Jinyel set foot in the Immortal Empire the way he liked to set foot everywhere ― unremarkably. He didn’t measure progress by trials, but by the slow change of dry climate to grass, from gold to green and from guarded to hopeful. The merchant caravan counted down farmsteads in the same way they counted down trail markers: as shrinking distance to a city, where they could turn their profit and lighten their wagons. Jinyel counted the homesteads as distance between himself and Yaralon.
Opportunity struck him three trials into the Immortal Empire, when the caravan made camp between two homesteads. Or perhaps ‘clans’ would be more accurate, since both enormous sprawls of buildings housed around a dozen individuals, each eager to see what curiosities they could find in the hands of foreign merchants. A few young men and women from both clans came to mingle with the caravan, but it was a middle-aged woman who took interest in Jinyel skinning a rabbit at the edge of camp. She spoke with the caravan mistress, pointed at him, then strode over with a no-nonsense, “Have you got your own horse, young man?”
There was a tiredness on her brow that spoke of problems, and a keenness in her eye that was looking for solutions. With a farm to run and miles of open grassland in every direction, there were plenty of problems a hunter could fix.
Jinyel nodded toward his horse.
“The caravan mistress said you’ve got no ties here. If you can stay behind a sunrise, I’ve got a mad nuisance of a fox and an honest trial’s wages for you to kill it. I don’t care about the skin or bones; just show me the thing and you can keep it.”
A fox skin would make a nice token for trade. More than that, fox hunting was a fine excuse for Jinyel to cut free of the caravan and go his own way. Safety in numbers was the surest way through wilderness, and for that he was grateful, but it was always better to move on before a group became too talkative. The longer he stayed with a person, the more they wanted to chatter.
Jinyel nodded.
“There’s room in the barn for your horse,” she said, gesturing to the closest farmstead. “I’ll meet you on the eastern side of the building, at my chicken coop. That’s where the accursed thing keeps breaking in.”
She took her leave. Jinyel finished his skinning, and took the naked rabbit to the caravan mistress.
“You’re leaving,” the old woman observed, with all the emotion of observing the weather.
Jinyel nodded.
“You could make a decent living on the road, young man. If not my caravan, then another. Plenty of merchants will pay good money to eat fresh rabbit instead of trail rations.”
Jinyel shrugged, then gestured, Perhaps, in sign language. Polite acknowledgement of both her advice, and the fact they both knew he wouldn’t follow it.
Early sunset was a busy time at the farmstead, which was alive with activity as Jinyel approached. The day’s labors were finishing up while the night’s labors were just beginning, and most of the clan were too busy to spare him more than a curious glance. As she promised, the middle-aged woman waited on the eastern side of the area, hands on her hips as she glared at a chicken coop.
“We try to watch the birds overnight,” the woman lamented, “but the adults all have business during the day and the children never stay awake until sunrise. The little beast somehow knows when they’ve fallen asleep, and we’ve lost two good roosters in the last tentrial.”
“Where?” Jinyel asked. “Inside?”
“Yes.” She pointed to a recently-boarded hole in the wall. “It digs up through the floor, and every time we fill in a hole, it finds a new one.”
Show me, Jinyel signed.
She guided him to a patch of ground that had been turned up by digging.
“We filled it,” she said, “but didn’t have time to properly pack the dirt. It can dig through that filling in no time at all, I fear.”
Jinyel looked at the grand, sprawling house. “Do you have broth in there?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, we don’t eat air for dinner.”
“If you can spare a spoonful, would you pour some on a rag and give it to me?”
She tilted her head. “Bait?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.” She returned to her family, and Jinyel got to work.
Chasing foxes was difficult work, but catching a fox that returned to the same place every night was much easier. Jinyel dug out the foxhole, moving quickly to keep as much light as possible. The sun was half-set, and he wouldn’t be able to see for much longer. After awhile, he could snake his arm under the wall of the chicken coop and feel where the fox had come up through the floor. Once a clear path was established, he threaded rope from inside to outside.
On the inside of the coop, Jinyel took snares and arranged them inside the entry hole, deep enough that the chickens wouldn’t step in them by accident. The trick to snaring an animal was to guess its height, and to place the snare at proper head level so quarry would catch instead of passing by. Since he didn’t know the size or age of this fox, two overlapping snares had a better chance than one.
When he stepped outside, Jinyel spotted the woman returning with a rag in one hand and a bowl in the other. The scent of stew hit his nose before he saw the steam, and he gestured a puzzled, Too much?
“It’s not for the fox, young man,” she laughed, holding out both items. “Life is hard out here, but we eat well, and we make plenty for guests.”
Jinyel bowed his head in respect as he took the bowl, smelling meat, vegetables, and something spicy. “Thank you.”
“Thank me with a dead fox,” she replied, heading back to the house.
Jinyel poured some broth onto the rag, then drained the bowl. It was rich and meaty, the sort of broth that had been cooked for weeks, perhaps months over an idle fire with vegetable and meat scraps added day by day. The broth of a large family, who had someone in the kitchen all hours of the day to tend the fire.
The last dredges of stew, Jinyel poured onto the rag and tied to the end of the rope. When his meal was finished, he went inside the chicken coop and pulled the rag through the foxhole and snares, leaving a delicious scent trail that would linger until sunrise at the very least. With an open hole and the smell of a meal inside it, there would be no need for the fox to dig a new entrance.
When all was set, Jinyel tended at last to his horse and mule. The barn was spacious, so he tethered them at one corner and untacked them. The saddles were hung over a stall partition, and there was just enough time left for a quick curry and brush before the sun went down.
Jinyel didn’t want to watch the coop too closely and scare off the fox with his scent, so he took a lookout post in the hayloft of the barn, where an open window allowed him full view of the landscape. The last traces of violet were fast vanishing from the horizon, and the stars just beginning to shake off their slumber and twinkle.
The main house of the farmstead was still aglow with candlelight and the sound of a loving family downing a good meal after a long day’s work. Children shouted, adults laughed, and the general ruckus was enough to keep any wild animal half a mile away. Jinyel allowed himself to doze in short stretches, and came alert only when the thrum of dinner quieted and the firelight inside the house dimmed. The family bedded down, the halls were empty, and only then did the sound of crickets and nightbirds finally have space to breathe.
Jinyel watched the night, but he did not move.
The stars had turned overhead a few degrees by the time his quarry made an appearance. It was a clever fox, who had clearly been hunting this coop long enough to memorize the rhythms of its owners. Not only were the adults asleep, but enough time had passed that any unfortunate child asked to play lookout would certainly be nodding off by now. And since the shadow moved northside, opposite where Jinyel was posted, it would have been near-impossible to see if he wasn’t actively squinting for it.
The shadow skirted around the edge of the barn. It went eastways first, stopped, then lifted its head in the air. After a few moments, it circled the coop again, heading straight for the scent of stew. Jinyel slipped off his perch, padding to the hayloft ladder and down to the ground. His stealth left much to be desired, but the steady whuffs and grunts of sleeping cattle were louder than his steps. He checked his bow, his knife, and then―
―a distant screech of pain. A fox had found a snare.
Opportunity struck him three trials into the Immortal Empire, when the caravan made camp between two homesteads. Or perhaps ‘clans’ would be more accurate, since both enormous sprawls of buildings housed around a dozen individuals, each eager to see what curiosities they could find in the hands of foreign merchants. A few young men and women from both clans came to mingle with the caravan, but it was a middle-aged woman who took interest in Jinyel skinning a rabbit at the edge of camp. She spoke with the caravan mistress, pointed at him, then strode over with a no-nonsense, “Have you got your own horse, young man?”
There was a tiredness on her brow that spoke of problems, and a keenness in her eye that was looking for solutions. With a farm to run and miles of open grassland in every direction, there were plenty of problems a hunter could fix.
Jinyel nodded toward his horse.
“The caravan mistress said you’ve got no ties here. If you can stay behind a sunrise, I’ve got a mad nuisance of a fox and an honest trial’s wages for you to kill it. I don’t care about the skin or bones; just show me the thing and you can keep it.”
A fox skin would make a nice token for trade. More than that, fox hunting was a fine excuse for Jinyel to cut free of the caravan and go his own way. Safety in numbers was the surest way through wilderness, and for that he was grateful, but it was always better to move on before a group became too talkative. The longer he stayed with a person, the more they wanted to chatter.
Jinyel nodded.
“There’s room in the barn for your horse,” she said, gesturing to the closest farmstead. “I’ll meet you on the eastern side of the building, at my chicken coop. That’s where the accursed thing keeps breaking in.”
She took her leave. Jinyel finished his skinning, and took the naked rabbit to the caravan mistress.
“You’re leaving,” the old woman observed, with all the emotion of observing the weather.
Jinyel nodded.
“You could make a decent living on the road, young man. If not my caravan, then another. Plenty of merchants will pay good money to eat fresh rabbit instead of trail rations.”
Jinyel shrugged, then gestured, Perhaps, in sign language. Polite acknowledgement of both her advice, and the fact they both knew he wouldn’t follow it.
Early sunset was a busy time at the farmstead, which was alive with activity as Jinyel approached. The day’s labors were finishing up while the night’s labors were just beginning, and most of the clan were too busy to spare him more than a curious glance. As she promised, the middle-aged woman waited on the eastern side of the area, hands on her hips as she glared at a chicken coop.
“We try to watch the birds overnight,” the woman lamented, “but the adults all have business during the day and the children never stay awake until sunrise. The little beast somehow knows when they’ve fallen asleep, and we’ve lost two good roosters in the last tentrial.”
“Where?” Jinyel asked. “Inside?”
“Yes.” She pointed to a recently-boarded hole in the wall. “It digs up through the floor, and every time we fill in a hole, it finds a new one.”
Show me, Jinyel signed.
She guided him to a patch of ground that had been turned up by digging.
“We filled it,” she said, “but didn’t have time to properly pack the dirt. It can dig through that filling in no time at all, I fear.”
Jinyel looked at the grand, sprawling house. “Do you have broth in there?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, we don’t eat air for dinner.”
“If you can spare a spoonful, would you pour some on a rag and give it to me?”
She tilted her head. “Bait?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.” She returned to her family, and Jinyel got to work.
Chasing foxes was difficult work, but catching a fox that returned to the same place every night was much easier. Jinyel dug out the foxhole, moving quickly to keep as much light as possible. The sun was half-set, and he wouldn’t be able to see for much longer. After awhile, he could snake his arm under the wall of the chicken coop and feel where the fox had come up through the floor. Once a clear path was established, he threaded rope from inside to outside.
On the inside of the coop, Jinyel took snares and arranged them inside the entry hole, deep enough that the chickens wouldn’t step in them by accident. The trick to snaring an animal was to guess its height, and to place the snare at proper head level so quarry would catch instead of passing by. Since he didn’t know the size or age of this fox, two overlapping snares had a better chance than one.
When he stepped outside, Jinyel spotted the woman returning with a rag in one hand and a bowl in the other. The scent of stew hit his nose before he saw the steam, and he gestured a puzzled, Too much?
“It’s not for the fox, young man,” she laughed, holding out both items. “Life is hard out here, but we eat well, and we make plenty for guests.”
Jinyel bowed his head in respect as he took the bowl, smelling meat, vegetables, and something spicy. “Thank you.”
“Thank me with a dead fox,” she replied, heading back to the house.
Jinyel poured some broth onto the rag, then drained the bowl. It was rich and meaty, the sort of broth that had been cooked for weeks, perhaps months over an idle fire with vegetable and meat scraps added day by day. The broth of a large family, who had someone in the kitchen all hours of the day to tend the fire.
The last dredges of stew, Jinyel poured onto the rag and tied to the end of the rope. When his meal was finished, he went inside the chicken coop and pulled the rag through the foxhole and snares, leaving a delicious scent trail that would linger until sunrise at the very least. With an open hole and the smell of a meal inside it, there would be no need for the fox to dig a new entrance.
When all was set, Jinyel tended at last to his horse and mule. The barn was spacious, so he tethered them at one corner and untacked them. The saddles were hung over a stall partition, and there was just enough time left for a quick curry and brush before the sun went down.
Jinyel didn’t want to watch the coop too closely and scare off the fox with his scent, so he took a lookout post in the hayloft of the barn, where an open window allowed him full view of the landscape. The last traces of violet were fast vanishing from the horizon, and the stars just beginning to shake off their slumber and twinkle.
The main house of the farmstead was still aglow with candlelight and the sound of a loving family downing a good meal after a long day’s work. Children shouted, adults laughed, and the general ruckus was enough to keep any wild animal half a mile away. Jinyel allowed himself to doze in short stretches, and came alert only when the thrum of dinner quieted and the firelight inside the house dimmed. The family bedded down, the halls were empty, and only then did the sound of crickets and nightbirds finally have space to breathe.
Jinyel watched the night, but he did not move.
The stars had turned overhead a few degrees by the time his quarry made an appearance. It was a clever fox, who had clearly been hunting this coop long enough to memorize the rhythms of its owners. Not only were the adults asleep, but enough time had passed that any unfortunate child asked to play lookout would certainly be nodding off by now. And since the shadow moved northside, opposite where Jinyel was posted, it would have been near-impossible to see if he wasn’t actively squinting for it.
The shadow skirted around the edge of the barn. It went eastways first, stopped, then lifted its head in the air. After a few moments, it circled the coop again, heading straight for the scent of stew. Jinyel slipped off his perch, padding to the hayloft ladder and down to the ground. His stealth left much to be desired, but the steady whuffs and grunts of sleeping cattle were louder than his steps. He checked his bow, his knife, and then―
―a distant screech of pain. A fox had found a snare.
