Cedar looked out onto the crowd that had gathered from the relative safety of the castle's wall.
He had severe reservations about accepting 'payment' for what he hag done at Fanghorn. His ears went backward hard every time he looked at the case he had hidden away in his 'room' after that morning's meeting.
If Yvonne's reaction was any indication, he was supposed to be impressed and pleased by the contents.. to him it was just a bunch of heavy, lustrous metal abd some shiny rocks. ... where other people had lost homes, necessities of living.. family... friends...
To him, the gesture seemed obscene, but he deemed it unwise to state overtly. Humans could be inscrutably and singularly vicious when slighted.
It was that very incomprehensible violence that had his full, nervous attention this very moment.
He had intended to try and obtain something 'suitably large, and situationally appropriate' to wear today, after being promised a meal and a more private merting with the young boy's father. Given the prior night's events, he found that he disliked being disrobed inside the castle's grounds-- the staff had adopted a very unsettling way of looking at him that made him nervous, and the utilitarian fabric of his robes seemed .. under dressed.. even by what the servants were wearing. He didnt really enjoy the idea of buying the kibds of clothing the chamberlain had worn, but something of fine, tightspun linen was suitable, and could be put away and then used again on special occasions. Even his dad had a pair of 'town clothes'-- that's what he had initially set out to get, after the meeting had concluded.
But here he was, on the castle's rampart wall, overlooking the spectacle from a safe distance.
"Shame to miss it!" Joked one of the men-at-arms from his station on the wall. 'It's been almost a hundred years since the last one like this. People will be talking about it for a long time."
Cedar would just assume not see or hear, even from this far back.
The castle had a higher elevation from much of the town, and from the wall, one could see the city's center, its streets, and the colored rooftops of the buildings. All the people seemed small and blended together like blades of grass into a lawn, but he could hear the jeering. Could just make out the spectacle taking place.
He was at a loss for words, and said nothing. Just watched in silent horror, as events unfolded down there.
How could they do this to someone? Who even imagined such a practice? How could so many if them meet such a spectacle with .. ... excitement.
These past few days had him questioning himself on a deeply spiritual and emotional level. Was he really the same 'thing' as these complex, and truly terrible creatures? Was his father, ... the same as this?
He grappled with these thoughts and feelings in silence.
'What a sorry day to be on duty, eh?' Came a response from the sentry stationed at the next post down. The two gossiping away like two crows overlooking a fresh corpse from a treetop. 'maybe when we get off, we can get some of that beer?'
Beer. ... ... it brought back memories. Happier memories.
He remembered the first time he had ever drunk any. He had been in the late summer of his third year, and mostly grown, but still a child. His brother had already run away by then, and he had been very sad. He had gone with his dad to buy supplies in town-- 'gunna be growed up faster'n I 'spected' his dad had drawled lovingly, giving him a warm hug from the side, and a playful shoulder punch. 'Whatya gunna do when ya has yer own place, uh Cedar?'
It had been the actual reason for this trip to town. He actually hated being in the village. All the people talked furtively behind their backs, seemed hesitant to do business with them. When he was younger, their children openly mocked his dad in front of him and his brother. The words hurt. The way he and his dad got treated in town hurt. He hated this place, but it was the only way to get certain items. Stewpots. Shovels. Saws. Pickaxes. Hammers. Nails. The things one needed to make a house. 'Ohhh, don't be so judgemental.' His dad had chided him. 'People's kin be right arses. Crueler 'an January-- but dey ain't all bad.'
It had been then, coming back from the shopping, where he and his dad had sold reagents to the apothecary; regular staples from the forest and the tower meadow used to make hot selling items, like liniment rubs, cough medicine, fever reducers. That sort of thing. The coin they had gotten seemed trivial on reflection, given the volume of the sale, but his dad had been jovial, and polite. The shop owner had eyed him suspiciously, then asked if they had seen Oak yet. His brother had been taken in by the blacksmith the year before, and had been a quick study, shaping plows and horse shoes at a rate of mastery that apparently drew worried attention from the townsfolk. That, and how quickly the two of them were growing. That seemed to always be a nagging concern of theirs. That, and how much they ate.
Now, coming back from having placed the order for ironwork at the smithy, and paying in advance, his dad had politely addressed his sullen mood. Oak had NOT been happy to see their dad, and had fallen further into the seething hatred for him that cedar failed to share or comprehend. It troubled him how perniciously contagious such disdain, even hate, could be. He missed his brother terribly, but his brother did not seem to miss him-- or their father.
"He don' unner'stan'" his dad had tried to explain. 'Buh I'll tells ya anuhway. I luvz you boys. Botha ya. He dun growed up afore his body dun did, but I still gunna care fer 'm muh own way, e'en naow. Ya knows all em plants weh sol'? Mosta 'at money gone ta dat nice smith lady. She knowed what I really doin. You gunna be growed up all da way nex' year pro'lly, same as he is. I doin' muh bes' ta care fer ya both, no ma'er what. That money gunna buy him's food, an' it gunna give 'im work ta do. You gunna git whatcha need ta be ya own man, wit a house a ya own. Nex' sprang, Mama prolly gunna kick ya out-- but dun worry none, I gotcha. Buht naow... heheh.. ya ol' e'nuff ta has a bit a fun wit ya ol' man! Le'ss go git some beer!'
He still remembers the way it tasted, that very first time, with the amused criticisms of the other patrons of the inn that doubled, and mostly served as, the village public house. His dad had assured the owner, a man his dad had prior dealings with, clearly, that they wouldn't need rooms, just big mugs to drink with, and the darkest stuff they had in the house, because his boy was mostly grown, and needed to learn what it was to be a man, which had gotten several approving jeers from the local regulars.
It had been a very memorable, and pleasurable night. It was the most he had ever felt accepted in the village, and the drunkards seemed to forget that he was half-bear, ... and what that meant about his father. They even asked when Oak would pay a visit....
Beer... even today, it held a special significance. Good times had with his dad. The acceptance only drunkenness seemed to bring out in people. The rich taste of the beverage itself, and the warm feelings it left inside. It was possibly one of the finest of human inventions, but it could also be among the worst, if you over-indulged. The stolen evenings when his dad would knock on his door, and ask if he wanted to go drinking, were some of the best in his life. He loved his dad, and he had come to love beer.
His thoughts returned to the jeering mass of people below. They were doing something he didn't understand. His vision wasn't as good as a full human's was, at least for distance anyway, and he struggled and squinted to make out what was happening. It LOOKED like they had brought out horses, and were...
'Look at 'em go! Whooo!' Jeered the first sentry.
'Tug! Tug! Tug!' Chanted the second.
Realization of what was going on down there dawned on him, and he became ill to his stomach, and to his soul, as he saw the horses suddenly lurch, and heard the jeering of crowd rise in crescendo.
Was this... THIS.. really the other half of what he was? What WAS he, really? He felt absolutely no pleasure from this, only mortified confusion, and disgust.
Was this what his father had meant, way back then?
The blissful revery of memory wrapped him again. It had been after his and Oak's first visit to the village. His dad had taken them 'to get tested', toward the end of their second year. It had been the first time either of them had seen other humans, besides their dad, and the first time they had seen other children. Naturally, they had wanted to play, and their dad had indulged them. ... it had gone very poorly.
It was after taking him and his brother home, both of them crying from the mean things the other children had said, and the heated argument his father had gotten into with the other humans, that he had, for the first time, questioned what he was, and why they lived apart from all the other humans. Why his dad lived with their mom, and not in the town.
His dad had become distant, and told him matter of factly, that it was because he had abandoned 'being human' a long time ago, and he no longer felt at ease among them, but did with the two of them, and their mother, and that he was sorry for what had happened in town. His brother was never the same after that. And he and dad grew more distant, while dad's hugs and praise had been a source of strength for himself.
Maybe ... maybe it was things like this, that had made his father leave, and live in the woods..
Abruptly, he stood up, and away from the castellation of the wall, and headed down the stairs. He had seen enough, and didn't want human company right now.
The chamberlain had mentioned he would be getting a horse... he wondered what that meant. No horses he had ever met were really big enough for him besides draft horses for pulling a plow, or a big heavy cart full of wood or produce...
Where would he even KEEP it?...
While equally distressing, it was at least a far better occupation of his mind than ... what was going on in town.
He set off to go meet this 'horse' of his.
