Reincarnated As A Peasant - Book 1 Chapter 41: The Farmer And His Family

1 Month Before Kadra’s Ascension

Two Months Before New Voidling Incursions

Rural Western Duchey, Kingdom of Mankind

Landar

I heard the twigs snapping almost lazily as my prey moved towards the clear meadow I had been watching for the last two hours. Watching and waiting. The cold of early winter was biting against my skin in a familiar way that clouded my mind with dark memories. I took deep, slow breaths to shake them, and refocused on the hunt.

This will finish topping our meat stores off, so I won’t have to go back out once the snow gets here. I shook the thought away, I had to focus. I had been on my way back to the Farmstead from town, having completed another shipment of reinforced nails for the blacksmith when I had heard the mating call. It was late in the season for a bull to be in rut, but it wasn’t entirely unheard of.

First I heard the scraping of metal infused antlers on stone tree bark. That had been the first sign the Farmer had taught me to look for, or rather listen for. Then, I heard the heavy breathing, and frustrating chuffing. That had been the second clue. And if the noise was anything to go by, it was going to be a major haul. The buck must have been massive to make so much ruckus all on his own.

That made me look for the closest blue grass meadow, a Copper Tip Deer’s favorite food source. Once I found it, all I had to do was wait.

My bow was strung, my hand crafted arrow loose in its draw and the arrowhead gleamed with its mana hardened obsidian black tip. That had been the first real gift I had given back to the Farmer and his family after they had rescued me that winter all those years ago. The stronger, more easily maintained hunting arrowheads. Something they would never have been able to afford on their own, and I was able to provide it to them. Making the Farmer and his son’s hunting trips that much easier that winter.

The memory made me smile a little. The pride I had felt at giving back in a real, tangible way, was still there. Healthy as ever. Sure, there were darker memories behind it. But that one? Being rescued by the farmer and his wife and children? That had been a good one.

Walking out of the city while it was still on fire like I was a zombie, my shoes were quickly eaten up by the road. My bare feet were cut to pieces by the cold, nearly frozen stones at first. Why I didn’t stop and fashion new ones, I wasn’t sure. I still didn’t remember everything that happened, or exactly how I got out. But I had been on the main road south, with cut up bloody feet as the first snows fell.

And they kept falling.

Winter came exceptionally early that year, and I was hardly the only one fleeing south. Fleeing the violence the city had degenerated into.

Enough, I told myself, shaking my head in frustration. The past is behind you. Leave it there, until you can do something about it.

That had been the mantra gifted to me by the farmer’s wife, Wilma. She was a kind hearted woman, hard working, and tough as cold stone when she had to be. But she was warm as a good fire after a long winter trek on the road most other times.

Her husband, Fradel, a weird name if anyone ever heard one, preferred to simply be known as The Farmer most days. His mother had been a drunk and a whore, according to town rumors and she had meant to say Fred when he was born but slurred the words so badly the gray priest who had helped with the birth wrote it down wrong.

But the man had built himself a home, scraped together a barely producing farm out of rocky land no one else wanted, and then convinced Wilma’s father to let her marry him.

The two had a truly intimidating number of children at twelve. And those were just the ones that had survived so far. There had been others, lots of others, according to gossip in town. Life out here in the middle of no where, far from any large city and off the main road ways was dangerous and difficult. To say the least.

They lived modest lives, if by modest you meant third world levels of poverty and food insecurity. But they were all of them, hard workers. Most of the children were old enough to help out around the farm, and so the house, which had been a small one bedroom, kitchen, and storeroom smaller than my family’s old apartment back in the capital had been, had grown over time.

Now, it had seven rooms. Most with two or three kids to a room. With the oldest children having their own small cabins on the rather large farmstead. The land was piss poor for farming domestic crops. But it was rich in wild berries, game, and other sources of food. Making hunting and gathering far more reliable then planting and harvesting. Something the entire family, including myself for the last several years, was constantly at work doing.

Roots, berries, hares, and a type of pheasant like bird that was as stupid as Quail in mating season but faster on the ground then it was in the air were common stock. Which was saying something. It was far more effective to lay traps, then to actively hunt most days.

But the farmer kept working. Kept tilling his crappy fields, and removing boulders and stones from them each and every year. The meager crop they gathered in was always more work than it was worth in my estimation.

“Gets easier every year,” the old man insisted. But I wasn’t so sure. It was back breaking work. I was sure the man had cut his own life span in half from just how much he . . .

The buck stormed out of the underbrush and into the center of the meadow. Hot breath streamed from his nostrils as he angrily took in the scene. He was breathing heavily, and still clearly under the affects of his yearly musk.

Well, he’s not as big as I thought. But, he’ll do.

I pulled the draw string as quietly as I could and waited through the bush. I gave myself a few seconds, breathing steadily to slow my heart rate, and steady my hands. I activated my mental journal, and confirmed just what I was looking at.

Copper Tipped Deer

Male

Apx. Weight: 295lbs

8 point antlers

Potential uses: Meat – Food. Sinew – Draw strings. Antlers – Knives and other basic tools. Bones – Glue and other forms of adhesive.

My Mental Journal ability had expanded dramatically over the last few years as I improved on the enchantment. Now, it acted more like a wiki. I still hadn’t figured out a way to make it automatically pull up information, which meant I had to search for it in the mental constructs database. But, that database was growing every day.

As the buck’s copper tipped antlers dipped down so he could begin eating the tall greenish blue grass I released the black tipped arrow.

The arrow sunk deep into its chest just behind the leg joint. It let out a soft huffing noise, and then quickly collapsed.

I rushed forward, pulling my ax from the loop at my hip and bringing up its sharp edge. Before the creature could begin thrashing in panic I brought the blade down and severed its spinal cord. The body went limp.

“Thank you buddy. You’re going to feed the family who helped me on the worst day of my life.” I put the ax away, and pulled my carving knife, and then went to work field dressing the animal.

***

It didn’t take long to clean the deer and prepare it for transport back home. I held the valuable organs, like the liver and the creature’s heart in a bag made from its own leather. That would keep them clean while I finished the hike, until we could properly cure and either pickle them, or prepare them for dinner that night.

“I hope we have it for dinner. It’d be nice to celebrate a little.”

The rest of the deer I left on its bones, simply removing its innards so it could start rotting. The carcass fit well across my shoulders, though it was a difficult hike holding such a heavy beast and going uphill.

Over the last five years I had grown. A lot. I was still a skinny fellow, but my shoulders were broad, and I could tell I was going to have my fathers frame, but my mothers features. My hair had gone from brown, to an almost blond color, lightening to match more closely with hers.

Terror, tear streaks down her face, screaming for me to run.

Images of that night flashed in my mind and I had to shake myself to clear it. “Gotta get home.”

***

A light dusting of snow began to fall. Not the hard snow that would stick to the ground. That wouldn’t come for at least another week or so. But enough to create a sheen of white everywhere I looked. In an hour or so it’d be gone. But for now it stayed.

Nature’s warning that winter’s coming, I thought with a smile. Remembering my Earthly grandpa’s favorite quip whenever this time of year came around.

Descending the hill into the small valley that contained the farmstead, I could see the main house, and the winterized fields from where I was. The sight gave me renewed strength as I shifted the weight of the kill on my shoulders, and drudged on.

When I finally made the main meadow that ran the length of the small, sheltered valley and contained all the rocky tilled plots, I heard someone ring a bell.

That’s probably Marsha, I thought with a smile. Marsha was the Farmers eldest daughter. She was a mother herself now. Two children, with a husband who was a pretty good livestock handler, and a better hunter than farmer. Marsha had inherited her fathers size, and her mothers gregarious personality and good looks.

As I marched across the fields the main house erupted in a flurry of activity. Children ran out to meet me, some turning back when they saw the snow, others when they heard their mothers harsh words of warning. Two men, those who had married into the large family, stood outside, spears and bows at hand, just in case I turned out to be someone other than Marsha, or whoever the bell ringer turned out to be, thought I was.

The Farmer joined them, a massive boar spear held in one hand like it was little more than a twig. The man was almost the same size as Tomas, but instead of muscular, he had a tall, broad shouldered, with a lean and wiry frame. I suspected he had sometimes didn’t eat to ensure his kids could.

That was something we had changed over the last few years. Regular meals. For everyone. Even if it was mushroom soup, and wafer thin crackers.

As soon as I had joined in the hunting, gathering, and other work, the family food supply had stabilized. With the two marriages over the last five years, and with more of the younger kids growing old enough to help hunt for roots, berries, and fruit in the woods, things had only gotten better.

Now, everyone ate.

And the man had filled out a little during that time, but I suspected he was also naturally built that way.

“Hail the house!” I yelled when I finally got within earshot. I removed my face cover, which had been keeping the biting cold out of my eyes and nose, so they could get a good look at me.

“Landar, is that you?” The farmer demanded.

“Yes sir! Sorry I’m late, but I brought dinner!”

***

The Farmer and his two son-in-laws rushed out to help me bring in the kill. They immediately took the massive deer to the shop in the back of the house, and began dressing the animal far more skillfully then I had after the kill.

They’d use every part of the animal, not just the meat. Sinew would go towards making string for specialty equipment like new bows for the growing kids, or to be used as leather binding for cloths, or any other of a thousand uses it could be used for.

The bones would be broken, and the marrow extracted. Every calorie would be taken from the kill, and as much of it as could be would be saved for deep winter. The meat would be turned into jerky or salted stakes, what organs could be preserved would be pickled in glass jars vacuum sealed with wax under boiling water.

Even the creature’s hooves would be quickly taken off, and used to mix into glue for the thousands of little woodworking projects the farmstead saw every year.

I took a short break, warmed my hands and feet by the fire, and gave the liver and kidneys i’d harvested too Marsha who was in charge of cooking that night. Then, as the little kids began working themselves into a frothing horde demanding the story of the hunt, and news from town, I disappeared and joined the other men in the shed as they worked.

When I got there they were boiling the canned meat, the last step in the process.

“Good kill Landar,” the Farmer said. “You did well boy.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah not bad,” John said, he was Gwen’s husband. Broad shouldered and strong, but much shorter than the rest of us there. Though that wasn’t an entirely fair description, he was average height after all.

“Right through the lounges and cracked the spine. A very clean kill. I’m surprised you had to use your ax.” Gregory, Martha’s husband said. He was older than John, but not by much. Mirroring the sisters own relationship.

“Why don’t you two lads go inside and help finish setting up for dinner. Me and Landar can watch the water boil, and clean up.” The Farmer said, and his two son in laws agreed and went inside to help their families with dinner duty. “So, where did you find him?”

“About the midway point between town and home.”

“And your legs aren’t shaking. Even a little.” He gave me a scrutinizing gaze. “I knew you were a strong lad, but that? That’s beyond normal.” I opened my mouth to say some explanation but he shook his head. “It don’t bother me none Landar. Just don’t piss into the wind and tell me it’s raining. You were what, eleven winters when we picked you up? Your feet all bloody and your body nearly as blue as the ice you was bleeding on. Even then you were strong as an ox. And you’ve only gotten stronger since.”

He shook his head, clearly annoyed by the topic, and took the pot with the six jars in it off the small fire. “ Look. Whatever trouble you got into back in Vlane, you’re kin now. You understand? Kin lad. That means you can tell me anything short of murdering my own blood, and I’d have your back. But if I were to ever take you back there, I’d need to know I wasn’t putting my blood at risk. Understood?”

My blood ran cold. Return to Vlane? After five years? The capital of the western duchy was a place filled with haunting memories. And a burning desire for revenge that even now, I felt calling me.

Out here in the middle of nowhere, I felt content. It was peaceful despite all the hardship and toil. Magic wasn’t a major part of life, and what little there was of it either came from the local Dwarven smiths the town traded with for ore occasionally, or the Grey Priesthood.

And Father Earl was a good man who didn’t ask any questions of no one. He knew enough to not spread around a confession like gossip, or to speculate on things best left to the Gods eyes and ears. At least, that’s what the Farmer and Wilma said whenever he was brought up.

I had avoided the man as much as possible. Pretty much the entire five years I lived here. The only time I had said so much as a full sentence to him was when I first arrived, and the man had treated and healed my feet with a simple spell.

Even that much magic seemed to exhaust him.

I shook myself. I was trying to avoid what Farmer had just said.

“I’m sorry sir. Did you say return to Vlane? Why? We have everything here, don’t we?”

“Boy, do you know why I was in Vlane in the first place? Gods know I hate that place. Stinks of desperation and rot.”

I thought about it, and realized I didn’t know. I shook my head.

“I was dropping off our towns tithe and taxes. Father Earl is too old to be making the trip yearly. So, every year one of us towns folk get sattled with the duty. Taxes to the Duke, and Tithes to the Grey so we can keep Earl around. This year, we’ll be asking for an apprentice to come back with us, so Earl can start training the next one. He’s thinking he might not have long left. And i’m the only one with a wagon large enough for the tithes, taxes, my fat ass, and a couple of passengers.”

“What about the Crawlers? Don’t they have that covered wagon?”

Farmer nodded. “Aye they did. Was a good sturdy thing too. But they got hold up by some bastard highwaymen a few months ago. Lost the wagon, but thankfully the horses showed back up on their farm a few days later. Half starved, but alive. They rebuilt, and have a wagon again. But it ain’t nearly as large as mine. And the Teetles lost their father last winter, so they can’t take it. They’re too busy just trying to keep things running. And there ain’t no one else in town, save Lord Desmond, that old half crazy coot, who has horses strong enough, and a wagon large enough. So . . . i’m going.”

“When? I asked, realizing he’d need to leave in the next few days if he was going to make it back before the deepest snows.

“Tomorrow. If this storm lets up. If it turns into a blizzard, then first week of spring. It’s a few days to Vlane, and a few days back and I can’t be doing that in deep snow.”

“I take it you want me to go with you?” he nodded as he finished putting the last jar away in the pantry. “Because John and Gregory have wives, and I don’t have anyone to care for other then myself. Just in case, i’m expendable.”

I wasn’t angry at the idea. It was practical and honestly, morally right in my view.

“There’s some sad sense in that, true. Hell, I’m in the same wagon. I’m just an old man who can’t work nearly as hard as he once could. But there’s more to it. You’re also nearly a man grown, Landar. It’s time we start introducing you to people. See about, well, see about finding you a woman so you can start your own family.”

I must have looked shocked, and the edges of his mouth crept up into what for him was a wicked smile. “I once thought it’d be Martha, but she was too old for you anyway. And then for a minute or two there, Wilma and I thought Gwen might make a good match. But, she’s not as inquisitive as you are. Always tinkering with things, and people. Trying to make them better. No . . . you need someone who can handle your . . . Well, to be blunt lad, someone who can handle you. Without either breaking your spirit, or being broken by it.”

“Right . . . can I think on it tonight?”

“Yes lad. Give it a took think, and we’ll talk in the morning while I prepare the horses. Tonight, eat, have a good time. Visit with the family, and get to bed early. First day of winter, or on our trip to Vlane, we’ll need our rest for tomorrow.”

He left me in the workshop, and for a few minutes I stood there considering his words. Finally, I made up my mind and headed to the one place on the Farmstead that was truly mine. A place I’d had made for me nearly four years ago.

I entered the light winter storm, and headed towards my forge.

The Copper Tipped Antlers, all eight points worth of them, in my hands.