Chapter 17: Eight Of Pentacles

Zeb travelled south through the mountains for a week. He steered well to the west staying in the foothills of the range stretching south from the mountains encircling the pasture. The weather stayed clear for the most part. The only day it rained, Zeb spent sitting under a pine tree surrounded by the sounds of the forest. 

He gave a great deal of thought to the old shepherd's words. Truly, he had served the flock. It never occurred to him service could be anything but what was imposed on him from the outside. Ever since the Great Rejection, he had given himself to the dual tasks of fighting off the need to serve the more powerful, and enforce the serfdom of those weaker than him.

Having a choice was novel. He re-examined everything that happened to him - he never really made a free choice. He'd been pushed from one place to another, always reacting against whoever was doing the pushing. Time for him to start making his own decisions.

The problem was he didn't know what he wanted. Going back to what he was before didn't seem like an option. He had been close to death without crossing over enough times for him to suspect that nothing on this world could kill him. On the other hand, giving in to the mage and his demands wasn't an option either. Zeb wasn't going to let his first true choice in millennia be giving up his freedom.

The forest made a gradual shift from the conifers of the foothills to the hardwoods he and the bandits had inhabited. Zeb kept a close watch for Chancy or his people, but saw no one. Two weeks after he left the pasture, Zeb found the first hint of a path. It became a track, then a dirt road as he walked. He didn't have any experience of people aside from robbing or killing them, so he avoided the farms and small villages that appeared. The people were content to let him pass, as long as he left them alone.

He had been almost a week walking on the road when the farmer offered him a lift into Westfale. Zeb shrugged and tossed his bundle into the wagon and climbed up beside the farmer.

"Long winter?" the farmer asked.

"Long enough," Zeb said.

"Where'd you spend it?"

"Up in the mountains, with an old shepherd."

"Do you remember his name?"

"He never told me, and I never asked."

The farmer laughed and shook his head.

"That sounds like those old shepherds. Them wolf pelts you have there?"

"A few," Zeb said cautiously.

"I wouldn't want them," said the farmer, laughing again, "but you'll want to see Joseph at the market. He gives the best prices for furs, though he is fussy about quality. What did you use to kill them?"

Zeb hoisted his staff. The farmer whistled.

"Better you than me, friend, but at least there won't be sword cuts or arrow holes for Joseph to fuss about."

They arrived at Westfale before noon. The guards at the bridge waved the farmer through as he asked about their families. They did give Zeb a sharp look, but didn't say anything. The farmer circled around to the market and dropped Zeb off in front of Joseph's tent. Zeb hoisted his bundle and walked into the tent. He was surrounded by the pelts of more animals than he could name. Some furs were smaller than his hand while there was a bear skin on the floor longer than he was tall.

"Hello, may I help you?"

"I have some wolf pelts," Zeb said.

"Winter or summer?"

"I killed them in early spring."

"They might be all right then," Joseph said, "let me see them."

Zeb unrolled them; Joseph wrinkled his nose at the smell, but checked them over carefully.

"Whoever rough tanned them did a good job, he saved them for you, but another week and they'd have been gone." Joseph pointed at a couple of pelts. "These ones are very good, and an unusual colour. I can use them. These ones aren't bad. This last couple are from too late in the season and the fur is uneven." He pushed himself to his feet. "I can give you a gold each for the first two, and another gold for the rest."

"Is that good?" asked Zeb.

"Well, I think it is fair," Joseph said, "but you are welcome to check out some other buyers. Stefan across the way sometimes buys wolf."

"I will take it, then," Zeb said. They shook on the deal, then the merchant paid him not in gold coin, but rather a motley collection of silver and copper.

"Less likely to get you into trouble," he said.

Zeb left the merchant to wrapping up the furs and readying them for proper tanning and wandered into the market. His stomach growled, so he found someone selling hot food and bought himself something to eat. As he ate his bread and cheese, a big man came up to him.

"Sheriff wants to see ya," the man said. He moved to grab Zeb's arm and Zeb swung his staff to the ready.

"Easy, boys," another man said coming up behind the big man. "Bailey, how many times have I told you that politeness is easier than fighting?"

"He ain't no problem," Bailey said flexing his muscles.

"He has killed at least six wolves with that stick, according to Joseph. He might surprise you. Size isn't everything."

"Well...." Bailey looked doubtfully at Zeb.

"Would you like another wrestling match?"

"Uh, no, Sheriff," Bailey said, "I be going over to check the horse stalls now."

The sheriff chuckled and slapped the big man on the shoulder.

"He's a good enough man, just a little...thick on occasion." He offered his hand to Zeb, "Sheriff Jones, at your service."

Zeb looked doubtfully at him then shook his hand.

"I don't know my name," he said, "never thought about it."

"Bump on the head?" the sheriff asked.

"Several," Zeb said.

"I've heard of that," the sheriff said. "How long can you remember back?"

"To last summer," Zeb said. "People would just yell at me. I never thought much about names."

"Names are important, and not just for letting people call you for supper." The sheriff began walking through the market. Zeb followed him.

"Since you remember the summer, you'd remember if you were a bandit."

"Do I look like a bandit?" Zeb asked.

"No, you don't," the sheriff admitted, "but then that weasel Chancy looks more like a monk than a bandit and he is one of the worst."

"The shepherd warned me about him," Zeb said. "He told me to stay west until I was past the forest. I didn't see Chancy or his men."

"Shepherd?"

"I spent the winter with an old shepherd, then went to the high pasture with him and his flock. We had some wolf problems."

"I see; they were after the ewes?"

"No, they went for the lambs, mostly."

The sheriff nodded and they walked in silence for a bit. People waved at the sheriff and mostly he just nodded at them. Once or twice, he stopped to talk quietly with people.

"I think you are okay," he said finally. "You did come from the north and west, not from the east like someone from the forest would have, and you have worked the sheep. You still have that watchful look about you. Where are you going next?"

"I have some business in the city," Zeb said.

"You might want to get some different clothes, then," the sheriff said. "Those are warm, but they will make you stand out in the city, and that can cause trouble." He introduced Zeb to a couple of merchants that sold good used clothing. "You might want to pick a name for yourself too. It makes folks more comfortable with you. I won't take any more of your time, but if you run into problems, don't hesitate to find me. Anyone can tell you where." The sheriff shook his hand again and wandered off into the market.

Zeb bought some clothes that the merchants recommended as 'good enough for the city', then, after getting some more food for the journey, started south on the road toward Bellpolis. He didn't change his clothes yet, but added the new ones to his bundle. Bailey saw him leaving the town and waved at him. Zeb waved back then forgot him.

Every step that Zeb took toward the city faded the ache in his bones. He hadn't noticed it much in the mountains, but south of Westfale, it was like time ran backward as the pain vanished. Zeb grinned. The mage was going to find Zeb wasn't easy to lead around, but, in the meantime, he enjoyed the new freedom. Another bonus was the weather. No rain, and the nights were warm enough that Zeb wrapped himself in his blanket and slept under a tree beside the road.

Five days after leaving Westfale, two men tried to rob Zeb while he slept. They crept up on him and one had a knife at Zeb's throat before he was fully awake. The other pulled on the bundle Zeb was using as a pillow. Zeb took hold of the blade and twisted the knife out of the first man's hand, then punched the other man with the hilt of the knife. In a second, he was on his feet, with his staff at the ready, but the men cursed and ran off. After that, Zeb took care to choose more hidden places to sleep. He put the knife in the center of his bedroll where it wasn't visible, but was handy at need. It was a better knife than what the shepherd could spare.

There were no other incidents with thieves, but several times he was offered work in exchange for food and shelter. Zeb didn't mind the work, usually splitting wood or cleaning barns, and the food was better than what he carried. It did puzzle him that people were so trusting.

"We don't have much problem here, being so close to the city," said one farmer when he asked. "We have more problems with the young people going to the city and leaving us short of workers."

As Zeb worked his way toward the city, he observed the people around him trying to imitate how they acted and talked, pretending to the emotional responses these people had to everything from sunsets to babies. He traded his warm sheepskins for cooler clothes that 'fit in' better.

At first it wore him out, but as he got used to how the different expressions felt on his face he found he wasn't pretending anymore, but feeling physical responses to his environment. He was more likely to get work if he smiled, so he practiced smiling. Soon, a smile was as natural to him as the flat stare that he had used on the farmers while he was a bandit.

While he was learning all these new things about being human, Zeb gave some careful thought to what he was going to do about the mage and his demand. Zeb felt no particular qualm about killing the king, but he didn't like the idea because the mage had ordered him to. Underneath all the changes he was making in himself, there was a part of him still whispering he would not willingly serve any other being.

His route to the city became a broad meandering walk. As long as he was making even the slightest progress to the city, the pain was held at bay. While he walked, he learned and planned.

Eventually, even his slow progress brought him within sight of the city. He had new muscles from helping with the early harvest. He looked and sounded like a farmer. His bundle had been replaced by a backpack, his small store of coins sat in the bottom of the pack. The only thing that continued to set him apart from the other young men who were heading to the city was the wariness in his eyes. The most dangerous of wolves were still about: the human ones.

On the first day of fall, Zeb gave in to the inevitable, and walked across the boundary of the city of Bellpolis. It was getting late in the evening, so he stopped in at an inn and tavern called the Broken Dog.