The Adels-Part 1 (new format)

Tales of the TawsheThe Adels-Part 1   Tears were streaming down Adel's face as she ran out of the meeting house. It hurt to hear people say that Grandmother's abduction was her fault. She hadn't told that scary Blackheart person about Grandmother's special gift. Sure, she had told the other traveller from the time before, but she hadn't told anyone since then — after Burton had told her not to. I should run away she thought as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She looked out across the harbour and the breakwater to the sea beyond. The thought of travelling across the sea scared her, as did any thought of leaving the village, but all morning there had been something inside her, urging her to do something different.A flash of white from off shore caught her attention. A small boat was out there. It wasn't one from the village, all their fishing boat were in the harbour, their crews attending the village meeting, and anyway, this craft was too small to be a fishing boat. She straightened her shoulders, wiped more tears away and headed back into the meeting house. She had to inform Burton that someone else was coming.   Bray, saw the village because of the rainbow. He was watching for a place to make repairs to his failing boat. Settlements along the north shore of the South Lake were rare. Huge limestone and dolomite cliffs that rose dramatically straight out of the water lined this part of the coast. A stretch of beach where a small craft could be pulled up was extremely rare, finding a harbour and a village was almost unheard of, but there it was.   Bray maneuvered the oar he was using as a tiller, a very poor tiller he would have admitted if asked, and directed the small sailboat out of the wind until the sail sagged. Quickly he unlashed the rope securing the sail, dropped it, and sprang forward to secure it to the cross beam. Then, he carefully untied his makeshift tiller. It would have been inconvenient to lose the oar over the side and have to fish it out again, inconvenient and embarrassing. He could live without that. He was certain of two things; he had little skill where sailing was concerned, and he was being watched from the shore. Villages that don't keep watch don't survive, then again, there were far fewer raiders and pirates around since the battle at Waysley. He tried to look semi-professional as he fitted his oars into place, settled himself, and started rowing for the harbour's entrance.   The swells seemed larger as he neared the mouth of the harbour. Their action attempted to throw the stern of the boat first one way and then the other. He had to fight to keep in the centre of the narrow entrance, but once inside the harbour the water grew calm. He rowed the rest of the way to a sheltered wharf. Looking around as he went.   There was a short area of beach beside the wharf where he supposed boats in need of repair could be pulled up. The wharf itself was made of timbers stretched between piles of large boulders, and topped with rough cut lumber. It wasn't very long, maybe the length of two of the larger fishing boats currently bobbing on the smooth water.   There were five boats in the harbour. Considering that the sun was only a quarter of the way up the sky he was surprised to see so many boats at anchor. Common sense told him that they should still be out fishing, most of them at least. If one or two had been lucky with an early, substantial, catch they might be back to unload, but not this many. Fishing villages were never that profitable, although this one did look well-tended.   The village itself was made up of maybe thirty small buildings sitting on a narrow rock shelf that jutted out from the base of the cliff. As he drew closer to the wharf, he saw that the shelf was only wide enough to handle a single row of the houses, which were stretched out on both sides of a small stream that seemed to flow from the cliff face. It emptied into a central well-like structure, and then continued out through a channel in the front. The village water supply he supposed.  Some distance above the stream more water exited the cliff face in a fine spray that sparkled in the morning sunlight — the source of the rainbow that had caught his attention.Most of the buildings looked like houses, although he identified a bakery and a smithy located close to the water supply. The final building on his right was larger than the others, and the only people in evidence appeared to be clustered around it. A meeting place he assumed by the size and appearance, with a meeting in progress.    No one was on the wharf, but he was able to tie up without problem. With both ropes tied off, and his belongings thrown onto the wharf's plank surface, he was tidying the excess of his ropes when he noticed a figure break away from the group of villagers and run towards the pier. Bray was finished with his ropes and standing easily when the runner arrived.The way the figure ran, its build, and its haste informed Bray, well before it arrived, that this was a youth. He identified the runner as a young girl when she arrived. He estimated her age at twelve cycles. Her tunic was worn. Her legs were long and thin, and her chest was undeveloped, but her face brought a smile to his lips. Her body might not have developed yet, but her face had left the little girl behind, and formed into the beauty of a young woman, with a straight nose above a slightly sensuous mouth, full of straight white teeth. Intelligence was obvious in the large blue eyes which were currently appraising him. Bray added more cycles to his age estimate, a woman in a girl's body, he thought.   "Welcome to Rainbow, stranger," were the first words she spoke. "Our head man is dealing with a disappearance. He bids you to wait by the city well until he is free. I am to take you there and wait with you . . . and offer you hospitality."   She suddenly blushed and stammered, "In the form of food and drink of course."   "I would appreciate the hospitality in whatever form it takes," he responded with a smile. She blushed, but answered his smile with one of her own.   Bray picked up his pack, slipped it onto his back, and then picked up his weapons which were rolled in a waterproof, sealskin package. The young woman looked questioningly at that package, but didn’t say anything about it. In a larger town Bray would have taken the time to fasten his weapons about his person before continuing, but he didn't see the need here. His sword, knives, quiver, and bow may not be readily at hand, but he could still protect himself against anyone or anything he was likely to meet here, after all he was a trained Tawshe warrior.   As they neared the end of the wharf he asked his guide about the disappearance.   "Grandmother Adel is missing," the girl answered.    "If it is your Grandmother who is missing you probably want to be with your family. I can wait for the Headman alone if you want to go."   "She isn't my true Grandmother, that is just how people refer to her because she is older than everyone else, way older than everyone else. My true grandmother says Adel was old when she was still a girl."   "Could she have wandered off," Bray asked although he didn't see how that could happen. He didn't see a path leading away from the village, in fact, the only obvious path appeared to lead to the mouth of a cave located beside where the stream exited the base of the cliff.   They had arrived at the city well where Bray found a number of large boulders positioned for socializing.   "If you will wait here I will attend to some refreshments," the girl informed him.
    He nodded his agreement, and she strolled away to a house three down from the stream. Bray located a large bolder that would serve as a seat and a table, dropped his pack, sat down and looked around. An oven in front of one building identified the bakery, and a kiln identified a potter’s. Each was a combination dwelling, both workshop and home. The smithy's shop appeared to be a separate building. The villagers were still all milling around by the large building. It was easily the biggest of all the structures, but the construction method looked to be the same. All the buildings had stone walls which seemed to be built without the use of mortar. Frames for windows and doors were rough cut timbers as were the roof supports he could see. Doors were also made of wood while windows were covered loosely with animal skins. The construction indicated that this village had been here for many years, three or four generations Bray guessed.