3

 

  And they sit in a cozy tavern, and things start happening...

 

  From behind the wooden door, the aroma of delicious food seeps onto the street and further into the village, a narrow, low-ceilinged, nameless tavern with moss-covered walls, permeated with the scent of tobacco and beer. Behind the counter, an overweight man in a faded linen jacket with receding hair and greedy, gleaming eyes, the innkeeper Elfroin, busies himself. He slides frothy mugs filled to the brim along the counter to the customers, of which there are only about a dozen in this deserted village, gold coins clatter onto the counter and disappear into his grimy apron pocket. Steaming soups and dishes are swiftly placed on the tables, where you can hear the sound of mouths chewing, clinking of dishes, and loud chatter that's difficult to understand due to the mix of languages. A group of boisterous miners, with dusty coats and rust-colored beards, provoke and argue with each other. In a dim corner of the tavern sits a naked senorita with plenty of gold and pearls adorning her neck, playing a gentle tune on a mandolin while humming in a distinctive dialect from the south.

 

"Hey there, boys, travelers, what can I do for you? We have dishes, soups, drinks, and two gold coins each from all of you, and the table is yours!" Elfroin shouts with a raspy voice from afar. "And if any jingling happens to fall into my pocket, maybe it could make the senoritas' lives more enjoyable," he adds with a laugh, revealing his white teeth. Four gold coins land on the counter, the men shrug at each other, order the local hemp-brewed dark mead and two rabbit stews with vegetables. They guide themselves to a dimly lit table by the wall. A candlestick with a bluish flame is the only source of light. Moments later, the ale arrives on the table, foaming over from clay mugs, and the jovial innkeeper, with his gleaming cheeks and sweaty forehead, whispers to Fambrich, "When you're done, you're expected in the back room, but until then, enjoy your time and feast." The hefty oak table fills up with strong ale and dishes. They munch, gorge, and smoke pipes. After the first round, the men loosen up.

 

"Three coffers of gold, you owe?" says Axir.

"I know the price," Fam replies with a frothy beard.

"You've dragged us all into this."

"I'll sort it out; no one has to suffer."

"You should take better care of yourself, and you won't be working anymore."

"I'm tired."

"Escape is not the solution..."

"What do you know? You always run off when the snow comes."

A silence ensues, and the atmosphere is thick with wounded pride. Fists clench but quickly relax. The mugs empty, and the minds soften. Soon, transparent-hooded senoritas arrive, adding to the men's comfort with their body dances. They sit on laps, coax, and demand gold coins. The gentlemen are not stingy, and money disappears from their pockets, coin by coin.

 

Fambrich feels a painful pinching in his hip. The dagger on his belt begins to glow painfully, not burning, but ominously flickering and vibrating, a light violet color. Fam knows that this "charm" becomes particularly agitated when the situation turns dangerous. And the longer the blade, the bigger the opponent or the threat. This time, the weapon suddenly calms down, leaving only a tingling sensation as a reminder. There is no magic, only technology and sleight of hand. These supernatural gadgets are just pure craftsmanship and mystery. Perhaps he's too drunk, but from the shimmering haze emerges a creature with a silvery body and disproportionately long arms. Fambrich pushes the girl away, but the creature vanishes into thin air. Fambrich tries to grab it, but his hand grabs only air, and he falls back onto the bench, taking a sip of his drink.

 

"Something's wrong here," he mutters into his frothy beard and stumbles to the counter, where he spots Axir having an intimate conversation with one of the senoritas. He signals to his friend, who takes his hat from the hook, a hat with no feathers, and together they head to the tavern's storage room. The door closes with a creak, and in front of them is a dim corridor with a small glowing bull's-eye lantern on the wall.

 

"Men, men," says a soft, low female voice. "We have a problem here," she continues, sitting in the shadows, the torch in the wall bracket barely illuminating the room, revealing only long, slender legs adorned with brown leather thigh-high boots.

 

"Have you noticed anything strange in the Bluebell Valley?" asks the voice from the corner.

 

"No," says Axir softly.

 

"Then you have a good life here, but for how long? Have you noticed any anomalies here?" the stranger says condescendingly.

 

"We don't have scientists and engineers in Downhill
village, not for at least two hundred years; we can manage without those absent-minded and moody individuals," Fambrich proudly says. "We've managed before, and we can now; we have Iiloi, who invents when necessary," he continues.

 

"IILOI IS DEAD," she says, and her pale face suddenly appears in the dim light, with a long straight nose and large deer-like eyes.

 

"Experiments are useless, hypotheses cannot be proven," she says. Axir clenches in anger; his muscles tense under his tight shirt, and his breath is taken away, but he can't move. Something strong and unknown keeps him anchored to the floor, like unbreakable chains, not a single word comes out of his mouth, only anger and defiance. Fam's dagger doesn't glow, the technology fails, and he is lifted high into the air, crashing against the ceiling, hanging there like a spider, his back against the ceiling, suspended. Not a word, just anger and defiance. The magnetic field breaks, and both men crash onto the stone floor. Now, the tavern keeper's wife, Magrik, enters, her shapely, captivating body wriggling like a snake as she tip-toes back and forth, her long fingers pressed together in prayer, she says calmly, "We found her strangled."

 

"Magrik!" Fam exclaims in surprise as he dusts off his coat. "Why such a reception?"

2

 

 

"Bad dreams and sleeplessness, the journey to the city can begin....

 

"Grizzly, impenetrable, damp, mysterious mist, fumbling with hands not knowing what you touch or where you stumble, tree roots like tentacles around the legs, tree branches like loops around the neck, suffocating, twigs like tiny needles scratching and biting the body like annoying mosquitoes. Mud, deep and gurgling, a slippery, greedy mouth that speaks in secret, devouring everything into its insatiable belly. A giant tail slams with a splash into the water, sharp teeth pull the body into a muddy hole.

Sweaty bodies shiver in the middle of the night and leap from the skins on the floor and sigh deeply. They sit on the steps almost until morning, bathed in moonlight.

"If you want, you can come with me, I'm going to the village tomorrow," says Axir coldly in the morning.

"Two years before you left, we last went there, I haven't had any reason to go there, Iiloi keeps an eye on me here..." he continues.

"You know best how thick your skin is," says the indifferent, sleepy Axir.

"It is indeed," mumbles Fam and lights his pipe.

 

They lazily wander towards the village along a rocky and overgrown forest path, through meadows, over darkening fields, skirting the edges of newly sprouting crops. The journey is not very long or winding. A gentle breeze blows, swaying the grass and tree branches. Axir limps, but his proud posture doesn't allow him to show himself as sick; he straightens his back and adjusts his fancy wide-brimmed hat adorned with a large green feather. Fam wears a linen shirt and brown leather breeches, with a small dagger hanging from his belt, wearing a knitted vest and a satchel slung over his shoulder. He seems to sniff the air as he pauses for a moment and looks up at the sky. "Crows, only crows, I say, that doesn't mean anything good," he mutters. When everything is too beautiful and peaceful, it doesn't always mean good. Excessive silence makes one anxious, like an ominous, mysterious beauty. His gaze is skeptical.

 

"BOOM-BOOM-BOOM."

They look at each other and shrug.

A strange sound that makes the treetops tremble and the ground slightly shake, a flock of birds rises into the air squawking. Almost deafening. The carpenter had heard this sound before, a few times in recent memory.

Downfield is a very small and quiet village; there is nothing here. Time-worn but well-kept buildings, a market for acquiring goods, and a place of worship. There are few people, and intrigue is rarely encountered. The laborers mainly fight after larger drinking bouts. There are no witches here, and they haven't been seen here either. The only healer in this land is the witch-monk Iiloi. But what does he know, the last attempt at herbal medicine went to the pigs, who suffered from stomach troubles afterwards. Nature knows everything and knows it best. When it's time to die, there's no help for it, you have to go. Making summer into winter is impossible, but when the snow starts falling, it's another miracle. So, rituals often take place - all for the sake of a good life and abundance.

"We never have rain here in Downfield," the locals say, "We have dew, that's why everything is green and lush here." Thunder was last heard behind the mountains, but it never reached here.

 

Fambrick the Carpenter  can show places he has built with his own hands. "Remember, Axir, when we carved those maple wood pillars for the sacred site and lifted them with a winch, remember how we dragged huge rocks to be cut into floors and walls, do you remember, my old friend," Fam finally tries to continue the conversation. His gaze drifts over the long pillars of the sacred site, which tower like masts from the ground into the sky, and he leans comfortably against one.

"Through hardship and suffering, with all our blood and sweat," Axir says bitterly, and he remembers that they were the first to arrive in Blueflower valley years ago. The three of them built the village as it is now, and thanks to them, the village came back to life. Pioneer Axir came first, broke through, trod the paths. He was looking for gold, and he did find some here in small amounts, collected it, dug it up, and put it in a big chest, which he later carried, loaded with mules, along the winding path to the city on the mountain. Then he came back here, because his soul remained here. He took Fambrick and Iiloi as his companions and traveled every winter like a tracking dog into oblivion, only to return in spring. But there was no more gold here; there was something else here. And Fam stayed here. He built. Left behind his beloved wife Fija and six children: Eeno, Ion, Aalo, Aen, Freid, and the youngest Hen. "They'll come to join me here sooner or later," he comforted himself some evenings. Even the priest-monk Iiloi stayed in one place, spent time getting to know nature and the forest, poisoning himself with various plants. They didn't expect him back anymore, so he stayed and trod the forest paths.

 

"That was the time when we skinned a rabbit in the woods," Fam says.

"I don't remember," Axir responds.

"We threw it on the coals and waited," Fambrich daydreams and still leans on the long maple wood pillar.

"Well, I don't remember; I've been having a hard time with my memory lately," Axir shrugs.

"We had been tramping in the swamp for a long time; our vision was already black, and it was the last straw in the pouch," says Fambrich and continues, "You wanted to marry me off with a shotgun, do you remember?" He points to a small scar on his belly. "You were angry, your eyes were wild."

"Will-o'-the-wisps in the fog saved me."

"That was indeed lucky. When we arrived in the village, we drank in the tavern right here, and you stole my last gold coins to go gambling," Axir says bitterly.

"Hehehe, I really don't remember anything from that night," a mischievous laugh comes from Fam's mouth.

"Iiloi saved your skin that time, as he did for you repeatedly."

"He got in the way by accident; that's what saved me."

"And the taste of that roasted rabbit comes back to me, and those sapphires, let Elfroin, the old boar, release the taps," Fambrick the Carpenter rubs his hands together.

1

The air is exceptionally fresh and crisp on this early morning. Fambrich, the Carpenter, has just gathered eggs from bird nests in the distance and cooked them on a hot stone, eating about half of them, causing his belly to bulge.

He leans back on the stairs, his legs stretched out in front of him, wooden clogs dangling carelessly from his toes. He lights his pipe and lounges there with his dirty sleeves pulled over his mouth. Fam is the carpenter of Blueflower valley, a valley filled with bluebells. He puffs his pipe, carved from apple wood, towards the bluish-gray clouds in the sky.

He scratches his wrinkled hand with black nails under his nose, gazes intently at the Blueflower valley in all its glory, unfolding from his staircase. The ancient riverbed meanders oval-shaped until the horizon, ending with the towering Straight Cliff, which no one has ever dared to climb. It rises towards the sky so straight, majestic, and even frightening. A green meadow runs through the narrow valley, with a few houses and outbuildings scattered here and there, a small village nestled in the midst of lush greenery. In spring, the valley reveals its full beauty, transforming from a sea of bluebells to blue, sprinkled with the yellow flowers of Snowdrops, like brushstrokes on a canvas. Fambrich sighs and hums an old tune, which his grandfather used to sing long, long ago:

Look for the time,

When you must toil,

Fields will spread here again,

And the green grass will grow.

Now, little man,

Go, go,

Find the gold

And dig up the earth

Once wriggled there

On that mound

A darkish eel.

He hums as he puffs on his pipe. It has been a while since he exchanged words with anyone, and he drifts into his thoughts, not realizing that someone has stopped behind his garden fence. It's late spring, and the Pioneer has returned from his long winter journey. This time, he arrived on foot, not vigorously rested but stumbling with the support of a cane. His once proud green coat is torn and black as night, barely standing, his head and body covered in blood and mud, like a war casualty. They look at each other for a long and tense moment, without saying a word. The traveler leans on a long stick, coughing heavily, and blood flows from his mouth and nose. His face is pale and his eye sockets are black. He doesn't say anything anymore, collapses right there during a coughing fit, falls onto the green grass, and breathes heavily.

 Fam takes a moment to think, then jumps up from the stairs and tries to carry the man to his shelter, but he is so heavy that Fam can barely manage it. With great effort, he grabs him under the arms with both hands and pulls him towards the stairs. The Pioneer is a hefty figure, tall, strong, and heavy. The carpenter is much shorter but sturdy. After much effort, he drags the limp body to a corner of the room and places it on prepared animal hides. These hides are always ready, just in case someone gets lost in Blueflower valley, and they can rest peacefully and fill their belly with whatever the host has to offer. Fam takes off the traveler's dirty and tattered clothes and throws them on top of the hot coals in the fireplace. "Those rags are of no use anymore, but your body is in a sorry state, covered in bruises, blue marks, and scratches. You've had a tough time, my friend," Fam thinks as he tends to his old comrade and travel companion with hot water and clean towels. Wrapping his body with chamomile and tea compresses to alleviate his injuries, he lights a beechwood fire in the room. Massaging and rubbing the sore bones and joints. He nurses him for about a week or more. One morning, the traveler opens his eyes and looks at Fam's modest but well-organized room, lit by large windows that brighten the small kitchen. On one side stands a massive oak table, and at the edge of the room is a hearth built from river stones, with a few shelves on the walls for essential items. He's situated next to the chimney, on top of hides, to keep warm. He tries to sit up but stumbles due to his weakened body. "You saved my life," Axir mutters and looks down. He tries to light his pipe with a practiced motion, but a coughing fit makes him drop it on the floor.

"Cough... cough... cough."

"You're still weak, old friend," Fam says quietly. "You need more rest."

"I need some fresh air," Axir says and attempts to stand up from the table. Fam helps him to the door, and they step outside.

The spring sun shines through the door, and a gentle breeze blows. Axir is barefoot, standing on the steps, gazing into the distance. He grabs a nearby stick, leans on it, and tries to take a few desperate steps on his own, but with great difficulty. It's clear that his will to recover and regain his strength is making his eyes sparkle, and his energy is returning. He eventually sits down on the steps. "Look, Fambrich, blueflower valley is beautiful, more beautiful than anywhere else, I know because I've seen other places. No, those weren't bandits who attacked me; it was something bigger, something much crazier... If only I could remember. It's all like it's been wiped from my mind. I remember a fight, muddy water, a bow and arrows. I'm just glad I survived, and how did I end up here?"

"Iiloi has been waiting for you long before the snow melted, thinking you let her down again," Fam says with a playful tone and tosses a bundle to Axir, containing neatly rolled pants and a shirt.

Fam had been fishing in the morning, catching some plump perch from the nearby winding river. He cleaned them and added a bit of salt, and now they're ready to be cooked, together with the skin in the hot coals. They're cooked to perfection, and they savor the meal. Each of them enjoys three bites, along with a piece of fresh bread. Fam sits across from Axir at the table, but they still don't speak a word."