Castaway

[Mimi Pidders]

Fell Oxenfrey reviewed his plan once again and tried not to grimace. It was, by any standard, a bad plan with a decently high chance he’d die, or worse, become some sort of wandering beggar for a while. Logically, he knew being dead was worse than being poor, but after enduring more than a decade of the worst impoverishment of his life, he had no desire to sink even lower in the social strata.

Still, the alternative was to show up at port in Evrotai and find the Scarlet Watch waiting for him. It seemed unlikely – Teos was quite far from the Four Kingdoms, after all – but it was not impossible. That his plan had gone awry that this level of panic was even necessary still stung. He’d planned his escape for literal years, only to have it be undone by Greta snooping through his possessions because she’d been convinced there was someone else.

There had been, of course – several someone else’s; he was handsome and suave and never lacked for partners – but that hadn’t given her the right. She said she’d just been tidying up as a favor to him, but he knew better. Still, her love for him had also inspired her to go to him with what she found rather than reporting him to the Watch, like she should have, and that had saved him.

It had been unfortunate for her, though, he thought with a lurch in his stomach. His skill with Divide was insufficient to really do much to her, and he was normally a gentle man, but when she’d threatened to go to the Wardens with what she knew and get him in trouble, he saw himself confined, beaten, imprisoned or worse, all over her broken heart, and he’d lashed out. He hadn’t realized he had actually strangled her to death, at first, but when he felt for a heartbeat and found that none remained, he grabbed his valise, all of the money he had, and a few changes of clothes, went to a practice room, and teleported away from the tower, making for Oxentide as fast as he could.

He’d been lucky that he had found a ship bound for somewhere far away, and that the ship captain was not from the Four Kingdoms, and that it was getting underway when he got there. They took him in, gave a cursory look to his fake papers that in retrospect did not justify the three years he’d spent carefully obtaining them, and then welcomed him aboard. They were underway before he saw the Scabs that he presumed were there for him, fume dragon and all. He watched as the dragon circled overhead, headed out into the harbor… and then turned around.

If the crew and captain thought anything of it, they had not outright accused him of anything.

Still, he was a wanted man, and they could check the ship’s manifest at the dock to know which port he was bound for. So if he wanted to stay a free man and not become a dead one, he had to get off of the ship before it reached its port of call.

Which left the plan.

There were islands here. He’d seen them before the sun set, and had seen structures on them, enough for a big village or a small town. He was still able to send Echoes out to them, which meant he was close enough to teleport to them if he set his mind to it. While he had no concept of what awaited him on the island, presumably it wasn’t the Watch, so it had to be this way.

Once again clutching his Valise, his fake papers, and all the money he had left, Fell departed from the ship as he’d entered it: hastily and at the last-minute.

He miscalculated slightly, and ended up about fifteen feet from shore. It was an amateur mistake, but he was stressed out and in an unknown land. Fortunately, he was an adequate swimmer, and the only consequences were waterlogged clothes and a lost boot. With any luck, it would wash ashore the next time the tide came in.

Then again, he thought, collapsing heavily in the sand, it’s not like fortune has been on my side of late.

Paradoxically, he laughed, then. He was scared, and alone, but he was free in a way he hadn’t been since he was barely more than a boy. Whatever happened next, it had been worth it.

[Andros]

The stranger was discovered by a boy who had gone down to the water to wash before the rest of the village woke up. He’d scurried right back up the cliff stairs when he caught sight of the sleeping man, ready to alert his family and neighbors.

Andros had slept poorly that night. He’d had his two year old grandson over for their weekly Pappa and Heraklion Day, which meant the boy slept on Andros’ floor and woke him twice. He loved his grandson dearly, like the son he’d never had, but he hadn’t missed the late night wake-ups from when the girls were small.

When word spread from house to house that an outsider was found sleeping on the beach, Andros was dead to the world (and so was little Heraklion, thank goodness.) Apparently nobody thought the situation merited pounding on the VIllage Headman’s door to make sure he’d actually heard the message. He’d have to have a word with somebody about that.

The first Andros heard of the visitor was when a teenage member of the village militia popped his head in through the window to call him out. They’d already fetched the man, apparently.

“Archon,” he called, using his title in the polite way younger villagers always do. “We found a man on the beach. He says he fell off a ship. He’s having breakfast in the square, waiting to meet you.”

“Allright, allright,” Andros responded with a yawn. “I’ll be right there. Get one of the wise women to look him over if they haven’t already. What’s his name? Where’s he from?”

“He’s Sven Fell.. Fell something….” the man stumbled, “Fellman. Didn’t catch where he’s from.”

“Sven Fellman,” Andros repeated, pulling a face. “What a bizarre name. Hard to get it out of your mouth. Very foreign. Must be a long way from home.”

He dressed quickly and walked out through his courtyard. Several of the girls were already up and about, chattering excitedly about the man Anthea claimed to have glimpsed through a crack in the wall.

“He’s huge, Baba, the biggest man I’ve ever seen. Handsome though.”

Andros harrumphed and sternly reminded everyone to stay in the courtyard, but also took a fried cake he was handed for breakfast and kissed his youngest, Irene, on the head on his way out the door.

One look across the village square told Andros that Anthea was right. The man was a giant, almost as tall as the first story of the building he was leaning against. And striking looking, too. Blond and blue-eyed and pale and sharp-featured. The girls would love him, a bit too much perhaps. Best to be hospitable and get him back on a ship to the mainland as quickly as possible.

On the other hand, as Andros took the man in,his curiosity grew. Someone so strange would have a lot to say, and Andros loved a good story. Perhaps a few nights dining and drinking with the village men were in order. Then they could send him off. And he’d had an ordeal, after all. It would be inhospitable to send him off before he could recover.

The instinct to defend his family warred with a natural inclination to friendliness and curiosity in Andros’ mind as he crossed the square and offered his hand to the stranger. Which would win out would depend on what he made of Sven.

“Good morning. I’m Andros, headman of this village. You’re on Mikronisi, if you haven’t been told, an island subject to Evrotai on the mainland. Tell me what happened to you. How did you get washed ashore, and where were you going?”

[Mimi Pidders]

Fell couldn’t help but feel that this had been a mistake. Not just the island bit of it, but leaving Radenor as a whole. These people were strange. Short, even the men, and broad, even the women, and dark, all of them. He’d seen how peasants developed tanned hides when they toiled in the fields during the summer, but all of these people were darker than that by quite a bit. He’d thought them all to be peasants for a bit, but he’d been visited by an older woman who pronounced him to be healthy and born under a misfortunate star, and given breakfast by a harried looking man with thinning hair and sloped shoulders, and they had been a less pale shade of brown, so presumably they were just all this dark here in Teos.

The breakfast was not up to his standards. Brown bread and strong cheese of some kind, and the bread was not too finely milled, either. He took it with a polite smile of thanks and ate it, because he was hungry and he knew better than to be impolite by refusing. It did not taste good, but it was edible, and certainly better than his own ability to cook, which was non-existent.

They all spoke Common, at least, although their accent was strange and their style of speech was rapid, as though they had no need to pause for breath. Fell was fluent in both Common and Gentavarese as was befitting a man of his status, but felt no need to speak to these people in a language he was sure would not be intelligible when they were already speaking a language intelligible to him provided that he told his ears to keep up with their pace.

“Ah, it is good to make your acquaintance, Lord Andros,” Fell said, trying to sound suitably impressed. Sven would be impressed, he thought, to be met with the headman of a village. Frey routinely dined with luminaries and artists and dukes, but Sven was also a peasant, so meeting an important peasant would presumably be a blessed day in his dreary life.

“I’m sorry to trouble you, Sir. I was bound for Evrotai and was enjoying the company of the sailors on the ship. Quite a bit, actually. There was a bit of drinking. Maybe a bit too much. Next thing I know, the ship lurched and I was tossed overboard. I’m lucky I made it to shore, to be honest. I know how to swim, luckily, but I’m no swimmer.”

He held out a hand for Andros to clasp.

“Sven Felman, Sir. At your service, if you need something made with clay. I’m a ceramicist.”

He wasn’t, actually, but he had years of practice making objects with Divide, and as long as he was left alone with a supply of mud, stone, or clay, the result would be the same. He could also make things out of glass, but glassblowing was a distinct skill for peasants and he didn’t want to give too much away. He was given to understand that nations beyond the Four Kingdoms were more lax with regards to magic, but if the peasants here were half as suspicious as the ones in Northradica, he could be welcomed in for breakfast and put on a pyre by supper if he weren’t careful.

[Andros]

The handshake was weak. Andros’ father was always very judgemental about such things. Shouldn’t a craftsman have a strong grip? he thought to himself, but dismissed that as uncharitable. It’s all well and good to be suspicious of strangers. It’s only natural, especially for an islander. But Andros tried to be more broad-minded than his neighbors. After all, he’d been to Evrotai many times in the army and to sell his wares. He was a man of the world, or at least a man of this part of Teos.

So he swallowed his prejudices about the stranger’s strange accent and his even stranger appearance and acted as hospitably as he ought to.

He laughed at being called Lord, correcting him gently.

“It’s just Andros. Technically my title is archon, but certainly not lord. I only got this job because these idiots needed someone in charge who could count past three and they elected me,” he teased. The small crowd of young men around him laughed.

“Boys, why don’t you get the guest house ready, and rustle him up a change of clothes, if we can find anything big enough.” They laughed some more and a few men scurried off to comply. Tee “guest house” was a corner of the shared stable that they’d clean and fit out with a fresh mattress. Smelly but perfectly dry and comfortable.. No respectable householder was going to invite an unattached male stranger to stay in his home and meet his women, at least not until they got to know him.

“Well, I’m afraid you’re stuck with us for at least a few days. There’s regular traffic between here and the mainland but no ships scheduled until…” he thought, couldn’t remember, then looked over at his son-in-law Antipater, Anthea’s husband, who served as his unofficial second-in-command in both business and village affairs.

“8 days,” he supplied helpfully.

“Yes, 8 days. Next market day. We’ll gladly put you up until then. Hospitality is sacred in Teos.. Now, come walk with me. I’ll show you around.” He started across the square, talking as he went. “That’s my home there. I’ve got 6 girls, one son-in-law, and one grandson with me.”

He named a few more village leaders and pointed out their compounds, then took Sven to the only building in the square that had any decoration. Made of coral hauled laboriously up from the beach, it was painted bright blue and fronted by four tall columns, each decorated with carvings of sea monsters. It was sacred space and social space all together. Andros loved his house and his girls, but sometimes he felt more at home here.

“This is the Men’s House. We take our evening meals there, and often we sit until dark. You’re welcome here at any time. Come.”

He led Sven inside. The single room was cool despite the growing heat of the day, shaded by a tile roof with large open windows that let in an ocean breeze. You could see the ocean out the back, shining in the distance. Five low stone couches topped with cushions surrounded a hearth whose embers were still smoking from the previous day.

This was the most beautiful building on the island. When the village had money, it went towards beautifying this place. Decorative carvings hung on the walls. Statues of honored ancestors looked out at them from dark corners. A row of cups on a table were in fact repurposed helmets taken from enemies in battle, showing off the village’s martial prowess. Bringing a guest here was an attempt to overawe him a bit.

“Tell me about yourself, Sven,” Andros asked as the stranger took in his surroundings. Where are you from? Surely you’re not of Teos. What brought you to our country?”

[Mimi Pidders]

Fell heard that Andros' title. Andros the Archon, he thought, and smiled. Easy enough. There were Archons in Radenor, too. Or, well. There was a singular Archon. Fell had never met the man, but he was the leader of the Guild Mages, and he was said to be close to eight feet tall with a pair of glorious wings. He was also said to take to the skies and hunt iconoclasts as though he were a fume dragon, so maybe it was for the best that he was not characteristically anywhere near Northradica, or Fell may have had to contend with him, too, when he fled.

He looked upset about the lack of traffic between the island and the mainland, both because Sven would presumably want to get to where he was going and because he, Fell, was a bit shocked. If the ferry truly came here so rarely, then this island was sleepier than he thought. Certainly, no one here would be able to afford his wares, which scuttled his chances of making this place anything approaching a home base.

On the other hand, the lack of contact with the mainland might make it a good place to hide out. If the Watch did bother trying to come and find him in Teos, maybe they wouldn't bother coming to this dinky little island. Anyone who knew Fell would know he despised places like this, so it would be more reasonable to look for him in the centers of culture that Teos offered ... such as they were.

"You have been blessed with a big family," he observed, both because Andros was clearly proud of it and because it was true. He noted that Andros noted the presence of everyone, but not a wife, and assumed there was a sad story there. Best not to pry.

The other structure was a bit stranger. It was the first building Fell had seen that had anything approaching an architecture to it -- everything else was just haphazard huts, the dwellings of peasants -- but it seemed an odd hodgepodge of elements. The pillars seemed quite incongruous compared to the rest of the structure, and the bright blue paint was garish to his eyes. Still, though, he understood the point of such things: it wasn't just to create something beautiful. It was also to show the viewer that the villagers had some amount of coin to rub together. So he complimented the structure and made impressed noises.

"A lovely place to socialize to be sure."

He wondered what the Women's Building looked like. Would it be the same, but with a slightly different color scheme? Would the architectural style be different? The Men's Building had hand-carved totem poles that he rather liked. They were crude, of course -- he could no doubt create something much better -- but they had real charm and workmanship to them that he appreciated. Everywhere, even here, people created. It made him feel a bit less homesick to see it.

"Ah, yes. Happily, Archon."

Sven actually had to duck under the doorway, but only just. Inside, his hair grazed the ceiling. Clearly, they did not do a lot of jumping up and down in here. He sat on a stone sofa and found it to be about as comfortable as a slab of carved stone could be, which was to say not especially. It was quite low to the ground. He was not sure if they had done that on purpose, or if this was just a normal height for this sort of furniture if one adjusted for the disparity between him and them.

The interior was... odd. There was a bit of everything. War trophies, fabric art, and carved art. No paintings save a series of small painted wooden tiles that seemed religious in nature. Fell had never felt overly called to The Path, but he recognized Venadak decently well, and this seemed a bit like a portrayal of his times in a country rich with wine and grain. Perhaps the people of the village thought that to be Teos. He'd been taught it was Daravin, but it just went to show that people saw what they wanted to see in religion.

Still, some of this stuff was done by a decent hand. Not most of it, but a few of the pieces, and it earned a smile of admiration from him, if not the overawed gushing it may have intended.

"You are correct in thinking I am not of Teos, Archon. I am a Journeyman Ceramicist, and my Master thought it would be good for me to learn techniques elsewhere in the world. Evrotai was the original thought, though as I mentioned, I stopped short of completing that journey, unfortunately. I am originally from Northradica, of the Four Kingdoms in Radenor. I grew up in Oxentide, a large port city, there."

"This is the first time I have left my country, and I seem to have made rather a mess of it," he said ruefully. "But you said you would house me, at least until the ferry arrived? If you have need of my skills in recompense, Archon, you need only ask. I am unsure if you have a kiln or a wheel or a spare workshop, but as long as I have clay and privacy, I can make you something, if you have need of it."

[Andros]

It was too funny. Andros knew better than to laugh at a stranger’s odd habits. He remembered the sting of mockery the first time he went to Evrotai - his manners, his clothing, his accent, none of it was right. He shouldn’t so the same to Sven, but he couldn’t keep a smile off his face. The man didn’t know how to sit properly. He had his behind flat on the stone, feet on the floor, back upright. It looked painful.

Andros grabbed two cushions from the pile and handed one to Sven.

“Like this,” he explained, then he placed a cushion over the next sofa and lay down properly on his side, leaning on his left elbow. “In our country only women dine upright. Men recline. It’s much more comfortable.”

He considered what Sven had said for a moment as he waited for him to lie down. And while he thought he scratched his stubble. Elena liked him clean shaven, but since she died he’d gotten lazy about it. And without her to pick out the mites, the lice were impossible to get rid of. He was always scratching one spot or another.

“We don’t have a potter here in town.” If that was different from a ceramicist, Andros didn’t know how. “But we did, in my grandfather’s day. He had a shed with a kiln but no wheel. If you’d like it’s yours while you’re here. The women would be grateful for anything you could make. The bastards down the hill - sorry, our esteemed neighbors in the Lower Village - they overcharge us. If you can beat their prices you’d leave here with a fat purse.”

Suddenly he felt a little ridiculous. This man must have been quite well off if he was traveling the world. Radenor was so far away it might as well be fictional. He didn’t think he’d ever even seen imported goods from there in the markets of Evrotai. He corrected himself.

“Well, we are a poor village. A fat purse by our standards anyway.”

That left an awkward silence, which he filled by standing m and offering a hand to help Sven up.

“Come. I have work to get to but I’ll see you’re set up comfortably to rest for the day. Pots can wait until you’ve recovered from your swim. You will join us tonight for dinner here, two hours before dusk.”

He put a hand on Sven’s shoulder, leading him back out towards the square.

“Now, tell me - do you have a wife at home? Any children?”

[Mimi Pidders]

Fell did as he was bade. The slab of stone did not magically become something it wasn't, but reclining with cushions was certainly better than sitting as he had. He nodded in thanks to Andros for showing him the proper way to sit. The comment about men and women sitting differently seemed odd to him, but he thought it best to let it go. There were probably things about Northradica that would make Andros' head spin, and the man had been kind and hospitable to him despite the strange circumstances surrounding his arrival. He was owed the benefit of the doubt.

Fell managed to look interested in the talk of their potter's shack. If he were an actual potter, he was sure that whatever they had would be inadequate to do much more than the primitive vessels that he'd seen in villages in Northradica from time to time: clumsy jugs with mismatched handles, pinch pots that were barely watertight, roof tiles that had to be cut with a tile saw after baking because they were too uneven to be used otherwise. Apprentice Ceramicists called for Master Carpenters.

Fortunately, it didn't actually matter. All he needed was a steady supply of clay, soil, stone, or sand, and he could make them whatever they wanted. He'd spent years creating things this way, and he did not find it particularly taxing unless he took on large works that required exquisite, meticulous workmanship. Somehow, he doubted anything in this village would require that.

"I look forward to seeing this Shed after my prescribed rest, Archon. Do you have a list of needs and wants that I could assist with? A few pots while I'm here, perhaps, or a vessel for holding wine? Something special for your household, perhaps?"

Fell was quite pleased with this offering. It was realistic for what an actual potter could do in a week, but it would only take him a day or two at most. He could spend the rest of the time doing nothing in particular, maybe even exploring the island if he could get away from the watchful eyes of Andros and his close-knit clan. If he were lucky, maybe spending some time with a beautiful woman, if he could find one amenable to such activities. It would be good to see what was on this island aside from one man's family compound.

He took the hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, putting a hand up to avoid clonking himself on the ceiling when he sprang up.

"I am as yet unmarried, Sir. In my city, it is expected that I become a Master before I marry. As an Apprentice or a Journeyman, I cannot devote myself to my craft while also heading a household. I am sure I do not have to tell you how hard it must be! You have done so quite successfully yourself, but it is a full time job. I would have no time to do as you have done and prove that I am worthy of the title of Master, which would be unfair to any woman who was wed to me."

He allowed Andros to guide him to the "guest house" which was, it turned out, a stable. He barely kept the contempt off of his face but the thanks he provided was perhaps a bit less fulsome than it should have been. The only time Fell had previously slept in such conditions was when he was fucking a pretty milkmaid for an enjoyable season as a Novus. She'd left the Tower once she'd gotten married, but he had fond memories of her as he did of many of his past conquests.

The straw they'd laid down was itchy and it poked, even through the blanket, but he was so exhausted that it didn't actually matter. It was scarcely five minutes after he bade Andros goodday that he was asleep.

[Andros]

There was a lot of excitement in the square. Maybe it wasn’t apparent to Sven before he disappeared into the stable, but the ordinary routine of village life was upended by his arrival.

First, every child was bouncing off the walls, running around and chattering excitedly, exchanging rumors about the visitor. The boy who had found Sven was mobbed and confidently answering questions - all incorrectly. The men were going about their work but stopping to exchange rumors themselves on their way to and from the pasture or the pier.

The women were busy too, because tonight there would be a festive meal in the guests honor. And somehow it was laundry day for every household - off schedule - so every housewife spent a few hours down by the river exchanging her own rumors. Only the marriageable women were behind closed doors, probably eavesdropping over the compound walls and sending younger sisters out for news.

Andros spent the day slaughtering a sheep for dinner, a rare treat. That meant a lot of time spent in prayer and talking to the animal, and then the butchering and clean up. When that was done it was past noon. On his way to the bathe in the sea (and before a nap), he poked his head into the barn on his way down to the water, checking that the guest had settled in. Sven was dead to the world.

A teenage militiaman was sitting lazily against the wall of the stable, as Andros had ordered. Sven wasn’t under guard, but he was being watched. Guests are sacred, but trust takes time. Andros hadn’t quite decided what to make of the man yet.

Like everyone else in the village, Andros was excited and fascinated by the stranger. Certainly no one from so far away had been here in many years. Andros wanted his stories. And as leader of the village, he knew that excitement like this could relieve the pressure of boredom. Young men who were chattering in the square were not stirring up trouble with the Lower Village or trying to sneak off with girls.

Excitement aside, a craftsman would certainly be a boon to the village. Sven could supply the villagers with their pots and bowls, and add his finer wares to the annual sales trip to Evrotai. If he became wealthy, he’d hire spare village labor to build a nice house and serve in it. Everyone would see their standard of living rise.

But why would a skilled, worldly craftsman want to stay here? Only one thing could tempt him. If Sven married a local girl he would have stay - she’d never be allowed to leave the island. And Andros had five local girls to spare. Marriage to a craftsman would be no shame, and he’d have the tallest grandchildren in town. Theodora, his second-born, was up next. But a man like would expect a handsome dowry. It bore thinking about.

Still, he had his doubts, however. Sven was so foreign and strange. His habits were bizarre and Andros sensed that he felt himself too good for the village. He was, obviously, but a wiser man would have hidden it better. At least he had the good manners not to say anything out loud. There was also the matter of his marital status. He had good reason to be single, it seemed, but a man his age with no wife or children - it was unnatural. He must have a mistress or two. Suspicious.

More seriously, Andros couldn’t stop thinking about the hands. He had met many craftsmen of all trades over the years. They weren’t not all as burly as a cooper or as grizzled as a tanner, but to a man all of them had strong, calloused hands that testified to hard work. Sven’s were soft and his grip was weak. Something didn’t add up. Perhaps they just do things differently in Radenor, but the incongruity set Andros on edge and dampened some of his enthusiasm.

But because he was a good leader and a people person, only his excitement showed when he welcomed Sven to take the couch next to him as the guest of honor that evening. The Men’s House was packed. Every man who had come of age was crammed into three concentric circles of couches surrounding the hearth. Boys brought out huge platters and cauldrons of food and set it by the fire, then scurried off to have dinner with their mothers. Jugs of wine were passed around and generously poured.

Andros was sitting head-to-head with Sven. As the crowd hushed, he whispered a few words to his guest.

“I’ll offer a toast, then you. Just a few words. It’s an honor. After we eat, we’ll have more toasts and they’ll expect you to speak. Tell them something exciting from home or from your travels. No one in this room but you has ever left Teos. We’re eager to hear about the word”

Then he stood and raised his cup, an intricately carved bronze helmet taken from an enemy officer and now filled with strong, fine wine, the best the village could afford.

“Friends, I won’t long delay you from this delicious feast. I offer a toast to the health and prosperity of our guest Sven Fellman of Radenor. We wish him an enjoyable stay among us and a safe return to his homeland.”

With that he downed his cup and sat down, leaving the floor to Sven.

[Mimi Pidders]

Fell was largely unaware of the effect he had on the village, both because he'd never lived in a village and because he was asleep for most of it. He slept fitfully, and awoke more than once from a nightmare where the Watch found him on this little island. He tried to reassure himself that this would not happen. It was unlikely they had even been waiting for him in Evrotai. Would the Watch really go through such trouble for a single iconoclast?

He knew that to be wishful thinking, however. The Watch did not forgive, and they did not forget. If they let him escape, it would give hope to every mage with aspirations toward freedom. It would encourage someone else to flee to Teos because there would be precedent that this strange nation was beyond their varithium grasp. He had to assume, therefore, that they were coming for him. He had enjoyed his time on the ship, and he had enjoyed his nap in this village. From here on outward, he had to prepare for the inevitability of their arrival. If he were incorrect and it never happened, so much the better. But in the event that they did, there was no harm in attempting to be prepared.

Fell knew he was no warrior. Resonance was not a martial magic. It was largely utilitarian. Its chief use in fights was distracting warriors and hurting them by making their weapons and armor vibrate and shatter, which would not work against the watch, cloaked as they were in varithium equipment. Divide could have proven more useful if he'd developed it more than he had, but with his current degree of mastery, the best he could do was impede people's aim and hurt them with thrown rocks or blinding sand. It was better than nothing, but it did not inspire confidence. He was not a fighter, and never had been.

So then, his best options were either to make friends with the people of the island and show that he was useful, or to move on, perhaps settling in Evrotai after a few seasons of an itinerant lifestyle. Which option would be better, he was not yet sure of.

As he bathed in the same beach he'd been found by earlier this morning, he was not yet sure which option made more sense. When he was certain no one was watching, he used Divide to move the sand of the beach then nodded in satisfaction. There was the big geode-like stone he'd made out of sand with his signet ring's crest in it, undisturbed. If it was not cracked open, it was waterproof and would hold his valise and all the money he'd fled with until further notice. He moved the sand back, easy as breathing, Then he spent an hour looking unsuccessfully for his other boot before giving up in frustration. It seemed he would be barefoot for now, as he doubted any of the men in the village had feet half as big as his.

He returned to the village close to the appointed time and washed his hands and face in preparation for the meal.

When he walked into the Men's House, he was impressed. Andros had arranged for a sheep to be slaughtered, first of all! It had been some time since he'd had fresh food, and he had been expecting more coarse bread and strong cheese, perhaps with a bit of cheap wine. Instead there was lamb, roasted vegetables and better quality bread with some kind of aromatic oil.

He nodded in acknowledgement of Andros' instructions and then followed what everyone else did. He drank when Andros finished the toast. The wine was not the finest he'd tasted, but better than what graced the tables of many minor nobility in Radenor who had aspirations of being cultured by aping their Daravinian neighbors. He still preferred beer, but wine was perfectly lovely, and would make a good accompaniment to the fatty meat.

When it was his turn, he knew to follow the example of the leader and keep it brief and to the point. Speaking longer or in more grandiose terms could be construed as an insult.

"My sincere thanks to the Archon and the men of Micronisi for welcoming me into your lives and your village. It is my plea to the Gods that your generosity is rewarded with prosperity and your hospitality with abundance. To your health," he finished, then quaffed his drink as Andros had.

He wasn't a big man nor a martial one, but he was willing to wager he could drink these villagers under the table.

[Andros]

Whatever else Andros thought about Sven, the man could hold his liquor. Andros strictly limited himself at formal occasions like this. On more relaxed evenings when it was just a few companions staying to drink after dinner, he’d cut loose and have as much as he liked. But when all the men were here enjoying a celebration, he needed to stay alert in case there was fighting (there usually was), and to be a good example to the youth.

That meant he was quite aware of the fact that a crowd of young bucks had made it their mission to get Sven as drunk as possible. They swarmed around him, filling his glass and toasting again and again. But they’re all small men, and Andros watched them fade one after another. Some fell asleep on their couches, others threw up outside then tried again, and some hauled themself home to wives who would be less than pleased to see them stumble in.

Sven drank them all under the table. He stayed alert and awake, speaking coherently and taking their gentle ribbing and impolite questions with good humor. Andros was impressed, genuinely. Somehow being able to hold his liquor made up - a bit - for the weak handshake. He was willing to mix with the peasants and enjoy their small pleasures. It was something, anyway.

Once the initial toasts were offered, all formality broke down. People got up and served themselves dinner, then moved from couch to couch to speak with different friends. Once the meal was done, some men brought out instruments and there was music and dancing. More toasts were offered whenever anyone felt the urge as the crowd got increasingly intoxicated.

A few hours in, a few of the older men banged their cups together and called for a story. A hush fell over the assembly. Andros was inclined to sit this one out but his father in law Creon, now the oldest man in the village, asked him to tell about the last visitor from so far away. Andros nodded and stood.

“It wound have been, oh 20 something years ago. Anthea was just a baby then. The visitor was the tallest woman you’ve ever seen, as tall as our friend Sven, with skin as blue as the ocean. And beautiful. Her name was Velexnia, and she was from the Helix Isles, far to the east, father even than Radenor I believe.”

He explained as best he could the enchanted voice that cried out in the night from a great distance, begging for help on a sinking ship. He described the creatures that fled into the deep as he swam through the black water to rescue her. And he said , with a little pride in his friend, that she was the first and only woman invited to dine in the Men’s House, by the unanimous will of the community. Not only because her tale simply had to be spun over dinner, but on account of her great friendship for the people of Upper Village.

It was a fine story and Andros made a meal of it, enjoying the crowd’s attention for a good ten minutes. They’d heard it all before and knew the laugh lines and surprises.

The Velexniad was a popular rerun, but still just a rerun. What the crowd wanted, what Andros was warming them up for, was a new story from a new face. Andros looked at Sven and nodded as he sat down and popped a grape in his mouth. That was all the encouragement the men needed and they began to call out his name, then chant it in unison and pound their fists or stop their feet in a rhythm. There was no choice. He would have to speak.