The Slime Farmer - 102 Bone Soup with Likable Friends

To Defi’s surprise, it was Falie and Hames who had organized the onsite preparations.

“Aire’s been flitting around town sourcing the supplies and people.” Falie informed him.

“I see.” Defi felt guilt at having someone who already had thirteen children to take care of running around town for this. “Thank you for coming.”

Maybe he should have bought better wine or more spices?

Falie laughed, ruffled his hair. “Who else would be here? That Sarel is unreliable.”

“She’s busy in Ecthys too.”

“Ecthys isn’t here, see?” Falie pointed out stubbornly. “Unreliable.”

Defi could only smile, helpless.

Getting between Falie and Sarel’s endless bickering would be an exercise in regret. He looked around for Hames, who could easily distract his wife, but the man had the habit of blending into the background except when he was sitting at a gambling table.

“This place is too far out from the town markets, so we stocked much of what is needed for tomorrow.” Falie waved at the mound of boxes and barrels under the canopy.

“That…do we need that much?” Defi knew less than half a hundred people in Ascharon. The piles of food gathered near the warehouse would be enough for five times that number.

“Normally half of it would be enough. But Aire got ideas.” Falie’s voice was exasperated. “You know a draft was announced?”

When Defi nodded, she huffed. “I hope you don’t get the fool idea of volunteering for honor because single-person households are not included in the draft.”

“No,” he said. “I’m not joining.”

All the chaos for this far-away war was a good chance to disappear into another continent. But joining an army with the intent to desert before he got to the battlefield was something no Ontrean would countenance.

“Good. I was saying, Aire got the idea to bring cheer to the town in these difficult times.”

“Do I need to buy more ale?” Defi didn’t mind giving people an excuse to drown their sorrows in free drink. But he’d have liked to be consulted.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s only a few hundred people that will come here, probably.” Falie smiled at him softly. She patted his cheek, more gently than the rough ruffle she gave his hair. “You’re one of the last people to give a blessing feast since the smuggler. Just your luck that the building was finished at the same time as the announcement, but you’ll not be the only one paying for this feast.”

And tomorrow’s feast would not be the only excuse people find to take their minds of their family members possibly being picked for the first iteration of the draft, Defi understood.

He returned her smile. “I am glad. The initial payment from…the business I had in Ecthys isn’t enough to feed the whole town.”

Falie didn’t know Sarel had a connection to Bluzand, right? Bluzand sold Falie’s suirberry ‘wine’ as a sauce for meats. If Falie ever found out….

“Enough standing about. There is soup and bread. You look like you got thinner in Echtys. Hah, did Sarel even feed you?”

“It’s been just two days.” Defi did not resist as she hooked her arm in his and led him toward several large metal vats, the bottoms dark with soot, slowly burbling over low fires.

As they neared, the scent of meat permeated the air. Defi paused to inhale the heady aroma of cooking pork.

It was a little surprising. Most of the Lowpool ate the local seafood almost exclusively. Meat was rare, as there were few husbanding farms in the area and fishing took less effort for gain than hunting.

He’d expected the vats to hold fish stew of some sort.

He stopped as he realized that one side of the canopied area contained wooden frames of drying animal hides, sticking up from the ground like low banners. On the canopy post, strings of curved tusks hung like drooping willow branches full of pale ivory leaves.

“The hunters, when they heard you were throwing a feast, got together to try the cliffs.” She patted his arm and took a few of the plain ceramic bowls stacked on one side of the long table to head toward the cooking area.

“Did I know so many great hunters?” Defi wondered out loud. He’d met some hunters in Genlet, but not many from the Lowpool that he knew by name.

“Ah, see? I, as well, am a great hunter,” came a voice behind Defi.

Defi turned to see Nuran press her knuckles into Han’s arm with the impassive casualness that said she had done it a thousand times.

Han winced and sidled away with a half-hearted glare at this friend. The archer then grinned at Defi. “The hunt went well, in case you didn’t know. A few of the old soldiers came too.”

“You came across a nest of rockboars? Your hunt was blessed.” Defi was impressed that they had found so many.

He had not seen Hanel and Nuran since the night that the town celebrated the returning soldiers and hunters from the expedition to the Groaning Cliff.

Even if Lowpool hunters were fewer than most, they did very well in this hunt.

Rockboars were incredibly agile and could bound across cliffs using only the slightest footholds. They were difficult to hunt, and vicious if cornered. Inexperienced hunters were often warned to stay away.

The small boars were often seen in packs that numbered under five. But large sounders like the one that had contributed the mass of small sharp tusks decorating the canopy posts were rare. There must have been at least twenty adult boars that were captured.

“Knowing I have enriched your life,” Han threw an arm around Defi’s shoulders. “Can I bring some people tomorrow?”

“Isn’t everyone bringing people? Bring anyone who wants to come.”

“Really?” Han’s eyes widened and the beguiling grin faltered and then settled into a genuine smile.

Nuran laughed softly. “You are kind, but this idiot wants to bring ten people over shamelessly. You don’t have to put up with his antics, Defi.”

Defi smiled at her. “I will treat it as my introduction to the Lowpool, bring everyone you can over.”

Nuran studied him, as if looking for the joke. Then she shook her head, the red waves of her hair shifting enticingly with the movement. “You both are crazy. It’s only a blessing feast for a building, not a first birth ceremony.”

“We’re also blessing the bridge,” Han pointed out.

“It’s not your bridge, what are you blessing?”

“Semantics. We’re here to celebrate the blessing of things. Who said you had to own it to bless it?”

To gain a channel of water for the warehouse, the builders had to cut a portion of the river road out. They built a rather pretty arched stone bridge to connect the parts of the road that had been separated by the stream of water.

As the road would never have much traffic seeing as the last farms were backed onto a cliff, Karles had argued that wood would do just as well, but Defi insisted.

Maybe he was biased, but wooden bridges always felt flimsy to him. Even if he knew that the Emblems in Ascharon would definitely make the bridge the sturdiest wooden bridge he’d ever stepped upon, he was adamant.

Bridges were made of stone.

In every song and every epic of Ontrea, where would you find a wooden bridge?

Oh, well, there was that one line in the chanted legend called the War-song of Six Kingdoms, but that bridge broke and killed the hero’s lover.

Wooden bridges were tragic elements of story.

Defi would never build one to be permanent.

He had to admit that he was curious what an Ascharonian blessing feast was like. Ah! He should have asked Marmocha what was expected of the host in times like this.

Sarel said he only had to let the people eat and drink. It seemed too laid back to Defi. Was it not like gatherings across the Gate? The host had many things to do within the duration of a feast in Ontrea.

Don’t tell him Falie was right and Sarel was unreliable. Even if Sarel had been a chef, she’d been a hermit for years now, hadn’t she? When was the last time she hosted?

He felt conflicted.

The sound of wood striking wood turned their heads to Falie. She raised her brow at them. “Eat, then go help the people setting up the other tables for tomorrow. Karles is going crazy supervising those drunken idiots.”

The three of them obediently sat at the table and distributed the bowls and plates between themselves. “Thanks, Falie.”

Falie set a pitcher of ale and cups on the table, nodded in acknowledgement. “If you want seconds, find Lon – there he is. I see my husband is playing the dice-cups again.”

She all but stomped toward a group of people sitting in a circle on the ground.

From what Defi had garnered from the month he worked for Falie and the weekly mid-day dinners at the orphanage, Falie didn’t like gambling and Hames was an experienced shark who offended people into chasing them into obscurity.

Falie would join the gambling just so she could beat Hames into not doing it again and he would gamble under her eyes just so he could spend a pastime he enjoyed with his wife.

Defi saw her loom over him with appreciable menace. He lazily glanced up and grinned sharply at her.

“They look happy.” Nuran was looking at Falie and Hames as well, a touch of wistfulness in her tone.

“Yes.”

“Wondering when you’ll ever have that blissful married life, since you’re so old?” Han was lucky he sat across the table.

Defi, in the corner of his eyes, saw Nuran’s fingers tighten on the handle of her spoon. He knew very well that one could kill a person with a table spoon.

Blissful married life? He glanced at Falie and Hames as well.

Did his parents ever look like that? Garun said they were once happy together.

He turned his attention to the bowl of soup in front of him. It was a thick soup, creamy with pork fat, the chopped herbs and vegetables giving it bright spots of color.

He took the first spoonful and savored the rich flavor spreading to all his tastebuds. The savory soup was interspersed with creamy bits of fat and marrow, the whole thing tasting like the essence of pork poured into a bowl. “How long has this been stewing?”

“A day, if I scent it right.” Marmocha sat down beside Han, carrying a tray of his own. Gosseu, who followed him, set down another pitcher and two cups. “Very nice bone soup. See the marrow floating around? Excellent! Ah, young Defi, you have finally made friends your own age. I must tell everyone tomorrow!”

His age? Defi was fairly certain both of them were at least three years older.

The two with Defi were surprised at the sudden appearance.

“These are Hanel and Nuran. I met Han in Genlet and Nuran later as his friend.” Defi simplified the introductions he made. “Marmocha and Gosseu are merchants. I met Marmocha before I came to the Lowpool and he introduced me to Gosseu.”

Another bowl was placed beside Nuran. Defi glanced over. “And that’s Haral, who I met in town.”

Haral was the shopkeeper when he went for the first time to the dried seafood shop, then again when he went to the blacksmith shop for the first time.

Defi eyed the boy, who looked more tired than the last time they met.

Haral flashed a brief smile at them all. “Hope you don’t mind. The tables over that way are a bit too unbalanced for the soup.”

They all looked over where the tables were being assembled under the supervision of Karles, the builder. One glance and you could see they were having trouble.

Even the tables that were already standing were dubious in their stability.

One of the people assembling the tables swayed precariously, tripped over an unsecured table leg, crashed onto the unfinished table which disassembled itself into pieces. Again.

Defi got to see expressionless stoic Karles drop his face into a hand.

His spoon paused on the way to his mouth. Was the man laughing?

Karles lifted his face, and his lips were curled into a snarl, eyes promising retribution.

Oh. He wasn’t.

Defi slowly moved his gaze away, so as not to gain the attention of a raging predator. Unfortunately, he saw Nuran and Hanel whip their heads away from watching the scene.

He glanced toward Karles from the corner of his eyes. Thankfully, the man’s attention was on the useless cohort he was supervising who all had one too many tankards of ale.

“You know Karles?” He posed the question to the two who seemed to understand the raging bear that Karles could become. Defi had himself had not seen Karles get mad, but he had seen warriors with that look on their faces.

“He’s my cousin,” said Nuran.

“I was once matched at a gathering with his sister,” gulped Han.

Nuran stifled a snicker. As did Haral and Gosseu.

“You know we’re going to go there after this.” Han told them meanly. He pointed at Haral and Gosseu. “You and you, you’re going to.”

There was a tense silence.

Marmocha laughed. “I like your friends.”