Flames in the Night

[Jirai]

The heat was unpleasant.

Well, not so much the heat, as the scorching glare of the sun. Jirai had no love for that, for obvious reasons. She was irritated and unhappy. And she was going to share that.

The heat had left the fields so dry. It was too tempting for her to pass up.

That evening, more fires would blossom. The fires themselves were not too unusual, considering the condions. Even the speed at which the flames would rush could be attributed to the strange weather. It was simply unfortunate for the unlucky farmers.

Jirai did not even know who's farm it was she had targeted, as she slipped away to leave the flames to their work. Of course, knowing that it was the Baker farm probably would not have changed a thing.

This little escapade had pushed her mind towards grander things, though. Leaving the flames, she would make her way nearer to Lothbury. The estate would require some observation before she continued to wreak havoc.

[channe]

At first, there was nothing but the oppressive heat.

And then, the smell of ruin, and the crackling, inexorable advance of a knowledge that dawned on the small congregation of wattle-and-daub houses at the edge of the Bakers' wheat field with a bright light and a single cry -- the Stilsons' boy, newly recovered from the Flux, and out far past bedtime.

"Fire! Fire!"

The peasants working the Baker farm knew fire. They knew the tending of flame, the rules to keep it tamed; it was the centerpiece of their small houses and a partner in their work. But it always threatened -- and tonight, it consumed.

The crops.
The fields.
The gardens.

There was nothing to be done.

The Bakers' house was spared; the family had, thankfully, built it at a distance, and the sparks gasped for air and expired before reaching the place where Margaret and Thomas Baker ran about in their nightgowns, screaming for help and assistance. Thom Baker hurtled towards the barn, which might as well have been a tinderbox left by a chambermaid next to a parlor fire -- he and the elder boys managed to save only a few of the livestock inside before the old, dry wood frame began to fall above them like livid stars and they were forced out, coughing.

When the peasants' homes began to burn, their inhabitants were gone, attempting to to whatever they could to staunch the flames. But there was no water here, and no hope; and, eventually all gathered silently on the wide porch in front of the Baker's home.

Except for Agnieszka and her elder brother; and Karol, the cripple Kaczmarek, who could do no more than drag himself forward on hands and elbows, whom they held between them, his arms clutching their shoulders.

It was not truly their farm. But, at this point, it did not matter: that conflagration, over there, had been their home, and for that they mourned.

They stood on the dusty, hard-packed ground closer to the flames, which were reflected in six eyes filled with tears.

[NightSteel]

Up until now, the sporadic fires that flared up had not claimed any homes, just crops and trees. There was nothing Ezekiel Jones could do about a burned crop or tree. Either of them would just have to be re-planted, if they would support seed with the drought.

But a home?

As soon as word of the loss of the Kaczmarek home reached his farm, he and Sarah went into action. The old wives' network sprang to life, even late in the evening, and through the night, men, women and supplies gathered upon his farm. Tools, wood, metal, furniture, crockery, clothing. Raw and finished materials alike were stockpiled, old items were donated. He turned away no help, even if the Bates themselves arrived.

So, by morning, just as the sun was beginning to glow upon the horizon, an army of farmers and their wives descended upon the land where the Kaczmareks lived, led by Ezekiel Jones. Sarah had clucked at him for it, but to him, it didn't matter that the Kaczmareks had thrown their lot in with the Bates', or that the Kaczmareks were his competition in pig farming.

Ezekiel Jones was an honest man, and he did honest work. And he would do honest work all day to raise a new, better Kaczmarek home, even if the heat caused his heart to give out from it.

[Dhugal]

The boycotters..or Pritchites, as some now were referring to
thmeselves would also lend a hand at Baker's Farm. But it
was an uneasy atmosphere. John and his friends kept busy with
whatever task they could help with and did their best to avoid
getting into any conversations with those who were against
their action.
It was not the proper time or place to discuss anything other
that what could be done to help the Kazmareks and the others
whose homes had been destroyed.
One question that did occur to John was this:
How had this fire started to begin with?
It was something he'd ponder later.

[channe]

There were five peasants' homes burned: one- and two-room affairs of wood and wattle -- and their inhabitants were sleepless and red-eyed on the porch of the Bakers' home when someone spotted the crowd of farmers approach an hour after sunrise.

There was thanks. Profuse, grateful thanks to both the Pritchites and their foes, from the Bakers (who were never previously given to that sort of thing) and their bondsmen, as well, and their bondsmen's wives and children. Thanks to their neighbors, they now had food, a restoration of their meager possessions; someone had even brought a doll for the Stilson boy. There were thanks indeed.

...but to those paying attention, the flames did seem a bit unnatural. The five peasant homes had been goners for a good reason: they had been too close to the hellfire-field as it was.

The barn, however, was different: it had been set off, meters away from the field, to prevent this eventuality. A natural fire would have consumed the ends of the field -- now filled with the ashes of already-dead spring crops -- and spent itself for lack of fuel on a night like the previous one; but, somehow, the barn burned. If there had been a good wind, sparks would have carried on the breeze, and everything would have burned -- even the Baker home -- but the night before had been unnaturally still.

Margaret Baker spent most of the morning cawing at the Joneses and ordering folk about in her typical officious manner; and Thom worked with his boys to salvage what was left of the barn and the stables (and fix the gruesome damage inside; he thanked his lucky stars that it had been a clear night and he had kept the sheep in the outside pen! But the cattle -- !).

As for Agnieszka, she had little time to think on these things: she and the six able Kaczmareks were assisting in the house-raising. In the days to come, there would be a need to clear and re-plant the fields (perhaps, she thought, there may be some merit to the flame, in that way) and re-build the barn. There would be no passes today, no drills; no visit to the Dagger. Ariane's words in the upstairs bedroom still spoke chill into her heart: what was so wrong that she could not tell Sawyer about what she saw at the sword?

But she was rather impressed with the way the Pritchites were behaving themselves around their enemies. Rather impressed, indeed.

And so it was back to work.

[Suede]

Suede had been there, but he'd never gone near their little display of kindness to their neighbors. He'd simply heard of the fire and had needed to make two observations... how stuck up the farmers were, and what caused the fire.

Oh he had his suspicions by the way the drow had come in some smug on the same night, but if any of the farmers had looked down the field, which was quite likely, they'd have seen Suede walking the lengths.. stopping now and then to look up, scratch his head, take a long drag from the water he had, or just stretch.

Eventually he would wander over to the barn's remains, and if anyone chose to speak to him he'd not say much beyond basic pleasantries, completely ignoring any rude comments as if they were the sweetest words possible.

[NightSteel]

It had taken until a short time after sunset, but they had finally finished, nailing on the finishing touches to the peasant houses underneath the fading glow of the sun. Slowly, the army of help dispersed, each to their own home, and Ezekiel Jones to his. He was, of course, pleased at the news of water dispersal relayed to him by his farmhands, and the news of fire patrols and fire breaks. If he were to continue providing food to the Broken Dagger, and the leftovers to others in Myrken, he would need all of those things.

[channe]

Agnieszka walked back to the farm, feeling rather smug thanks to the result of her short conversation with the Straka lieutenant and thrilling at the sight of the new houses standing on flat ground a ways from the burnt fields.

She was doing investigations of her own.

Kerrak's Law was in effect, Kilborn had said, and she'd responded that that was quite all right. Because, she reflected, for a Kaczmarek, there's always more than one way to skin a cat.

And she had a very good idea which particular cat that could possibly be.

[Jirai]

This cat, however, had skinning of her own to do.

It was a bright day, a hot day, a barn-raising day. And there would be extra help this day, for Jirai, hammer in hand, had shown up just as she'd promised Agnieszka. She was oh-so polite, that woman, hooded against the sunlight, as she offered her help to the farmers.

[channe]

Oak beams. Clay for the roof-tiles. Boards, hewed for free by sympathetic neighbors. It wasn't to be a barn like some of the larger farms had -- a barn for the ages -- but it was to be of quality workmanship. The Bakers' friends had sworn that. It would store grain. House sheep. Be the last bastion against hunger.

Hunger, which had slowly been encroaching onto the lives of the people.

Much preparation goes into raising the frame of a barn. Across the empty space between the house and the construction site, groups of people are engaged in hammering and hauling. It should take most of a day for the work to be done: perhaps, two, as the elderly men had been telling themselves. It's far too hot -- far too hot! to work for long, they whispered. The threat of heatstroke was strong, and the Bakers had little boys running to and fro the river for refreshment, as the Baker well had already gone dry.

There would be much to do in the coming days, but today was the day when the most crucial work would be done: when joist was joined to wood, when nail after nail pounded together to make walls, supports, a templed roof. Thom and Margaret Baker are working on a roof-piece; Agnieszka is perched on the half-raised front.

She shimmies down when she sees Jirai, and dodges people to and fro. She does not oustretch her hand to shake the drow's, and instead looks at her with an interested, derogatory gaze.

"Hi," she'll say, and point at the roof. "Y' can work on the roof. Talk t' Johann, an' he'll tell ye what to do. Mind, I'm not sure Perchand there likes elves or whatever, but he's better'n that guy over there," she says, motioning to someone working on the wall. "Thanks for coming," she gushes, with a dazzling smile. "Y' don't know how much this means to us!"

Johann would give Jirai some of the hardest, hottest work he could find; but, truly, it was all hard and hot on a day like this... wasn't it?

On her way back to her own work -- which wasn't far, really, it was less than yelling-distance from Jirai's roof-piece -- she'd speak lowly with two of her brothers.

[Jirai]

Jirai would just nod amicably to whatever Agnieszka said. Any expression on her scarred face was well hidden by the darkness of her hood. She would be completely unlike herself, perfectly polite today as she began working where she had been directed. Not talkative, but still polite, she would work, and work well. She was stronger than she looked. Always, though, there would be an eye or a sensitive ear fixed on Agnieszka. She did not trust the girl, of course, and there was no reason to in this situation.

[channe]

This was not going the way Agnieszka had planned.

First of all, she -- nor Straka, although she was convinced they'd just laughed the calls of arson into the trashbin -- had not been able to find a single stitch of evidence that placed Jirai at the scene that night. Agnie didn't need evidence -- no, all Agnie needed was assurance, which came from numerous sources and all pegged Jirai as the plausible culprit. All Agnie needed was her knife and some luck.

But Kilborn had warned her: Kerrak's Law was still in effect.

Kilborn, and the rest of Straka, were ineffectual ninnies -- but ineffectual ninnies that would have her hanging by the gallows, she had grudgingly conceded, were she to engage in the kind of vigilante justice that was calling to her at this very minute.

So, Plan A was out the window.

So she went through the day, the sun -- and Jirai's awful, angering politeness -- burning her skin and her mind. The hammer she holds is slammed harder and harder into the nails; the work she does is faster. Occasionally, one of her brothers asks about her health: she mutters a low "fine."

To be sure, Agnie was a bit of a hothead; but she does learn from the past, which is why she wrestles down the desire to walk right over to Jirai and wield her hammer right into the drow's head while she's not looking. Instead, she *looks* over, at Jirai in that robe, doing some of the hardest tasks possible. And still -- still she works! Her brothers, as well as Agnie herself, thought that Jirai would have passed out because of heatstroke hours before this.

Plan B out the window.

The foundation is dug. Thom Baker calls for a break.

And Agnie, dropping the hammer where it is, wanders over to Jirai as the others head for the shade.

"Why are you here?" she'll ask her, her voice angry.

[Jirai]

Jirai welcomed the break, truthfully. It took a toll on her, the apparent disregard for the sun and the heat that she was affecting today. She would pay for it, later, but the price was worth it. Oh, the anger fairly radiated off of the farm-girl, and the hooded dark elf drank it in.

"Here? I'm here to help you." She answered Agnieszka's question. She stretched slowly, loosening muscles that were beginning to ache. "If there is more to this conversation, though, it might be better continued in the shade, hmm?"

And with that, she would saunter slowly towards said shade, waiting a moment to see if the girl was coming.

[channe]

Agnieszka will not move. Her feet will be rooted there in the dusty ground, where nothing grows except for her hate.

"We'll talk here," she says, nastily. "You didn't come t' help; you didn't come t' be sorry, did you?"

Some of the other workers will notice the two of them standing there -- they'll watch for a moment before going towards where the buckets of water are waiting. She'll not want the drow to go towards the shade, towards the others -- not yet.

[Jirai]

When Agnieszka did not move, she would sigh and turn to face the girl again. A pity - a rest in the shade would have been a nice respite. Despite her precautions the sun still burned her sensitive eyes. But at least if she was not in the shade, neither was the girl.

"I don't know what you are talking about, Agnieszka." She lied calmly. But then, she was a drow. Lying came to her as naturally as breathing. "I offered you my help. You accepted. Here I am. It's as simple as that. If you did not wish my help, you could have said so the other day when I first offered."

Kerrak's Law. How she loved it.