Surviving Arkadia

Only once the bodies were covered over did i start to feel a little better. Which was ridiculous. They were just as dead. All we’d done was reduce the chance that their families would ever know what had happened to them.

We spent the rest of the morning on the deadfall. Jethro had untangled it enough that I could help without too much additional risk of injury. I suspected that, now that he’d seen me in action, Jethro was more confident in my ability to keep my head should something start to go wrong.

Jethro introduced me to a new tool from his pack. He was able to fit a huge saw in his small pack because he kept the flexible blade rolled up and the frame came apart and folded up. Once it was unrolled, unfolded and assembled it was almost as long as I was tall. It cut on both the push and the pull so we each took an end and before long the trees were cut into manageable length logs.

When I told him how impressed I was with his saw he looked around to be sure there were no passing travellers to overhear then, “Don’t they have anything like that in your world. The old stories say that the Outlander’s homeworld is full of wondrous devices.” He said it in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Oh it is, but none of them work like this,” I thought of my father’s shed full of tools back home and tried to work out how to explain the difference. “We have bandsaws, they have flexible blades like this but they’re not very portable. The machinery moves the saw blade up and down very fast and you push the wood against it. For chopping down trees we have chainsaws. That’s a heavy duty chain with a saw tooth on each link.” I stopped because I realised that I actually had no idea what makes the chain on a chainsaw go round and I’d probably just given Jethro completely the wrong idea.

His eyes went wide, I could see that he was trying to visualise it, “That sounds amazing.”

Yeah, judging by his expression he was imagining something way cooler than a chainsaw, and chainsaws are already pretty cool.

#

We piled the logs up on a makeshift sled and dragged them uphill and out of the forest. Once out of the trees we were in the sun, but also in a cooling breeze that blew across a broad pasture dotted with wild flowers, mountain sheep and the occasional goat.

Both the sheep and the goats had horns and they looked far hardier than any domesticated animal from back home, apart from Highland Cattle. Those things would have fit right in.

There was a small house up ahead. It was set well back from the road and surrounded by a garden full of neat rows of plants that all looked edible, though I got the feeling that some of the edibles had been chosen because they were also pretty.

It was an odd looking place, to my eyes at least. It was one part English country cottage, one part log cabin and one part Swiss chalet. It had the steep pitch of the roof common to places that get a lot of snow and the covered porch common to places where it gets uncomfortably hot in the summer.

The moment we stepped off the road and onto the path to the house a huge beast vaulted the porch rail and charged at us. I grabbed for the handle of the messer that I now had at my hip but before I could do anything stupid Jethro dropped his side of the sled and rushed to meet the beast saying “Dash! You’re getting so big.”

I let go of the messer. Obviously the absolute nutter that lived in this house had some kind of tamed bear as a guard animal.

The beast reared up on its hind legs as it reached Jethro. It put its front paws on his shoulders. Jethro tousled its soft, floppy ears and said, “Who’s my best boy? You are. Yes you are.”

“Stop encouraging him, Jethro,” said a voice from the porch, “I’m trying to train him out of jumping up at people.”

The woman on the porch was old in a way that I hadn’t seen before. Her hair was snow white, and she was wrinkled and brown from a lifetime spent out in the elements, but she was also tall, straight-backed, and graceful. She was clearly still strong and healthy for all her advanced age. I wondered if this was a side effect of the System. Did high levels protect you from some of the effects of ageing? I resolved to look more closely at how stats were affected by levelling core skills. Maybe, with enough resistances, you could be functionally immortal?

The woman on the porch came down to meet us. “I’m Cynthia and this is Dash,” she said, patting the huge beast which I now realised was just a really big dog. “He’s a mountain shepherd. He’s a big softy so long as he doesn’t think you’re a bear or a wolf.”

“How does he feel about Beast-Kin?” I said.

“By the Source, I never thought of that,” said Jethro, looking a lot more guilty than he had about killing two men.

Cynthia looked alarmed for about half a second. “I recommend that you remain bipedal until he gets to know you and don’t make any sudden movements around the flock. He’ll soon get used to the idea that you’re part of the pack.”

I looked at Dash and he looked back at me with his head tilted to one side. He looked a lot more confused and curious than he did aggressive.

“Good boy?” I said. I tried to sound enthusiastic because I know dogs like that.

Dash dropped to all fours and padded over to me. He pushed his head under my hand, as if worried that I didn’t know how to pat a dog. I stroked his head, and smooshed his face, and scratched him behind the ears with my claws, and told him that he was a very good boy indeed.

Dash, slobbered all over my face, which I took to be a good sign.

“Let’s get these logs stacked and then I’ll make you some lunch,” said Cynthia.

#

Lunch was slices of cold roast mutton on sourdough bread with pickled carrots and onions on the side. It was a simple but excellent meal. The sharp vinegar of the pickles cut through the fattiness of the meat and the strong taste of the mutton was enhanced by the subtle flavour of the bread.

Cynthia and Jethro chatted about everyday stuff; news from the nearby villages, mutual friends, the weather. I concentrated on eating, petting Dash, and feeding him the occasional scrap without attracting disapproving glares from Cynthia. I had nothing to add to the conversation until Jethro mentioned the four dead men.

“They were Petra’s first Murder Hobos,” he said.

“At your age?” said Cynthia.

“I had a very sheltered upbringing,” I said.

“It was different when I was young,” said Cynthia. “Of course I came of age during one of the hungry times. The fever hospitals were full, there were armies on the march and Outlanders popping up everywhere. You couldn’t walk ten yards out of a town without a gang of violent idiots trying to kill you for your boots and pocket change. I’ve lived through a few of those times. Feels like we’re about due for another one. I did hear a rumour that some kids over in Boblingen were sick with a fever.”

Jethro caught my eye when Cynthia mentioned Outlanders. I tried not to react to him as I probed for more information. “So you think we’ll see more Murder Hobos moving through the woods?” I said.

“It’s certainly worth warning everyone at that camp of yours. And keep an ear out for news of armies passing through.”

After lunch we helped Cynthia repair some of her fences. Dash stuck close to me the entire time. I couldn’t tell if he liked me or if he just didn’t trust me enough to let me out of his sight.

Before we headed back to the camp Cynthia insisted on showing me the basics of spinning and giving me some tips on whittling a drop spindle.

#

As Jethro and I walked back to the camp I found that my eyes were constantly scanning the trees that shaded the road, looking for signs that someone might be hunting us. There was no one. The woods were just as safe as they had been the day before but somehow I could no longer trust them.

Once back at the camp I handed my foraged mushrooms to Agnes and sat down by the fire to spend the rest of the evening whittling. I was dimly aware that around me there were a lot of conversations going on about the murder hobos. I did not want to join in but people kept coming up and asking me if I was alright. I just said that I was and got back to whittling.

It was someone else’s turn to cook the evening meal. It turned out to be another stew. I couldn’t have told you what was in it but it was tasty enough.

When I was nearly ready for bed I decided to check over my progress. I’d been vaguely aware of a few dings and chimes so I knew that some stuff had increased or unlocked. I was a little unprepared for how much.

I had the SILENT BUT DEADLY achievement. It came with a title. I was now Petra the Killer if I wanted to be. It unlocked the COUP DE GRACE ability. ANYONE WITH THIS ABILITY MAY ATTEMPT TO INSTANTLY KILL AN UNAWARE TARGET.

My UNARMED COMBAT skill was now at level 1, it was a universal level zero skill so I hadn’t had to buy it as a starter skill. My attacks were all still level one but given that BITE had torn a man’s throat out I wasn’t sure that I wanted to see what it would do at level 2.

I had also levelled the LUMBERJACK and SEARCH skills and unlocked WOODCRAFTING and SPINNING at level zero. It had been a successful day. Why did I feel so awful?

I sat on the log bench by the fire thinking, trying not to feel awful, for a lot longer than I meant to. Eventually Aldo, one of the charcoal burners and the man who’d temporarily given up his tent for me, sat down next to me.

“I know you’ve been telling everyone that you’re fine, but are you really, though?” he said.

“I’m not fine,” I said, “I’m just as fine as I can be under the circumstances, you know?”

“I know,” he said and to my surprise he sounded sincere. “I remember my first Murder Hobo. It was the night of my first solo burn. It’s better to light the stack at dusk so you can see the colour of the flames better in the darkness. He came charging at me out of the gloom holding a spade of all things. I thought it was a joke at first, thought maybe it was my Da or one of my brothers, but no. It was a stranger and he really was trying to kill me. I don’t remember exactly how the fight went but I know it ended when he went face first into the top of the stack and his head caught fire. I never heard screams like it before or since and I hope I’ll never hear anything like it again.”

“That’s awful,” I said. “How did you cope with it?”

“Not well,” he said, avoiding looking at either me or the fire by looking down at his sturdy boots. “Not at first anyway. It was a while before I was ready to attempt another solo burn. You don’t have to be fine right away. It’s okay for it to take time. If you’re worried about sleeping alone I can move my bedroll back into my old tent for a night or two. There’s plenty of room.”

“Well if you’ve gone off Fred already I can hardly deny you your own tent.”

“Right, yes,” said Aldo, “That’s definitely why I’m offering to keep you company.”

“That’s going to be my story as long as Jethro is asking,” I said, and I saw realisation dawn on Aldo.

“I’ll just get my bedroll,” he said, and he headed in the direction of Fred’s colourful tent, loudly complaining that Fred’s snoring was just too much.