The Year Of The Bear - Ep.4

(Start at the beginning)

The last leg of Carmel’s journey down from the mountain had been as swift as it had been sweet. Leaving behind the cold winds and high peaks covered with snow felt as relieving as it had foreboding upon marching into them. His newly found companions, hardy as they were, had turned out to be a social bunch. They had lead the way through paths unknown to Carmel, and diminished much of the danger he would have faced on his own. All of this had been a welcome release from an otherwise dreary set of circumstances that had dragged him away from home, and into this part of the world.

By the time Carmel’s company walked into Ipswitch, a large crowd of townsfolk had gathered. The throng clustered tightly to one side of a level street flanked by fancy structures that were as good as mansions to the Wildermans’ eyes. While Carmel was no stranger to a whole host of folks hailing from many clans and tribes, it had been a rare occurance to see so many gathered together in one place at one time, and so casually to boot. The sight did not dissuade him though, and he, along with his companions slowly made their way forward to join the rear of the commotion.

At the center of the fuss was a man in a heavy blue robe, holding a roll of parchment, and decrying some overture’d babble. Carmel craned his neck to get a better look, scowling for the effort, and spotted a score of guards flanking the man at the center. Their faces were shawn and their haircuts foreign- not only to his eyes but the people here in general. For Carmel, something felt off about them, their look, their nature, their very presence in this place, and like bile that rose up from the stomach, he felt an iron rod of prejudice set in him. Only, like with most dealings of the gut, Carmel wasn't one to peddle with justification for such a feeling. These men carried an air of inhospitality about them, and not just from the way in which they brandied their sheathed swords.

Distracted though he was, Carmel felt a drop in the mood from the Bears’ surrounding him. Scowls’ formed on their faces, and most fell away to a discerning distance to talk amongst themselves. Carmel had gathered a long-minute of the Criers words when he turned to Dolev. The wild woman with her animal horns and baubles had seemed a mysterious sight to begin with. Time had only revealed that mysteries depth. The woman knew things, too many things, and Carmel had come to consider her some sort of shamen, or soothsayer, beyond his comprehension. She’d denied it when asked, claiming she was “merely a bear”- “and like the bear I feel when it is spring, I know where it is best to eat salmon, and in winter the groan of hibernation calls to me”. Whatever the truth she had a way of making him feel uneasy despite her intention. She was non-threatening though, at least in Carmel’s eyes, and he had come to appreciate her propensity for thought.

“This mans words are strange to me. It’s our tongue, but I don’t grasp any meaning.”

Dolev’s head turned slowly, her blue eyes shifting beneath the hood of her cowl to catch Carmel’ with a piercing look. “It’s Malady. Words of chaos. These are the servants of Yos, come to do vial work.” The words came as the grave and Carmel felt a wave of revulsion cut through him. The sensation confused him. Mysterious as she was, Dolev was small of frame, young in her years, and fair enough to stir a man's interests. The sensation, either through sheer surprise, or imposed by feat, felt otherworldly in this light. Whatever the case it stirred a defensive fire within him.

Carmel’s eyes scanned the crowd once more, darting from the Yos speaker, back to the Bears. Subtle movements plucked at his attention like a lutist tuning his strings. Weapons were being checked, belts and harness’ tightened. Nearby a number of the town's inhabitants melted quietly away. Tension rose in the air causing the hair on the back of Carmel’s neck to rise.

“You are lucky,” Dolev had turned her head back to the speaker but returned her gaze to Carmel once more, all casual and calm like nothing was happening.

“How so?” The scowl on Carmel’s face helped hide his puzzlement, but not half as much as his distracted looking about.

“You say you do not grasp their meaning. If the words are like water to you, they can only flow on by.”

The Bears barreled between them, Brown Beard forging the path. Kodiak, grinning from ear to ear, and with a skip in his step, swung off Carmel’s shoulder just long enough to whistle a comment in his ear.

“Draw your weapon, Just-Carmel, and follow.”

Carmel exchanged one last look of concern with Dolev, then was swept up by whatever mad business the Bears had in mind.

(Continue to Ep.5)

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