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The Waystation Ch.32
🕑 Added 2023-07-01 08:17:11 +0000 UTCChapter 32
Farming, Fighting, and Feelings. I
A Banshee’s smile can mean many things, most of which Bert suspected were bad news. As the pixie reluctantly put away her knives, to the visible relief of the fairy whose fingers shook as she put away her own knife.
“I don’t think we have any refreshments,” The Banshee said distractedly, “Maybe I can buy some from you?” She nodded at Bert.
“Uh, sure.” Bert was still reeling from the events of the past few hours.
“Wonderful,” She turned to the fairy, “Will you please send a runner to buy refreshments for our guests from their Waystation.”
“Yes, Caretaker.” The fairy flew in a wide arc, keeping as far from a sneering Bell as possible.
“Then, I shall begin.” The Banshee floated behind the wooden bar and waved for Bert, Bell, and Percy to sit.
Bert and Percy exchanged a look before taking a seat. Bell still hovered in the air, sneering at the fairy cowering in the corner.
“I shall start at the beginning then, as it plays a part in all of this,” She waved at the reconstructed building. “I was born Nadine Margrette Nichols a very long time ago. I lived in a small village with my parents. That old story, we were poor but happy enough. My childhood best friend was a boy who lived in the manor. He was the Mayor’s son but the whole family was kind. They didn’t consider themselves better than others. As kids, we went everywhere together, always getting into mischief that, of course, his parents got us out of.” She paused. “Until they didn’t. We were teens when it happened. My friend and I had been getting closer as we aged. It was nothing serious, but we had feelings for each other. One day we kissed and were caught mid-way through.” She laughed. “At the time, we figured no one would care. Two teens sharing their first kiss was hardly a big deal. But I was wrong, of course.” Her face twisted slightly with old anger. “That night, when I got home, my parents were sitting in the front room with the Mayor and his wife. I waved happily to them; after all, they were like a second family to me.” She looked at the three guests and nodded. I can see you know what comes next, “It was explained to me at great length that while it was fine for their son to be a friend to a ‘low-class girl,’ it was a different thing to dare to kiss him.”
“Bastards,” Bert sighed.
“They told me this as I sat between the people supposed to love me. I loved them all, and they patiently explained that I was trash… a worthless creature.” She sneered. “I almost believed them until the anger came. I ran from the house, crying, to the only person I felt I could trust. My friend.”
“Oh, boy,” Bell muttered.
“I see this story is familiar to you as well.” She smiled bitterly. “It is not exactly novel, I suppose.” She sighed, “He told me his parents were right… I was not suitable. But he offered to see me in secret. Told me I could be his little low-born fun. So I slapped him.”
Bell cheered before the Banshee went on.
“I ran into the night, all their words in my head. Low-born, unsuitable ideas above my station. I felt as useless as they all said I was.” The bitter smile again. “I never went home again. I ran on through the woods and out the other side and kept walking. Since I was of so little value to anyone, even myself, I simply scavenged for food as I went. If anyone ever came looking, they never found me.” She looked at the new wooden bar for a second, “Then, one day, I came to an old farm. There was a boy a little older than me sweeping the porch. He was a little frightened at first,” She laughed. “I must have looked a sight after weeks of living off the land. He yelled in shock, his father coming out and seeing me as well.” She paused and took a deep breath. “It was just the two of them there; the farmer’s wife had died two winters before.” She looked at them again. “The farmer was only middle age, not old enough to be alone….”
“No.” Bert hung his head briefly before looking up in surprise as the Banshee laughed.
“That is where my story changes. He came over and asked if I was okay. I told him no. He asked why and after so long alone, I just told him. Then I stood there and waited for them to hit me, send me away, or whatever they decided. He smiled and simply said I was their family now.” She chuckled. “It was only later that I realized how bad his saying that could have been. Instead, they gave me a place to wash, some of his wife’s clothes, and a room of my own. When they went into town, they introduced me as a distant cousin who came to live with them. I was family. But of course, I wasn’t. And, of course, I felt grateful. When the son got to be marrying age, I offered to marry him.” She cringed at the memory. “His father was furious, and I waited to be told I was not good enough. Instead, he declared I was like a daughter to him and would not marry my brother.” She laughed at the memory. “As he hugged me, he whispered that I was too good to be some poor farmer’s wife.” She beamed. “I believed him, and his son married a nice girl from the neighboring farm. I was soon to leave the farm as well, being sent on my way with a small fortune that the farmer’s wife had saved for a daughter they never had a chance to have.” She grinned. “I turned out to be very good at business, and in a few years, I passed by the farm for the last time, burying my adopted Father in a tomb fit for a king before I struck out to claim a spot in a new city.” She faltered for a moment as food and drink arrived via exhausted runner.
“Don’t stop,” Bell said as she settled down to eat on Bert’s shoulder.
“I arrived a month before the new lord was going to arrive, buying a plot of land outright from his representative on the city's outskirts. I had all the materials in my caravan and, by hiring the first settlers to work for me, had a full Ale House built in under three weeks.” She grinned. “I had the first building in a new town, and it proved very good for business. While everyone was scrambling to put up tents, log cabins, or sheltering in half-completed stone buildings, my lights were shining in the night, offering warmth, food, drink, and a comfortable bed. When the lord arrived, he bought out a room for a full year rather than sleep in the expensive tents provided.” She laughed. “This is where the rumors get it wrong. We were never in love. No, we were friends. Allies in building the new city. And when he married, I was there in the front row.”
“Did you ever see that boy or your parents again?” Bell asked.
Nadine smiled. “I saw him once, many years later. He was now Mayor and came to request trade and alliance for his own expanding village. When he arrived, I was in the Lord’s office to tell him the latest gossip. He was such a gossip hound, but no one gossips to the Lord. So I brought him all the juicy bits.” She beamed. “In walks that boy, all pomp and ceremony, with a trail of followers. His hatchet-faced wife, his fat advisors, and bows before the Lord as if he was doing him a favor. When he saw me… the little bastard blinked and asked it if I was busy ‘servicing’ the Lord and,” She laughed, “Well, I never heard the rest because the Lord punched him so hard he broke the bastard's jaw.”
Bert couldn’t help but cheer. Even Percy seemed approving.
“He threw them not just out of his office but out of the city. Dragged the screaming Mayor through the streets and dumped him outside the gates himself. It was all the gossip talked about for a month. Everyone assumed I was the Lord’s love, but it was simply that he would not stand to see a woman he respected, who he called a friend, talked to like that.” She wiped a single ghostly tear from her cheek.
“Blimey,” Bert chuckled. “Never thought I would hear of a Noble I might have liked.”
“He was unique; I’m sad to say. I died before him, a fever taking me one night after a long illness.” She shook her head, “And then I was somewhere… incredible… but those memories are locked to me now. I know they are there, but I can’t get hold of them for some reason.” Nadine looked wistful for a moment, “One day, I opened my eyes and was back in the city, the people all undead, and found myself a Banshee. I searched the city, hoping that my friend had also returned, but no.” She nodded to Percy, “I don’t know if I came back because of what you did, but I think so.”
“Then you have my apologies,” Percy stood and bowed to her. “It was a complex spell, and I knew there could be… side effects.”
“You saved your people,” Nadine nodded, “Just like my Lord would have done. At any cost.”
“Sorry to spoil the moment,” Bert interrupted.
“No, he’s not,” Bell said in a sing-song voice that Bert ignored.
“But how does any of that make you the Caretaker?”
“I still own the land and the building you resurrected.” Nadine smiled. “Apparently, the Lord’s representative sold the deed to me in perpetuity, even after my death. The law says it is still mine as I had no descendants.” She paused, “Can I ask a question?”
“Sure,” Bert and Bell said together.
“How did you make all that energy at the end to push it over the top?” Nadine asked.
“How did we what?” Bert asked in confusion.
“Nothing, doesn’t matter!” Bell said quickly, pulling Bert’s ear and dragging him out of the building. “We need to check on Scruff and the rest; come on!”
“What the fuc–” Bert said as he was dragged out into the street. “Bell!”
“Yes, Bert?” She said innocently.
“What was she talking about?” Bert asked suspiciously.
“Who knows, probably still loopy from joining with the new Waystation,” Bell said.
“I suppose, but….” He looked back.
“I wonder if I can get Scruff to grow me something explosive?” Bell said with a giggle.
“Bell, no!” Bert whirled, his confusion forgotten in a moment of horror. “We are not having explosive vegetables!”
He ran off after the giggling pixie, pushing his stats to the maximum to try and prevent the creation of an incendiary salad.
==============
Scruff looked over the seeds with a suspicious eye. She was still not sold on the idea of growing what she saw as ‘basic’ crops. It would be nice to have a bit of her fields that she could show people without them starting to scream, however. She chewed her lip as she considered what was a fair exchange.
“How old are they?” She asked the nervous-looking undead.
“A few years, but they are still potent. We used ones over ten years old with no problems.” He watched her hand nervously as it hovered over a tray of her own seeds. Eventually, she selected a dozen of the bloodberry seeds and held them out.
Scruff sighed as the grateful undead scuttled out of her cottage with the seeds cradled like a newborn. There was no denying it; she had no idea what she was doing. She had just handed over a dozen seeds in what she thought was an exchange for a handful of corn seeds. The undead had left the whole sack.
Thousands of seeds.
With a sigh, she put the sack in her spare room. It was kept company by several other sacks. She now had enough to plant entire farms of corn, an orchard of apple trees, a decent plot of potatoes, and several varieties of pumpkin, squash, and even carrots.
She was just starting to feel the anxiety settle on her again when there was another knock at the door. She opened it to see a young undead boy trying to sneak away.
“Yes?” She asked.
“Never mind!” He went to run, but she grabbed his collar before he got even half a pace. Living in the chaos of the Waystation had a way of improving your reaction speed.
“What are you up to?” She glared at the boy.
“Want a class!” He squeaked.
Scruff let him go and looked at him closer. All undead were thin, they were dead after all, but he seemed like he had been that way before he died. His clothes were clean and well-mended, but there was a look in his eyes that never went away…
“How long were you on the streets?” She said sternly.
“Two years before the orphanage.” He grinned. “One year after they left the window open.”
Scruff couldn’t help but smile.
“But I have a home now!” He said proudly.
“Why do you want a class then?” Scruff asked.
“Want to say thank you,” he said quietly, “They take real good care of me. Better than me own mum did even.” He held up an arm and pointed to neat stitching, holding closed a small tear. “They don’t even get mad when I get in trouble, even fix me clothes like a proper Mum and Dad.” He beamed.
“And now they want you to work?” Scruff said suspiciously.
“Naah, they said I wasn’t to worry about it till I’m older,” He sighed, “but they have to scrape by, ya know?”
Scruff did know. It was rare enough to find a decent family, but one that was skating by and still didn’t ask the kids to work was the dream of every kid that spent more than a single night on the streets.
She glared at the boy until he started to fidget.
“You’ll have to work to get it,” She said at last.
“I know, Mi- Um, Si-” The boy flailed.
“Call me… Boss.” She smiled, remembering Bud’s favorite term of respect.
“Yes, Boss!” The boy said proudly.
“I hope you don’t scare easily,” Scruff sighed as she led the boy round the back of the cottage to an uncut bit of lawn. Several of the plants snapped at him as he passed. The boy flinched but didn’t run.
There may be hope for him after all, Scruff thought.
It was getting dark by the time the boy could be pried from his tasks. His mother had turned up looking for him just after lunch, which made Scruff happy. The woman was currently sat watching the little undead work with a worried look on her face.
“Something wrong?” Scruff asked as she leaned against the wall and bandaged up her hands after fighting off a couple of persistent weeds.
“He doesn’t need to be doing this,” The woman sighed. “He’s had it hard enough already.”
“That’s why he needs it,” Scruff said. “You spend some time on the streets, it… well, it changes you.” She paused.
“How so?” The woman asked. “Please, we want to know how to help him.” She said, seeing Scruff’s hesitation.
“Well, when you are a kid, you know the world is a safe place. Your parent makes it safe. You kind of see them as your shield against everything.” She took a deep breath. “Until, all of a sudden, that’s not true anymore. You find yourself alone, scared, and your future is just… blank.” She fidgeted, “And so you have to make do. Fight for food, shelter, everything.” She looked into the distance. “If you are very lucky, you find somewhere safe again.” Scruff sat across from the woman and looked her in the eyes. “The thing is, you never forget. You never get that sense of safety back. It doesn’t matter how good the people who take you in are; they might be gone suddenly, it happened before, and you never quite stop waiting for it to happen again.” She looked out at the young undead digging the row. “He’s doing this for you but also for himself. He needs to know that if something happens, he won’t end up alone and penniless again.”
“Does it help?” The woman asked her.
“Not much,” Scruff laughed. “But enough to let you be happy again.” She smiled.
As the mother and son walked off across the bridge, Scruff let herself into her cottage and climbed down into the cellar. Something glowed in the darkness.
“Hello, little ones.” She called as the glowing creatures moved towards her. “Mummy is back!” She giggled at the feeling of their little tentacles tickling over her arms as they grabbed onto her.
She danced back and forth around the cellar with the glowing creatures trailing after her like kites. Taking a break from playing with her new charges, she moved over to the pots along the far wall. More shoots were pushing up out of the ground and reaching for their brothers and sisters already floating around the room.
“Hmm, Mummy is going to have to ask for more room before too long.” She smiled in the darkness, lit by the soft glows of her new creations.
She would never have to be afraid ever again.
Never.
Again.
