Hell Hath No Fury....

[Dhugal]

"An' wha' would you hae had them do after th' oother night, eh?"

Kildrummy had ridden up behind the group standing on the road leading
another two horses behind him. He nodded over towards where the remains
of the bonfire set the evening before by the mob still smouldered. "Would
ye hae them ride oot an' seek revenge oon their neighbors by doin' th' same
as those noompties?"

He then pointed towards John Bates' burned fields. "Would you hae them
set fire to some non-Pritchite farm to e'en th' score a bit? Maybe they should
hae hoodled together in their farmhouses like mice an wait for th' next fire
an' mayhap be burned t' death?"

He shook his head at the girl. "There's worse things than a drought an' puir
crops, lassie. John Bates' could hae started a fight tha' would hae made th'
drought look like heaven, Instead, he chose t' leave."

He rode past the group, riding over to look at the words in the dirt and the
mutilated snake. "Y' wan' t' blame somewha, blame th cowards who left this,
an' whoever went aboot burning John Bates' farm an' the Baker place. An' be
glad John Bates'hae muir coomon sense then y'do."

He went against some advice he'd given someone the other day and spat
down on the insignia drawn in the dirt. "Tha' f' cowards. An' tha's th' last any
o' my kin will spill f' this land o' noompties."

Kildrummy turned the horses and started down the road.

[channe]

Agnie, of course, was never one to stay appropriately quiet while being chastised by a complete stranger: that honor was reserved for only one living being, and Kildrummy didn't look a bit like her sainted mother.

"I woulda had 'em rebuild all fine, like we did, an' stop bein' so pig-headed 'bout a gar-damned cup," she said, breaking away from the group and hollering after the man. "They're bastards fer bein' selfish at times like these an' yer a bastard fer even thinkin' you knew what I was thinkin'!"

The words are out, of course, before she can stop them. The hoe is held in her hand defensively.

[Dhugal]

Kildrummy drew rein, looking back over his shoulder.

"A bastard am I? I did nae read y' wee noompty mind, lass,
oonless y' wishin' a burnin' death oon them was a thought tha'
hae escaped oot th' hole in y' wee noompty heid."

He looked at her stance with the hoe. " An' how much guid
d' ye ken tha' might do if I stampeded these oother two horse at
y' first an' then rode y' doon after? Wha' d' y' ken might happen t'
y wee friends beside y' whilst y' dealt wi' tha'?"

The mercenary shook his head. "Well, John Bates considered all th'
consequences o' startin' a fight an' used his heid. See tha' y' do tha'
next time. O' gae an' put yon hoe t' th' use `tis meant for."

He turned back forwards in the saddle.

[channe]

For a moment, Agnie just stares at the man with utter and complete disbelief.

She holds the hoe like many farmers do, when they're not using it: straight up, with the butt of the instrument in the ground and the usable end in the air, near her head; it is clutched by a white-knuckled hand, of course, and drawn in a bit -- there's no threat to the girl's actions; there's no staff-like motion or visible intent to use the hoe as anything more than an anchor to the ground.

Unless that white-knuckled hand and that obviously angry face are all one needs to constitute a desire for a fight: such things are sometimes true, in Myrken Wood, and they do not surprise Agnieszka any longer.

Her brothers stir behind her, muttering angrily in another language, and attempt to step up to join her. Agnie's hand goes out to calm them with a quick, downward motion.

"Ye'd run a bunch o' us defenseless gals an' kiddies down wi' yer horses, sir," she spits in his direction. "Why, tha's very kind. Very kind indeed; an' throwin' insults at ladies, that's even better. Obviously yer jus' as honorable as the rest of 'em self-stuffed Pritchers! Talkin' about me having a 'wee noompty heid!'" She'll then glance to one of those brothers. "I'm not lookin' fer trouble. Piotr, let's go."

[Dhugal]

"Right, y' are, lass..we're all bastards, aren't we? When y' groon
oop a bit, y'll come t' ken tha' not everythin' is black or white."

Kildrummy mentally kicked himself. He was arguing with a child!

"Bluidy hell! Weel, y' dinnae hae t' fash y'self anymore about me,
o' Pritchites, o' Brother Cyth nae muir. We're all leavin', an' y'
loonies can hae t' whole noompty house t' y'selves. Gods help
y' all." He yelled this back over his shoukder as he moved off down
the road. He had a few hours before sunset and then he'd go get
Cyth and that would be the last either of them would be seen in
Myrken.

[The Kolat]

Robert Hamilton damn near worshipped John Bates and so he had been one of the first to begin helping preparations for the big move. He wasnt looking forward to the burning of the crop but John and Mary were right. It was time to move on.

"Elizabeth, is the kitchen empty yet?" Bellowed Robert through the front window of the modest house as he was loading up the mules.

"Almost, Robert..give me some time, theres a lot in here to go through!" Was her screeching reply.

"That woman and her kitchen..gods it'll be lucky if we get out of here before nightfall" Thought Robert before belting his return. "Every minute we spend here is a minute weve lost at the new Project, hon, so lets try to hurry the best we can."

The clanging and banging of pots and pans in the kitchen slowed to a stop then before Elizabeth's head popped out the window. "What about Lonnie, Robert? We havent seen him in I dont know how long now. Hows he gonna know whats been decided or where to go?"

Lonnie was their oldest son, a young man now, and he'd simply dissappeared. In their whisperings at night, Elizabeth and Robert simply thought he was on one of those youthful exhibitions lads sometimes go on when they get of age and start feelin all cramped up on a farm.

"We'll leave 'em a mesage, Liz, something clear and easy to find, dont you worry about him now." Robert himself was getting worried about his son, but his anger was even greater. There seemed to be more work to do around the farm now than ever before and he could use the extra hand. He sighed it off and got back to the work of preparation.

Grampy Hamilton sat in the lone chair left in the living room rocking back and forth gently with a little smile spread across his lips. He knew what Lonnie had been up to. Hell, he'd been the one that put him up to it. It was a secret, and if he told he knew both Robert and John would fly off the handle quicker than a fly from a boiling pot. So he sat and rocked...and smiled.

[channe]

When y' groon oop a bit, y'll come t' ken tha' not everythin' is black or white.

He was just like the rest of them: that, at least, was a fact cemented for Agnieszka.

She turned on one heel and began to stalk homeward, the hoe clutched like the ear of an offending child. Curse him for sounding like one of the men she'd grown to respect; curse him, doubly, for the thing he'd said, the thing that they all said: that she was just a gangly farm-child out of her element, wanting more than her proper place could offer her.

Of all the things she refused to believe, that was the strongest.

[Dhugal]

Kildrummy was waiting two hours later when the monastery gate
opened and a squinty-eyed Brother Cythwyllthfyr emerged.

"Dhugal? Is that you?"

"D' y' ken, Brother, tha' y' moost like th' oonly man in all o'
Myrken Wood t' ken both who I am an' who Hugh really was?"
Kildrummy gripped Cyth's hand in a warm handshake.

"Yes, and I also know I taught you to speak much more civilly
when I was your tutor." The small monk's face twisted in real
dismay with his next words. "Dhugal, I've done a horrid thing!
All this uproar from an argument with a barmaid! I've got to
fix this!"

"Too late for that now Brother. There's too much rage and not
enough common sense among the townsfolk." Kildrummy slipped
back into the proper speech Cyth had drummed into his head as
a child."Your friend John Bates saw that it would lead to bloodshed
and chose to leave. And Father Master Fidelius has decided you
should too. Are you up to a long ride, Brother?"

Cyth expression turned crestfallen. "As much as it goes against
the wishes of my heart, I must obey my Superior."

"Good. The horses are over here by the trees."

Cyth gave a resigned nod and started to his right, then was
stopped short by Kildrummy, who turned the nearsighted monk
around to the left. "The trees are this way, Brother."

Kildrummy walked the monk over and helped him up onto one of
the horses,then added the monks belongings to the pack horse.

In a few moments,Dhugal MacParlan and Brother Cythwyllthfyr were
on their way out of Myrken Woods.

[Dhugal]

Down the road from the east comes a line of six wagons
escorted by armed riders. The travellers seem happy although
there's some grim faces as they ride past their former homes
and see the fields still bare. But they're not here to mourn the
past.

They push on until they reach the gates of St. Thecla's
monastary and there they spend the night as their leader confers
with Abbot Fidelius. When they move on in the morning for
Myrken Town, one wagon stays behind. But each of the remaining
wagons bears additional passengers as ten monks accompany
the others into town.

When the caravan reaches Myrken it heads immediately to the
Straka garrison. One of the monks climbs down from his seat with
the assistance of the wagon drivers and walks briskly over towards
the nearest guard.

"I am Father Abbot Fidelius from St. Thecla's and I need to see
Lt. Kilborn,please. I have a message for him."

In his hands he holds a folded piece of parchment.

[Dhugal]

Moments pass and realizing it might be sometime before he
finds Kilborn, Fidelius presses the parchment into the hand
of a passing soldier with a request to find Kilborn or another
Straka officer. Then the Abbot turns to his companions.

"Start unloading them as we discussed last eve, my sons.
James and Michael, you know what to do."

Two of the younger initiates nodded and ran off towards
the center of town and found some of the friends of their
childhood here. They in turn spread out to contact others
with the whispered message: "Come see the monks of
St.Thecla by the gates of the garrison."

The first arrivals will find the spaces by the wagons set up
in an orderly procession of stops, and at each one small sacks
of different food: various fruit and vegetables, along with
flour and corn meal. There were some chickens as well, and the
monks divided these up between those who agreed to share the
meat between their families.

The last stop in the line was for those who lived outside of
town on farms. They were asked their names, given a chit to
sign, and were told to bring their half back to St.Thecla's
in the spring where they would be given free sacks of seed to
plant new crops.

Best of all, there was no money asked for in payment. Despite
that fact, the whole event was peaceful and the silent wagon
drivers made sure it stayed that way.

For many of the poorer folk of Myrkentown, it would be a
merrier Yule than they had expected.

[Tyralor]

"I don't have the first idea how to thank you for your assistance with this, Abbot Fidelius." The Heretic offered with a hint of awe echoing within his tone. It was relatively rare that folks came through in such a phenomenal manner, but the Pritchites certainly continued to provide.

"The townsfolk will be most pleased with the assistance, and the full bellies they will have throughout the winter." Once the missive from the Abbot had successfully reached the Lieutenant, he'd stirred a few men into action. Of course, actually stomping about with a group of guards patrolling alongside the wagons would've just stirred up trouble. So the patrols roamed about. They were there, but not obvious about it.

Much like the few individuals that were suppose to be watching the Lieutenant. Of course, Devry was taking care of that little issue.

"Are you certain there is nothing that is desired in return? I must admit, this much generosity does make me somewhat nervous."

[Dhugal]

"Thank you,my son, but our needs are few
and the Gods provide." Fidelius smiled. Around
them the wagons were being once more readied to move now that their cargo had been distributed.

"There are more supplies at St Thecla's in
a safe place. Send for them as you need them.
But as John Bate's letter says, only the Straka
should be in charge of giving them out to the
poor." He walked over towards a waiting wagon
as he spoke."You know of the difficulties
between the Pritchites and Councilors Suede
and Treadwell. The Bates have no use for them
and feared the food would have ended up in
their stomaches rather in the ones that needed
it most. As for the others..well..they never seem to be about when the common folk need them."

He turned to the driver, who looked very much
like Matthew Bates. "I think we're done, my son.."

[Tyralor]

The Lieutenant favoured Fidelius with a small nod and a tight grin. Word had passed to him recently about a small funding issue. With the Lieutenants pulling a bit of extra duty, cutting their wages and the supplies that had just been brought in, the rank and file wouldn't hear about it, nor be concerned with it. He'd have to make a small stop by Daniels' quarters perhaps and discuss a small raise amongst the men. It wouldn't be paid in coin, but with the agricultural issues of late, a good solid bit of food would do most of them quite well he suspected.

"Your timing was impeccable it would seem. Again, convey our thanks."

[Dhugal]

Even though the Pritchite settlement was far to the east beyond the
Wall, the former residents of Myrken kept abreast of events in their
former homeland through letters sent to them by Abbot Fidelius.

So when the rider clattered into the yard of John Bate’s new homestead
there was no reason to think the news would be any more dire or
astounding that it had been in the past. John took the packet and invited
the messenger to stable his horse and stay for dinner. Then the leader
of the Pritchite Militia sat on his porch step and began to read.

“News from Myrken, John?â€

[Dhugal]

In the Pritchite settlement between the Myrken Wall
and the western slopes of the Siskasoon Mountains the
harvest had been another good one. Not a bumper crop
by any means but compared to some of those they'd
had the last few years before they'd left Myrken it was
very good indeed. Smokehouses and root cellars were
well stocked and firewood piled in readiness for
the coming winter cold.

Of course the Pritchites kept abreast of news from
their former home. Abbot Fidelius still sent letters
to John and Mary Bates which usually led to Mary
nodding triumphantly over the latest scandal or
horror reported. "The Heavens' judgement on the
sins of evil folk." she'd say as she knitted a new
scarf or mittens or a blanket for one of the new
babies born to a neighbor. "We were right to leave
when we did, John. Blessed Pritchard guided us to
this place."

Mary's view was shared by others. In fact, three
of the new children born since they'd settled
Beyond The Wall were named Pritchard in honor
of the deceased bartender. The parents of the
baby girl had shortened it to Pritty.


John wasn't as sure about the source of either their
good fortune or Myrken's calamities as his wife.He
was certain that they'd had little choice but leave
their homes for this place and he was thankful to
whatever Power, be it gods or Pritchard, that had
blessed them with this peaceful and fertile place.


At times John would find himself standing on his front
porch looking west in the direction of the Wall and the
place he'd once thought of as home. New Council
elections were coming and he couldn't help but wonder
how they might turn out. But as time wore on he had
realized that it no longer truly mattered to him, his
family and the rest of those who'd followed them here.


They were no longer Myrkenites. Myrken Wood was now
just the place they had all come from.

This place they'd settled was now Home.