goes all the way down to the sea and you see a town right on the shore of the sea.”

She slapped him, “Do you hear me, Boy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, tears stinging his eyes.

“You follow that stream to that town and into that town you will find a tavern. And in front of that tavern, sitting on a step, drunk and broke, you will find a man. Older than me…”

She chuckled, “Older than I look, anyway.”

“You take that man by the hand and you say, “Time to get home, Grandpa. You be respectful and call him ‘Grandpa’ every time you open your mouth, you hear?”

He nodded quickly before she had a chance to cuff him.

“Then you take that man by the hand and you lead him back to your village.”

“My village? But…”

She cuffed him hard enough he fell off the stool and he hurried to get back on before he got behind on dishes.

“I’m giving you your instructions, see? Did you think it would be easy? Did you think it would be all flower petals and honey??”

“Now, like I say, you take him back to your village. And then you find out who he belongs to. And then… well, you will know what to do then.”

Fnarten stared at her. That didn’t sound like it would work at all! He would end up right back where he’d started. But then he remembered about the widow lady and her coin, who had found that ring and all. And the picky carpenter who had married that girl with the limp, and both of them stupid grins all day long and she getting big already.

He sat there and thought and washed the dishes. There had been a LOT of dishes, but they washed all of them.

“Now, sit down and eat,” the woman said, pointing to the table, “you have a long way to go.”

Fnarten stared. The table hadn’t had food on it before, had it? And good food, too. Ham, potatoes, greens, and some kind of pie with berries he didn’t recognized.

He ate and the woman kept telling him to eat more until, finally, he couldn’t hold any more.

“Now, out with you,” the lady said and Fnarten, feeling fat and lazy and yet scared of the fog, went out.

She hadn’t told him which way to go! He turned to ask but the cottage was gone. But after a few steps he felt his right foot splash down into water.

Down stream. She had said to go down stream. But he couldn’t see anything with this fog and didn’t know which direction…

He reached down and felt the water. He felt a couple times until he was sure, and turned, right, and started walking.

Carefully. He was in the dark, in the fog, and in a stream. So he walked carefully.

Mile after mile he walked, until, finally, without his ever being aware of exactly when, he noticed stars overhead, and then he noticed trees beside the stream, and, exhausted, he gathered up some branches and leaves and after drinking and doing his business, he lay down and fell fast asleep.

He woke to the smell of smoke. “Wondered when you would wake,” he heard, and turned to see a man, down by the edge of the stream, cooking a couple of fish at a fire. Next to the man was a dog and, behind him, a pile of furs.

“Hungry?” the man asked and Fnarten, who was despite his meal yesterday, nodded and came forward and was given some fish.

“Where you headed?” the man asked.

“Downstream, my father,” Fnarten said. “To the town beside the sea.”

“Polite boy,” the man said. “I’m glad you’re traveling that way. That’s where I’m headed myself. You can help carry my skins.”

Fnarten opened his mouth to ask why he would do such a thing, but then snapped it closed. The lady had said he would be safe. Which meant fed and all, and kept safe from bandits, and obviously this trapper did this all the time so knew what he was doing.

So he just nodded his head and, when he had finished the fish, the man tied a load of skins to his back and the two started downstream.

The next week was the most incredible time of Fnarten’s life. The man knew everything about the plants and animals along this stream… which indeed became a river. And he knew how to trap the animals and catch the fish and gather the berries and things that grew along the way. The pack on Fnarten’s back grew heavier, but he grew stronger as well and, truth be told, he wasn’t really ready when, finally, the three of them came around a bend and the man said, “There it is.”

Fnarten looked. It was indeed a town by the sea, and a bigger town than he had ever seen. Which didn’t mean much since he had never been outside of his village.

But it was a town, with brightly painted buildings, and a dock… indeed several docks… and ships sailing in and out of the bay.

“Where are you going here?” the man asked.

“There’s a tavern I need to find, My Father, and a man there I need to bring back to my village.”

The man gave him a long look. “I know the tavern,” he said at last. “I’ll take you there.”

They walked through the streets of the town until, down near the docks, they came to tavern. It had a sign, “The Rotten Fish” and, under the sign, sitting in the mud, was a man. And older man. With unkempt hair and a straggling beard and clothes that looked like they hadn’t been washed in years.

Fnarten walked reluctantly up to the man and stood staring at him. “This is the man?!” his companion asked him.

“Yes, My Father,” Fnarten said.

“You need to take him back to your village?”

“Yes.”

“Well, someone needs to take him somewhere,” a voice said from the door. “He ran out of money and I kicked him out. He’s got nowhere to go and no one to turn to.”

Fnarten walked forward and pulled at the man’s hand. “Come, My Grandfather,” he said, “Time to get home.” 

His companion watched Fnarten pull fruitlessly at the old man’s hand and sighed. He pulled back his foot and kicked him.”Get up Granfather!” he said as the man opened bleary eyes. “You have something to do!”

“Whaaa…?” the man said, but Fnarten’s companion hauled him to his feet by main force.

“Take his hand, Boy.”

Fnarten took the old man’s hand. “Now, the road to your village is right over there,” the trapper said. “Good luck to you. You have a rough road.”

As Fnarten started leading the man away, no easy task, he heard the Tavern Keeper ask the trapper, “Who’s the kid?”

“I dunno who he is to that old drunk, but he’s a good kid.  Polite, hard working. Came down pretty much the whole way with me, trapping.”

“Will he be OK?”

“Oh, I taught him enough to survive, and that drunk should wake up eventually. I guess he’ll either help or run away.”

The rest of that day was agony. The road was uphill and Fnarten had to steer the old man constantly. Finally the old man collapsed by the side of the road and Fnarten left him and went off into the woods to get dinner. He built his fire and bed a few feet from the old man and, eventually, fell asleep.

“Who are you?” he heard, the first thing the next morning.

“I’m the one whose going to take you back home, My Grandfather,” he said. “I have it to do.”

“Grandfather? No one’s ever called me that before. Am I that old? Home?” the old man said, wonderingly.

“You look that old to me,” Fnarten said, not as respectfully as he could have done. “And, yes, Home. And don’t ask me why, because I don’t know, I wasn’t told. Now, are you hungry? I saved you some of what I caught last night.”

“Hungry? I reckon I am.”

“Well, eat quickly, we need to get on the road.”

 The old man followed him in a daze until they came to a stream.

“I need a drink,” he said.

“You need a bath!” Fnarten said. “And so do I. I’m going upstream, I don’t want to be down stream of you when you bathe.”

He stalked off upstream. Stupid drunk old man. He knew he had it to do, but people weren’t going to be happy with him bringing this stupid drunk back to his village.

He took his time with his bath, washing his clothes and all, and then checked the traps he had set. Two rabbits. And he had seen some stream lettuce, so he gathered that and eventually went down to the old man.

Who, to his shock, had a fire going and a fish. And…

“You cleaned up,” Fnarten admitted. His clothes were still old and all but you could at least see the color they were supposed to be.

“I need a scissors,” the old man said, ruefully, pulling at his hair.

“Well, I have a knife the trapper gave me,” Fnarten said, holding it out.

The old man gave it a suspicious look, then picked it up and started sawing at his beard. He stopped to eat but kept at it until Fnarten fell asleep.

“Here’s your knife,” he heard, and saw the old man placing it next to him. The knife hadn’t done a very good job but, still, the old man looked better.

They ate last nights leftovers and were on the road right afterwards. It wasn’t like either of them had much to do in the morning.

Two hours later they came to a village… a village kind of like Fnarten’s.  He was going to walk through it but the old man turned off…

“You’re not going to get something to drink!” he yelled at the old man, pulling fruitlessly at his shirt.

“No, I’m not,” he replied, but continued into the tavern, Fnarten following feeling frustrated.

“Looking for some day work,” the old man announced when he was fully in the door.

“You’re in luck,” the tavern keeper said. “Town’s helping a widow rebuild and I know the magistrate will pay day wages from the charity fund to those that need it.”

“Well, we need it. Come, Boy,” he said to Fnarten and, following the instructions the Tavern keeper  gave them, they soon came to an open area where building supplies were piled and several men worked.

The old man looked around and saw one man talking to another and went over to them. The older of the two men looked up as they came up.

“I’m looking for day work, me and the boy here.”

“We can use a boy, right enough,” the man said. “Lots of boy work. What can you do?”

“I can lift, I can haul, I can steer, I can reef… but as for what you’re looking for… I can saw and plane and join. Worked as a ship’s carpenter three years.”

“Is that right,” the man said. “Well, I’ll give you the north wall, then. Two windows, no doors. We have it marked out.”

The other man grabbed Fnarten by the collar and turned him toward an older man with a long red beard sitting on a pile of boards. “You run over there, and Xenin will keep you busy,” he said, and Fnarten ran.

He was indeed kept busy all the day, carrying water, nails, tools, holding one half of long boards with other boys while men nailed them in place. He didn’t get to work with the old man hardly at all but every time he looked over he seemed to be busy, hammering, sawing… and directing other men.

They had the walls up by nightfall, and the men had put some boards across the ceiling by the time they quit.

“You two go to the tavern and eat,” the manager person said to the old man as Fnarten came up. “Sleep on the floor there and get an early breakfast. Town will pay the expense. Be here again first thing tommorrow.”

“Aye,” the man said, and turned back to the cabin.

“But we need to go!” Fnarten said, trotting after him.

“We need to eat, and sleep, and we’ll travel faster with coin in our pocket.”

They finished the house two days later. “Can we go now,” Fnarten asked.

“Almost,” the man said. “I did some asking around and there’s a woman what does hair and all.”

“What?” but the man didn’t say any more but led him off to a house where there was indeed a woman, a younger widow with four daughters, who had them undress, bathe, gave them some shirts to wear, and sat them both on chairs and the woman and the oldest daughter started in on the old man and Fnarten, respectively, with scissors.

“I don’t need a hair cut!” Fnarten objected.

“You needed a bath, your clothes needed decent washing, and your hair won’t mind being cut,” the daughter replied, working the scissors. “Do you ever comb it?” she asked, pulling comb through and making him wince.

“I don’t… ouch… even have a comb with me!” he protested. “I use… ouch!… my fingers.”

“Well, sit still,” the girl commanded and, a painful half hour later, Fnarten was done and eating some wonderful stew she gave him, along with the daughters, all of them watching the mother still patiently working on the old man’s hair.

“I’ve seen worse,” she said. “Once. And he was dead. Preacher asked me to make him pretty for the funeral.”

“Well, I’m not dead… yet,” the old man said, glancing at Fnarten. “Reckon I have a few years left.”

They slept on the widow lady’s floor that night and left at dawn the next morning. Fnarten had to trot to keep up, the old man set a good pace. And he looked… different.

“We wont’ have to stop now,” the Old man said, “Except to sleep and buy our dinners. Magistrate paid me foreman’s wages, said he would give me a reference if I needed it.”

Fnarten didn’t know what to say to that, so he just trotted alongside and tried to keep up.

Sure enough, except to buy food and sleep they walked straight through the next few days. The old man set a brisk pace until they came to the blasted oak at the turn toward the village. There he slowed, staring at it.

“I never thought to see that again,” he said.

Fnarten said nothing but inwardly was glad the man recognised it. Maybe if he knew that Fnarten wouldn’t have a hard time finding out who he belonged to.

As luck would have it the fat girl who had run after him was the first person to see them as they came down the road. Fnarten saw her see him, and turn red, and start to stalk toward him. But then her eyes took in the old man next to him, and she stopped, hesitated, and then ran… well, as much as she could… back down the street…

And returned, a couple of minutes later, just as Fnarten was starting to wonder how he could find out who the old man was to anybody in the village, with Fnarten’s mother, his siblings, and what seemed like half the village.

Fnarten started to rehearse what he would say when his mother got to them, but then he noticed that she wasn’t even looking at him!

Instead she walked right up to the old man, who had stopped, and stopped herself, put her hands on her hips, and said, “Hello, Father!”

“Hello, Daughter,” the old man replied, and Fnarten stared.

“You’ve been away a long time!”

“Far, far too long,” the old man said. “When mother died… I did wrong. I ran away. And then I couldn’t bring myself to come back. But then, when you sent the boy for me…”

All eyes turned to Fnarten, who shrank back.

“He’s a good boy,” the old man said. “Can work hard, and trap… knows the woods and things. Was always talking about this plant and that.”

“He is a good boy,” his mother said. “Has had a hard life since his father died, and doesn’t understand why we have to live like we do. But I didn’t send him. I would have, if I’d known. Well, no, I wouldn’t have sent him.”

“But I’m glad you’re home, Father, and I’m sure he is too. Come, I have dinner on the stove, although its little enough.”

Fnarten followed in a daze. His… grandfather? The old man was his grandfather??