Sailing Ether Tides

Sailing Ether Tides

Ch: 31 Like A Rolling Stone

It felt good, running beneath her two best friends and trotting up a wide, gradual incline with the sun shining. Ester Poppyfield stretched her legs out and took a slight lead on the friends eating her dus… following her lead.

Hooves on hard-baked clay sounded oddly hollow, once the sun warmed the smooth roadbed, thundering behind her in a steady, rolling drumbeat. The humans she allowed to serve and groom her herd took the steady rolling hoofbeats and joined in song, whistling and singing softly as they rode among the troupe. Their invigorating songs meshed and blended with her own gifts and powers in sublime ways that even she didn’t fully understand, yet.

There was something about the simplicity of road running… tranquil was the word. Her small herd trailed out behind, keeping pace well, under the influence of her expanded and augmented magical aura.

The least member of her herd could run farther, longer and more swiftly in her trail than any of them could alone; this was her gift from great Eponna, goddess of horses, swiftness in motion and the wind. With a shivering whinny of joy, she picked up the pace just a little. Seraphina the palomino pony could shed a little stable weight on today’s climb.

#

Sere and sparse, the upland desert slowly closed in around them as the sun began to fall. Their road curved slightly, passing between two low peaks, but that was for tomorrow; the kids were already setting camp up ahead, by the sound of music in the near distance.

She slowed, to give the kids a little more time… and to enjoy a little more late afternoon sunshine.

They trotted around the curve; ‘goin up around the bend’ if you will; just as the kids wound down from ‘Creedence Clearwater Revival’ or whatever those silly two legged goofs called it.

In a wide gravely stretch of flat, dusty ground beside the road, a garden hamlet lounged insolently. The same cluster of little houses, bathing pools and orchards that had haunted their travels so far, improbable as that might seem.

The three naval officers Team Ragamuffin had ‘shanghaied’ into their group were sitting on the fresh green lawn, looking a little dazed, while the kids finished up their ritual.

Ester and her cohort headed for the small barn and the well stuffed haycrib for a bit of a nibble, while their two legged minions brushed them down and gently checked the hooves of their supervising equines.

‘Poor things would never get anywhere without help.’ She thought to herself yet again, as the sad, clumsy humans toddled around and moaned about their rumps. Once her herd had been tended properly, she allowed the humans a little free time. They deserved it, the poor things.

#

“These strange things you ride…” Elaine murmured; standing over by the rack of ‘bikes’ near the gate and looking them over with interest.

“They seem to be mechanical devices.” She left the question unspoken as she continued eyeing the machines with unconcealed curiosity.

“They are, these are one of our favorite innovations.” Amy answered excitedly. “Most of my team’s bikes have magical elements built into them, but the basic machine is entirely mundane. It’s an art anyone can learn with a little balance and practice.”

She pulled Ivy’s bright yellow machine from the rack of vaguely similar constructs and held it out for inspection by the three captains.

The strange, steel spoked pair of wheels on the thing grabbed their attention first; slim and delicate seeming, they somehow bore the weight and stresses of a human rider with ease. The two wheels were bound round with some kind of knobby, dark colored substance that was slightly flexible, but very tough and resilient, rather than a steel or iron rim as was present on all the wooden wheeled carriages everywhere.

The wheels were mounted in line, on a complex framework of wooden and steel cantilevers, triangles, rods and levers. At least two dozen bronze pivot points, a mind boggling array of cables and a pair of captured springs bound in steel straps held the thing together, allowing it to be simultaneously rigid, flexible, strong and light.

A slightly curved bar mounted across and slightly behind the front wheel allowed the rider to steer the thing and held a number of levers, grips, handles and… things that were largely mysterious.

Becky, Amy, Frank, Wilf and Rio’s machines all had strange steel and bronze structures mounted in the empty place inside their frames, while the ones ridden by the other members of the party had semi rigid storage bags or weapons mounted in that space.

“I see that yours is different, why is that?” Bethany asked, feeling a little more relaxed, now that they were off the horses for the night.

Amy tapped the streamlined metal object mounted in her bright blue machine and smiled. “This is a motor that can make it go really fast, kinda like our boats.” She murmured quietly “We don’t use them most of the time anyway. Nobody but Ester could keep up if we did.”

“You all seem to be walking normally after that… ride.” Hermione spoke with a little more confidence as well, with solid ground under her feet. “Are these things less… energetic than horses?”

“Gods no.” She giggled a little at that and sighed fondly. “The saddle will break your arse to pieces, grind it into flour and knead it into a whole new shape. That’s when it stops being torture and becomes as close as a human can get to the sensation of flight, just like with horsies.”

She kept talking while she scratched a huge equine jaw that nuzzled over the bike rack for a little attention, while the humans were wasting time not petting horses. “Either way, riding is painful until you finally accept the pain, embrace it and let it float away in your dust trail.”

She slipped a carrot between the big old warhorse’s snuffling lips and smiled. “Bikes are transportation and a lot of fun, but horsies are friends.”

“May I try?” Elaine asked, just a little hesitantly.

“Oh, I was hoping you’d ask that!” She giggled happily, as her teammates slowly closed in around them.

“Hold still, you gotta wear safety gear for biking, it’s the rules.” Wilford rumbled as he closed in on the three small women and began pulling objects from behind himself. Helmets like the kids all wore, elbow and knee armor and reinforced gloves in neutral colors appeared and were quickly buckled onto the captains.

The friendly tussle ended when Maya and Amy finished them off with a bright colored wooden clip on each of their right side trouser cuffs, snugging the fabric away from the works of the machines.

“Is all this really necessary?” Elaine asked just a little hotly, when she noticed that the entire party was quietly observing their activities.

“I feel a bit of a fool.”

“Ohh yeah, cycling gear looks super dorky.” Rio sang happily, with a huge smile on his handsome, youthful face.

“It’s traditional, I’m afraid. Just be glad our dad isn’t here. He figured out a new textile that’s amazingly stretchy and comfortable… but really clingy and embarrassing.”

“Super dorky.” Wilford rumbled with the finality of a legal judgment, there would be no appeal.

“No ‘spandex’, that’s a rule!” Amy agreed, as she double checked her three students’ gear. “Now each of you straddle one, don’t be shy.”

It took a little coaxing and some fumbling around to get the tree women in position, with one of the kids standing behind each of them.

“We’ll get you started and keep you balanced while you get the feel for it. Hands off the controls for right now, just relax, hold the grips and keep your feet on the pedals.”

#

What followed entertained all the humans and horses for a good few minutes of hilarious pratfalls and wobbling tumbles onto the soft, lush turf. One after another, they tried, failed and tried again.

The three captains and a number of the other guards and escorts gave the strange machines a try; each one finding it to be incomprehensible and utterly impossible, right up until it wasn’t.

With a sudden and anticlimactic, almost audible pop, the things became entirely natural to the novice riders.

Scattered on the lawn all around, the off duty guards and Adventurers sprawled out in the fading sunshine, enjoying the colors spraying across the sky.

“With horsies, until you learn to trust each other, riding is more of a struggle for dominance than a cooperative activity.” Wilford mumbled to Elaine and Bethany.

“You don’t trust your mounts, so you shift your weight around and try to make them do what you think they should be doing.”

“That annoys them and makes the process a trial for both of you.” Amy whispered in agreement.

“The bike’s form and function perfectly align with human anatomy and biomechanics, so it feels right, even under a novice. Oliver and Sasha are living beings with their own ideas and needs.”

“Are you scolding me for my horsemanship?” Elaine demanded, with just a little embarrassment coloring her face in the gathering evening.

“Afraid so.” Amy shook her head with just a little smile on her lips. “Sasha and Oliver asked me to speak to you… Drumming your heels on their ribs and tugging the reins is considered very bad manners in the stable. I thought if you learnt how to ride our bikes you might see where you could improve, horsie wise.”

“I should rather acquire one of these devices.” Elaine muttered. “They don’t sweat or fart.”

Hermione giggled, while Bethany nodded in sober agreement with her fellow captain.

“We’d be happy to sell you one and teach you how to service it, but for this trip it would probably be best to stay on Sasha. Providing your own power is more strenuous than it appears at first.” She got to her feet, yawned expansively and stretched. “Let’s have dinner and see what tomorrow brings.”

“Tomorrow brings a minor monster hunt.” Dannyl said from the garden gate, where he and Ivy were discussing matters with Larksong, duke Rummel’s scout. “And an interesting one at that.”

“Oh! Sounds fun. Tell us all about it over dinner.” Amy bubbled happily.

#

“We are seeing signs of cave dwellers emerging into the light and creatures behaving in odd ways.” Larksong said firmly and directly, speaking as she always did; even when addressing the common room of a busy roadside tavern filled with nobles, guards and Adventurers.

“It’s unclear whether our travel will be hindered… something in the woods feels… off.”

“Your recommendations?” Duke Julius asked, his eyes dancing with interest. “Shall we do a bit of hunting?”

“My lord, with all respect and courtesy, are you daft?” She asked with a bit of crispness in her tone. “I’ll not be responsible for leading this parade into the maw of a…”

“We don’t know anything yet, my lords and ladies.” Dannyl slipped in smoothly, gently turning Larksong by the shoulders and into the care of her leader, Runningtree.

The handsome ginger warrior smiled and took over for the irascible scout.

“There is the possibility that something concerning is happening here. Our suggestion is that we carry on, with greater caution and traverse this region safely.”

“Excellent!” Julius clapped his hands with glee at the thought. “Once we arrive at our destination, we can send an expedition out for a bit of fun…”

The combined frigid glares of duchesses Grace and Emma chilled his spine and brought the handsome duke to a stumbling halt.

“...or rather, sensible and conservative exploration, with all due care for safety.”

#

Riding point, a mixed platoon of ducal guards and Adventurers ranged out about a mile ahead of the relatively slow moving group. Horses and bikes moving in loose formation down the road, watching for signs of trouble, the teams swapped out and mixed up frequently, providing fresh eyes and rested animals at the head of the column at all times.

The main body of the troop surrounded the three coaches and the dog cart, the guardians cantering along, relaxed and alert.

Following after, rode the small team of younger Adventurers, eating dust when they weren’t riding point, as was traditional.

Amy grumbled about their position in the column, but only when no nobs or veterans could hear. “We could blast past ‘em and be there the day after tomorrow! Slowpokes…”

She still found time to admire the wide, barren vista of the desert heights. In the heat of the day the sun could be vicious, pounding down and bouncing back up from the pale granite boulders and light colored clay of the road.

By night, chill winds could make the pine trees whisper, moan or wail, depending on their mood.

That night they encamped in a narrow mountain dell, little more than a dip in the terrain, but sufficient to cut the chill breeze running up the pass it was pleasantly flat and lightly forested with a mix of oak and pine.

Dinner was shaping up to be a memorable one, prepared by Rootedbear, the giant heavy fighter from the Sparrowhawks, with assistance from Wilf and Maya. The giant had come up lucky and found a huge, hideous, rat-like beast wandering on the road and had brought it down with a single hurled javelin.

The huge tribal Adventurer displayed a delicate skill as he carved into half a roast wallowbear basted with salt, honey and its own fat. The skin crackled deliciously as his massive knife sheared through the rich, juicy meat. He laid each slice on a tray beside him for the next in line.

Wielding a pair of tongs and a pastry brush, Wilf baptized each strip of meat with more of the basting mixture and laid them on a charcoal grill for a quick sear.

Maya’s quick, sure hands dished up heaping bowls of rice and draped a few gleaming, steaming slices on top, with a hearty scoop of richly sauced, lightly sauteed wild vegetables.

Rio and Amy were turning a huge mound of vegetables from the garden into a massive salad bar in the corner, diligently washing and chopping with a smooth funky beat.

On the other side of the kitchen, Benny pulled trays of hot shortbread cookies from the oven. Frankie’s steaming fruit compote and delicate whipped custard was going to elevate those slightly sweet, faintly salty little rascals into the stratosphere.

Eager hands took bowls of steaming rice and toothsome toppings, amid the clatter of spoons, forks and chopsticks… This was going to be one to remember.

Dannyl and Larksong broke the cheery vibe a few minutes later, when they came back in, looking worried, tired and more than a little bemused. “We definitely have trouble. Big trouble.” The tribal scout muttered with a wry smile on her coppery face.

“I’ll let the boy explain… I’m hungry.”

“It’s a case study in monster ecology…” Dannyl lectured to his amused audience, while the slim, tall warrior joined what would be remembered as ‘The Battle of Ricebowl Bar; over at the bar, where they were passing out rice bowls.

“Monsters are created when a normal beast becomes infested with a fractional soul from outside our reality. These things happen all the time and in any number of ways, but typically the host being will overwhelm the fragmentary soul, expelling its essence and retaining a small measure of its power. Only when the outside influence is able to dominate the native soul and supplant that creature with itself, does a monster begin to develop.”

Larksong reclined on a sofa, near the fireplace in Wilf’s common room and nodded her agreement from behind a heaping bowl of something that looked tasty. “This is knowledge my tribe has long held.”

“Yes, this theory has been making its way through academic circles lately.” Duke Rummel murmured.

The veteran Adventurer nodded eagerly, winked at the huge young man sitting near the workshop door. “This is my specific area of study… Monster behavior and development is a little understood field.” He began drawing a rough sketch on a chalkboard that Wilf dragged out, rolling the thing along on small wheels, smiling excitedly all the while.

“Monstering up doesn’t change the underlying creature, it adds to it; This explains many of the idiosyncrasies of monster behavior.” He continued his lecture, still sketching with swift, sure strokes.

“We see many monsters continuing to engage in courtship and other behaviors that seem random and inexplicable at first glance. Typically we find, if we look more closely; that the behaviors are rooted in the instincts and drives of the host creature, commingling or conflicting with the imperatives of the invader.”

“Like the way deathshead locusts drill holes and lay infertile eggs under the bark of trees?” Bronwyn asked, from her place beside duke and duchess Rummel. The muscular blonde bodyguard leaned forward eagerly, smiling with excitement. “I’d always wondered…” She murmured.

Dannyl nodded and smiled at his eager pupils. “I’ll be conducting some seminars when we get to Foresthome. The count and countess are also keen students of the natural, magical and monster sciences; we will be sharing information and having some lively discussions.”

Becky coughed expressively and winked at her excitable ginger brother. “Dan… The topic?”

“Oh right!” He smiled a grin so dazzling that a few of the onlookers blinked their dazzled eyes for a moment. “So when natural instincts start butting up against monster instincts and drives, things can get a little weird. We’ve all heard stories of monsters gathering egg shaped objects and nesting on them or ‘adopting’ and ‘caring’ for inedible objects that happen to resemble the young of their species.” Nods and murmurs swept the room, drawing another high wattage smile from the beautiful man at the chalkboard.

“Aside from their insatiable hunger and violent territorial urges, brooding and nesting behaviors are among the most common anomalies we find. Occasionally, when the stars align and the gods are looking to amuse themselves, we find truly bizarre activities.”

He swept his gaze over the crowd of veteran warriors, nobles and Adventurers.

“This one is pretty special… and also, problematic.”

He took a few more sweeping slashes with his chalk and stepped back from the slate face of the board so everyone could see.

Drawn out elegant strokes and with startling clarity; the crowd looked out on a heavily forested valley, picked out with sparse detail, but beautifully evocative of a peaceful, uninhabited swathe of nearly untouched wilderness.

A curving, undulating road flowed down the near side, before winding back up the other; save that in the very center of the image, at the bottom of the valley, two behemoths waged a savage battle.

The devastation wrought by their conflict lay all around; shattered stumps, broken trees and upturnt ground. A bridge lay in ruins, crushed into a vague smear in the chalk sketch, as two behemoths waged war in the wreckage of a pleasant scene.

“No… Really?” Becky asked with excitement and concern warring on her dark, lovely face.

“Yup.” Dannyl smiled again, shaking his ginger head in amusement and chagrin. It’s like something from one of Fig’s stories… Sisyphus and the freaking boulder.”

#

Morning came early in the mountains, above the fog line. It was a more somber crew that trooped out onto the road and continued their ascent, while the little garden hamlet blew away on a fitful breeze, as though it had never existed at all.

It took two hours of slow and careful progress before the leaders of the column heard the first sounds of the battle, rumbling in the air. They rode another half mile before they could lay eyes on the cause of the terrific crashing and thunderous rumbles that shook the mountains.

“Kaiju battle…” Becky whispered in awe, from astride her bike. “Do you guys have anything for this? I won’t be mad if you filched something from your folks… I can’t promise they won’t be mad though…”

“Nope!” Amy muttered crossly. “We’re on double secret special weapons probation.” She grumbled unhappily. “This is way outside our margin of safety.”

They stood on a high escarpment, a jagged granite shelf that looked out in a green and wild vista of tall conifers, spreading their dark green boughs over the sides of a steep valley.

A small river cut through the green of deciduous trees and wide, grassy meadows, sparkling ponds… and at the foot of the winding road that had stretched across the valley, a tumbled field of broken stone, churned earth and shattered trees.

Mud and silt backed up from the site of a titanic battle, forming a brown and turbid lake, damned by a heap of churned filth and splintered trees. Uprooted trees and holes in the canopy from wreckage falls marred the greenery for a quarter mile around the monstrous display of mindless rage, as two inconceivably huge insects strove for supremacy on the valley floor.

A long horned, black carapaced beetle rampaged below, its glossy wing covers rising at least a dozen yards above the ground. Longer than a warship, round bodied and standing on a literal forest of weirdly jointed legs, it pushed and stabbed at its equally massive foe.

Lower to the ground, but very much longer and wider, a massive, segmented, heavily armored bug pushed back, clashing its mandibles on the armor of the other titanic bug, as the colossal black dung beetle’s horn and pincers failed to penetrate the heavy chitin of the terrifying, nightmare rolly polly.

As they watched, the pillbug did what pillbugs do; it rolled up into an impenetrable ball of smooth, hard shell. At that point, the dung beetle began doing what those creatures do; rolling the enormous round ball along, towards whatever destination it had in mind.

That lasted only a minute or two, before the isopod uncurled to have another go at the equally invulnerable shitbug.

They clashed, shoved, bit and scrabbled at each other, shearing legs and antennae off in their fury, but they each had a truly disgusting array of spares for everything, with more regenerating as the horrified onlookers looked on from their overlook.

The isopod must have had a thousand mismatched legs from all over the insect kingdom, while the dung beetle had a leg, mandible or mouth part for every occasion, except this one.

“I did some scouting last night, after dark. Dannyl said with a wide, happy grin. “It’s fascinating, these two idiots met up a few weeks ago, uphill in a small side valley… They’ve been going at it off and on for a few months at least.”

He pointed towards the rugged, less heavily forested upper end of the narrow, stony fold in the mountains where signs of similar, if much lesser destruction appeared here and there, leading down from a craggy fissure, much higher up in the mountains.

“Looks like they fought their way from up there. Most giant monsters either stumble on an abundant food source and eat ‘til they bust their guts, or they consume everything around and starve. These guys hit the growth spurt we usually see before the end of their natural lifespan and just kept going…” Dannyl muttered in wonder, as the dung beetle got his pillbug halfway up a hillside, before it slipped and rolled back down, splatting into the shallow, awful lake with a horrible, earth shaking sound.

The beetle ambled right back over and started the whole process over again, battling the isopod in the swirling mud, until it rolled back into a ball. The dumb beetle started rolling it back uphill in a deep, mud caked rut that showed a lot of repeated use.

“Ok, that’s a lot.” Wilf muttered as he pulled a white clay ocarina in the shape of a pudgy little songbird from his storage gift when no one was looking. The sweet strains of ‘Three Little Birds’ piped from his lips a moment before the round little birdy took wing.

#