The Slime Farmer - 41 Turq and the Northern Farm

“You’ve taken in three children?”

The elderly grandfather from the farm north of the homestead squinted at the three, his six-year old grandson peeking out from behind his knees. The old man’s name was Fabar.

The three scrutinized them back.

Defi had been examining the sansu trees when the old man came to lean over the fence in curiosity.

“Good afternoon, elder, little Darmund. I’m taking care of them for some weeks. These are Renne, Markar, and little Breget.”

The feather-headed boy moved closer to the fence, peering through it at the other. “I am Bree.”

The other glanced up to see his grandfather’s smiling encouragement. “Dari,” he returned shyly.

“Do you like mushrooms?” The usually silent Bree started a quiet conversation.

“How about coming to the evening meal, eh, young man? You and the small ones.” The grandfather, who was watching the two children interact, suddenly said.

“Not small,” muttered Renne under her breath.

The elder had sharp hearing for his age, because he laughed.

“All werefolk are small when young, eh? It’s just how it is. So what about it, young lady? My son got a rockboar in his trap this morning, he’s been lucky this year. Wife’s pregnant again, can you believe it?” He leaned closer, spoke lower. “And not to disparage my wife’s cooking, but my daughter makes a very very nice roast.”

He touched his fingers to his forehead and flicked them upward to the sky, with a sly grin.

Defi had seen the old man do it once or twice, as the man regularly walked the boundaries and often stopped to chat with Defi. He had asked Sarel, who was one of the very few who knew he was not native to Ascharon, what it meant and got half an hour of lecturing on the common gestures in the empire.

The one the old man did, it was a gesture of respect to the dead, he learned.

Defi flicked a brow at the two older, then glanced at the uncharacteristically chatty Bree. Renne shrugged, though she was watching the two. Markar nodded infinitesimally.

“I’ll bring some dishes,” he told the old man.

It would not do to have a pregnant woman cook for three children and a teen, all with terrifying appetites. It was no exaggeration. He had the excuse of the Current, what was the children’s reason?

Were all growing children in Ascharon like them? How alarming for Ascharonian parents.

“Excellent!” Old Fabar slapped his hands together once, as if sealing a deal. Another common gesture. “The little one and I are only rounding the copse today. Join us. The meal will be ready just as we get back to the house.”

“I’ve some few things to do first, elder. It’s fine if I leave the children to you for a while?” He put Turq into Renne’s hands.

“Of course, of course. Leave them to me and Dari, eh?” He laughed as his grandson ducked behind his legs again, attention of everyone having been placed on him.

“I’ll go help Defi,” Markar announced. Of the three, he was the one most averse to company. His siblings weren’t surprised that he chose to delay interacting with others.

Defi eyed him as they parted with the others. “Leaving your siblings with strangers?”

“I’ve already assessed the neighbors,” Markar said.

Defi paused, then his lips curved. “Fair.”

He left it at that.

He was not their parent, nor did they need to be coddled. The older two were independent and practical, the younger was greatly composed for his age. They’d settled on a silent workable agreement. He only needed to house them and give some lessons in reading.

They reached the house, and Defi immediately headed for the kitchen.

“You’re cooking? I thought there was the stew left.”

“Let’s not bother a pregnant woman more than it can be helped.” Defi started a large pot to boil on the flameless stove and started washing rice. “Crescent clam soup and steamed cloudgrain should do it.”

“Another seafood soup?”

“I learned to cook while hunting, not as a chef. If you’re looking at me to match Sarel’s cooking, wait another lifetime; we might both get lucky.” Camp cooking was simple: roast, stew, steam, and fry. “You were to help me, was that correct?”

He brought out an array of herbs to be chopped and sliced. He considered the spices, but a pregnant woman likely would not be able to eat something too flavorful.

Markar inclined his head and started to work.

An hour later, fragrant cloudgrain was being transferred into a clean wooden tub and the soup was being removed from the stove. Defi put the lid on and tapped a paper emblem on top of the tub of steamed grain. Three lines of script expanded from the emblem as the glyph-paper faded into nothingness, a design etching itself onto the wooden tub.

Defi had grown more proficient in preservation emblems needed for food, but his calligraphy was still lacking and needed practice. The Bluzand barrel emblem was, despite his comprehension of the technique, still out of his reach.

Markar poured the clam soup into another tub, its light broth exuding an invitingly tempting aroma. He carefully placed the lid on, tamping it down firmly.

Defi slapped another paper emblem on top of it. Like the rice tub, it spread into the visible form of a minor preservation and anti-contamination emblem. He was slightly disappointed that he couldn’t put a warming glyph in the pattern, but he found that the foods spoiled faster if he did.

Defi stacked them, had Markar carry a package of smoked bass and a smaller package of savras grass, and they were off.

The walk to the house of the northern farm took only a quarter-hour at a brisk pace. Defi noticed that the fields were planted, a bit later than Leraine’s journals warranted.

The farmhouse came into view, sporting golden thatch and wooden frame.

A scream shattered the mundanely scenic picture.

Defi put the wooden tubs down.

Markar tossed his packages on top of them as he ran past.

Defi quickly followed.

A seakrait, glimmering red in the light of the setting sun, lifted its head above the farmhouse, then dove downward.

Markar yelled his siblings’ names, fear shrilling in his tone.

But Defi had seen the color, and felt a familiar bond as he saw the seakrait.

“It’s Turq.” He ran faster. The only reason Turq grew so large the last time was that there had been a threat to his life.

He jumped a low fence, skidded past screeching chickens, and rounded to the back of the farmhouse, Markar on his heels.

He stopped.

Turq’s coils wound around a large animal he could not identify. It had a single horn on its nose, and what looked like clams growing from its back.

He took a moment to look at his first pet. It really looked like a seakrait. Slimes could even do something like this, he wondered in admiration.

Markar saw his siblings unhurt, did not stop his headlong rush until he stood before them.

“Renne. Bree.” He grabbed their hands and did not move as his sister leaned into him and his brother grabbed him tightly about the waist. Markar reached out a hand with a sigh and patted the head of the third child, who huddled into him as well.

Defi stopped between them and the monster in Turq’s coils. “What happened?”

Farbar spat in the direction of the creature. “Shell rhino. Likely came up the mountains from the eastern coast. Tsk. I thought you had a slime?”

“I do. It’s never been this form before.”

“Seakrait, wasn’t it?” the younger of the two men of the farm had his arms wrapped around a massively pregnant woman. “Like those things few months back.”

“Considering Turq ate four of them…” Defi shrugged. “The books didn’t say slimes could take on the shape of their prey though.”

“Old stories,” Farbar grinned. “You ever heard the tales from near the swamps, there’s a lot of speculation about it. There’s a saying: If you lose someone in the swamps, don’t go back there. Water-ghosts, they call them. Hah, never thought they’d be true.”

“Do you think it might not eat the shell rhino?” Allise questioned.

They looked at her.

“You see, rhino bone plates can be sold for armor. The horn is carved for drinking cups. They say the meat is good too.” She blushed a little at the old man’s widening grin. “I’m having another child. I need to think about these things.”

Defi turned back to the tableau of struggling monsters. “Turq.”

The slime’s coils tightened. A loud wet crack sounded, and the rhino fell limp.

Its back was broken.

Turq uncoiled slowly, sliding toward Defi.

“Good work.” He patted the slime’s hide as it coiled around him, and attempted to rest its massive head on top of Defi’s. Its surface was a bit rougher than when it was just a large slime, a consequence of the animal it was imitating, probably. “Can you turn back?”

There was a slight rush of air, and Turq reverted to the usual shape. Defi patted it as it rested on his shoulder. “I’ll give you more food later.”

“It can have the rest of the rhino bones, if that suits,” the other half of the farming couple said. “Half the share’s yours in any case.”

“Just the bones for Turq is fine. I did nothing after all.” Defi demurred politely. Before Allis could voice the protest he could see on her face, he changed the subject. “Speaking of eating, we left the food on the path.”

The tubs and packages were retrieved in good time. The tubs that were wider than Defi’s torso looked like small pots against Barham’s large chest, as he carried both in a single arm.

Defi really had to know what made Ascharonians so big and tall. Surely it was not vitality alone? Both his parents were taller than average in Ontrea and he took their height. Still, he only came up to the farmer’s ear.

Defi handed the packages to Allise. “Blessings on the addition to your family.”

Her smile widened. “Thank you. Be welcome in our house. We are eating soon.”

“Are you in need of assistance, madam? We can carry things, if nothing else.” Markar was looking at her greatly distended middle in concerned alarm.

“Madam, he calls me, so polite. I’m well, young one. Markar, wasn’t it?”

“I am. You truly don’t need help?”

“We are neighbors,” added Defi, seeing that she did look a little drawn. “There is no ceremony between us.”

“The physicker says she should take short walks everyday, and light work is good for her,” beamed her husband. “She and the baby have high levels of vitality.”

“I’m not leaving that thing there while we eat,” declared Farbar. “It will only be considered dead after I see it butchered.”

“Father used to be in the mystic hunting association,” sighed Allise. “They have views on these things.”

“You’d have views too if you near died after your kills revived themselves. Damned beasts.” The elder stalked away, grumbling. “I’ll go get the knives.”

They watched him go.

“I’ll go get a saw and the large tubs.” Barham exhaled. “There’ll be no dinner until that thing’s in the smokehouse now.”

That was how the children got an education, via the old man, on how to properly butcher a mystic beast.

“What a day,” sighed Farbar as he sat at the dining table. “And they say there are no predators in the Lowpool.”

“Were you really a hunter,” grumped Barham as he tiredly took another seat. “shell rhinos eat seaweed don’t you know? What predator?”

“Anything that hunts is a predator! And it doesn’t only eat weeds,” refuted the old man vigorously. But the tips of his ears reddened.

Barham knew it even without looking, and there was a light grin on his lips. “As you say, father.”

“At least we won’t have to sell the farm,” said Allise as she brought a lamp to the table. It was fully evening now, even the last red-tinged throes of the sunset suppressed by the growing night.

“Bah, those people. Stayed too long, they did.” Fabar grinned at Renne. “Talked too much with their money. Good work driving them away before the evening meal, little lady.”

Renne grimaced. “I didn’t like her.”

Defi paused in lifting the cup of tea to his lips. “Someone came to buy the farm, a woman? Fur and brocade, velvet shoes?”

Barham snorted at the description. “Went to yours too?”

“Met them in town hall a few days ago.” Defi studied the eddies of the leaves in his tea, swirling the cup to and fro.

So Leraine’s cousin and whoever backed her had started to move already. He’d seen people past the new boundary after the town surveyor left and had no doubt the valley beyond his new western boundary was already bought.

An encirclement? Not bad.

Slightly too aggressive though, wasn’t it?

Defi added ten and a half hecte to the homestead, at a price ten percent higher than the amount Leraine and Kern had sold it to the town. It had cost him over twenty thousand klauds. That was the buy-back price for the homestead.

A developed land-property of the similar size, which the northern farm was, would normally cost ten times that much. If, as Farbar said, they ‘talked too much with their money’, possibly up until double the price again.

He didn’t even need to talk to the couple and the herbalist that bordered the homestead on the south. The herbalist, at least, was more likely to have sold as his livelihood was based on the land. The herbalist held around twenty hecte. The older couple maybe six or so.

The western valley and hills about thirty hecte.

At its peak, the Garge homestead had over ninety hecte of land. Did Leraine’s cousin Agreine and her friend intend to buy them all?

Really too aggressive.

Later, when all goodbyes were said and the children were harried into bed, Defi sat under the sansu trees, the Current flowing calmly through him and the land.

His mind stilled, his heart drummed.

The earth under him was a pillar, the sky above him was a challenge. The earth under him was a tether, the sky above him was a comfort. The earth incited the blood to boil, the sky chilled the frenzied brow. The solid earth under him, the expanse of sky above him. And he was human, only a human caught between.

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Chapter End

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Notes:

physicker – the equivalent of a doctor. A diagnostician mostly.