Little War, Part 2: A Muggin's Life

 

“I'd like to see you try!”

 

“I'm sorry, my lord mug-” the adjuvant was having trouble.

 

“Step back,” the frith at the doorway shoved a shortspear between the harried adjuvant and the muggin horde amassing out front.

 

“Is that a spear? You're gonna kill me with a spear? Are ya too green for swords, boy?”

 

“Show it to 'em, Faylin!” shouted a muggin from the back.

 

“Take a look at this, frith,” Faylin opened his coat showcasing his own steel sword, worn and knicked from years of slitting throats and stabbing backs. The frith was unimpressed since the muggin was only three feet tall and the sword looked like some ratty old dagger.

 

“Just step back, please.”

 

“Oy! There he is! Finn!”

 

Finn stood at the end of the hall, half slumped against the cool bricks. The muggin crowd at the doorway nearly pushed past but the shaft of the spear and the firm frith made it clear that they'd have to wait for him to stagger towards them.

 

“H-Hey lads,” Finnean felt weak. The necromancer said someone thumped him good at the fountain but all he could remember was walking down Tree Lane with Higley Hutch. He made his way past the adjuvant and frith into a herd of beaming faces and welcoming arms. “Come on now, come on, I'm weak.”

 

“He's weak he says! Like he didn't rattle a few heads himself!” shouted Faylin.

 

“I...I did?”

 

“Les' get you home, Finn. Yer mother's roastin' redroots and knittin' herself a funeral shawl!” A roar of much too loud laughter went up from his friends. Finnean wasn't sure if they'd ever had concussions before but he'd be sure to fill them in on the consequences of loud noises. They began to walk away from the zikurat's resting wing and back out into the streets.

 

Even in his near-lucid state he could tell something felt off. His friends...his friends had their hands under their jackets...clutching knives and smallbows. The farther they walked the more their veneer of cheerfulness disappeared.

 

“Did...um, did anyone die, Faylin?”

 

Faylin's lips pursed tight together. He looked angrier than hell itself, but he only stammered out a whisper. “Higley...Goodie Hutch's boy...and Tustin...they got Tustin Blackflower...”

 

Finnean felt the wind go out of him. Higley Hutch barely worked for his Family. He drove a cart for Danadan on Sundays, carrying wood and apples. It wasn't anything to do with anything. He was barely old enough to be a man. And Tustin...he'd never known Tustin, but he knew it was a blow to his dad and the Grandmother. “Who...who did we-?”

 

“Give it a moment, eh?” chirped up Basil to his left. They passed by a frith making his nightly patrol, keeping the streets safe from the likes of them. He shot them an eye so evil it could sour honey.

 

They'd just started to enter the muggin quarter, filled with small ramshackle huts so close they fell on top of one another. Without words Faylin led them to a back alley away from the main streets. He glanced around every corner as his friends looked ahead and behind him. The muggin quarter wasn't safe to walk at night, especially for a Thornrose these days.

 

It was a while before they could make their way to Thornrose territory but soon enough they were there, safe and sound. It was called the Nestle, since it was nestled into it's own little valley on the outskirts of the city between a few hills. The affluence of the Thornrose Family was on full display. The streets were paved with cobblestone, the statues were beautiful and imported, and the houses were smooth and ornate, albeit Muggin which made them look slightly less grand to any one who stood over four feet tall.

 

It still didn't feel real, especially since he couldn't remember anything between walking down the lane and waking up in the zikurat. Even coming to in the resting wing started to seem fuzzy and dreamlike. The more he thought about it the worse his headache got. He fished in his pocket for the White Weed the necromancers had given him. Just a few leaves from the garden they tended. It tasted sour but soon his headache was gone and he felt lighter than he knew he was.

 

Everyone was on edge tonight. The towers on the hills were lit up. Guards stood every few feet with smallbows, bolts at the ready. Willy Foxer even had his dogs out sniffing and ready to kill. His family's manse was up a curved paved ramp but his mother was already rushing down to meet him.

 

“My Finnean! My Finnean, you're okay! Oh bless! Bless the gods! Finnean!” He let his mother wash over him with affection. She drenched his face with her tears and hugged him just a little too tight.

 

“Agh, mum! Bandage! Bandage! Bandages on my head!”

 

“S-Sorry, Finny!” She patted his head as though she pushed his skull out of place.

 

A figure moved into the light of the doorway. It was his father's silhouette; he could tell by the bushy red beard. He made his way down slowly, letting his wife get a few more hugs and kisses in before pulling him into a tight hug. “C'mere, son...” Finn's mother finally let go and stood back, wiping her red face and sniffling. He pushed Finn away but still gripped on. “You okay? Necroman do ya up alright?”

 

Finn nodded. “They...said I should watch for anything strange...going on with my head... and...um get lots of...” Finn trailed off. The White Weed made it easy to think but hard to speak.

 

“Thas alright, thas alright, just come inside out of the cold,” he put a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder but glanced down the dark street like he was ready to jump in front of a bolt.

 

The manse was warm and bright, which hurt Finn's head for a second but he quickly adjusted to it. Tapestries hung from the walls and statues of important looking ancestors looked down at him. He never liked the statues. Not one of their stone faces were smiling. Just like the Grandmother, who stood next to an ancient worn granite statue at the top of the stairs. She was hunched with age, which made her look even smaller than a muggin had any right to be, but it might as well have been all an act for the fire inside her. She looked like she wanted to say something, which was as good as shouting for attention. Every head in the hall from Finnean to the passing guards turned her way.

 

“Breddin. Family Meeting in ten minutes. Hunting Hall. Bring Finn,” she turned to walk away but turned her head back. “I'm glad you're alright, Finn. You did well.” And she was gone. A compliment from the Grandmother looked like limestone but was valuable enough to take down to the mint.

 

Finn's mother would do anything to get Finn straight to bed with a blanket and a pot of hot soup, but she wouldn't do anything when it came to Grandmother Thornrose. The Grandmother's words were like the elements, you couldn't fight them, but you could live with them.

 

Everyone stood around awkwardly. Finn's father Breddin, took him aside. “Are you chewing on a White Weed?” Finn slowly nodded. The bandages stretched a little when he bent his head. “Don't let your mother catch you with it. She's got some weird ideas about necroman medicine...are you, uh, are you okay, you know,” he made an undefinable gesture which implied he meant to say 'in the head.'

 

“I'm a...the weed's making my speech...a little weird, but I'm...I'm good, I'm good.”

 

His father nodded his head, looking a little concerned. “Let's go to the Hall. Lazy, over here.” He motioned for Lazenby Thornrose who trotted over. “Get the Heads and their seconds, there's a meeting in the Hunting Hall in ten minutes.”

 

“Kithri's not here, but-”

 

“That's fine, that's okay. Just spread the word.”

 

The two entered the Hunting Hall before anyone else. Finn preferred it to other places at the Nestle since it was timber. He always felt more at place around trees even if they were dead and stacked up on one another. Finn sat at the first bench he could stagger to.

 

His dad sat across from him and had that same concerned look on his face.

 

“I want to fill you in on what happened before anyone else does, understand?” said Breddin. Finn nodded. It was important to always know the details even if it was totally pointless. “You and Higley were heading to the fountain to see Tustin and Thom. When you got there Tarren Bandyford and Garny and Willy Nimblefinger shot Tusty and Higley. You stabbed Willy in the chest and Garny knocked you in the head. Thom got Bandyford and stuck Garny in the side but the bastard lived. Nobody's seen Thom since but we're not counting him out just yet. You get all that? You understand what I'm saying?”

 

Finn barely comprehended anything his dad just spoke. He killed someone? He killed...Willy Nimblefinger? That didn't sound right...

 

“I killed...”

 

“Yes, son. You killed. But now's not the time to think about it, so don't.” Just then the heads of the Family started filing in with their seconds. Lazenby Thornrose and Tessa Riverbend sat down at the front table with Courty Fisher, Kithri's second. Not long after, Wenner and his son Faylin Stonefoot bounded in and sat themselves down with Callie Riverbend. Thaylin and Baladin Thornrose came next. Shortly after them came Kithri back from who know's where. The only one missing now was Thom Garlic, Callie's second.

 

There was a little terrace and podium where people in the Hunting Hall made speeches, where the Grandmother Payla Thornrose suddenly appeared without any fanfare. Her Left-Hand Erich Bandytongue stood beside her. Breddin, her Right-Hand stood up to join them.

 

The Grandmother always scowled, but tonight one could tell it was a frown beyond frowns. “Tonight the Family suffered. We lost a good muggin, name of Tustin Blackflower. Tusty was in the Business before any muggin ought to have been. He was warrior, brother, father, and friend. He fought with us against the Fairmeadows, the Tallgrasses, the Underfoots, and up until earlier today, the Bandyfords. On my orders he singlehandedly ended the Highdale Troubles and served this Family more than he had any obligation to. He went beyond blood. Beyond duty. And he cannot be replaced.” Feylin, Callie, and Wenner were in tears. Just about everyone else turned their sadness into anger and kept their faces cold as stone. The Grandmother stared at the end of the hall, refusing to look anyone in the eye. “But we must make ourselves whole once more...Erich, Breddin...”

 

Erich Bandytongue and Breddin Thornrose stepped forward while the Grandmother stepped back. Erich was a handsome muggin. If he were a human, he could make a woman do anything with a word. His voice was soft and smooth like honey-cream. “Breddin, the Grandmother, and I have spoken. The Family can't survive if it can't heal. Finnean, the time's come...rise up...”

 

Finnean looked dazed. It wasn't the White Weed that made the situation surreal. He stood up.

 

With an emotionless face, Breddin spoke to his son as if no one else were in the room. “Finnean, are you willing to live for the Family, forsaking all other pursuits to help your brothers and sisters?”

 

He'd talked with his father about joining with the Family in an official capacity in a few years time. They'd both agreed he would, but this was too soon. “...y-yes, I-I am.”

 

Bandytongue stepped forward, “Are you willing to kill for the Family, spilling the blood of its enemies and defending your home?”

 

Finnean wanted to do so much in life. He'd wanted to travel, maybe go to a sage's academy for a few years. He'd never even been with a woman. “Yes...yes, I am.”

 

The Grandmother stepped forward, pushing Breddin and Erich aside. “Finnean Thornrose, are you willing to die for your Family? Are you willing to spill your own blood if you were asked?”

 

He wasn't a killer. Yes, he'd killed Willy Nimblefinger, but he couldn't even remember it happening. He wasn't even sure if he could do it again. He wasn't even sure if it was something he'd enjoy doing in the first place. No. No, this was too much. Too fast. “Yes, I am.”

 

“Remove yourself from the Hunting Hall,” the Grandmother's face and voice were unmoved. “Seek me out at midnight.”

 

Finn nearly passed out. His head was swimming, and it wasn't the concussion. Joining the Family? Already? He nearly tripped over the bench he was sitting on and scrambled out the door. Most of the faces in the room looked at him with pity, some looked at him with shock.  They were surprised as he was.

 

When he stumbled out of the Hall, his mother and a coterie of her friends were there to meet him. She hugged him without sobbing this time, but there was a definite shadow of fear over her face.

 

“Mom...”

 

She gripped tighter. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure what to tell her. She finally let go and looked at the ground. With red eyes she looked up at her friends and asked them quietly to let the two of them have a moment alone.

 

“Let's walk, Finny...in the garden.” She hooked her arm in his and they made their way to the back of the manse, strolling between the bushes and the willows.

 

“Mom, is it safe...to be out here?” he took a moment to spit out the White Weed in case she caught it in his mouth.

 

She smiled. “Oh, I think we've got enough guards to occupy a city in the backyard.” They kept walking, neither one knowing what to say.

 

But he did know what to say. He just didn't want to say it. “Mom...”

 

She sighed and prepared herself to cry. She looked straight at him and nodded.

 

“I said yes...”

 

If words could pierce a woman like a sword, then Hadria Thornrose didn't show it. She nodded and smiled weakly before continuing to walk with her grip on him just a little tighter. “Well...it's not like we didn't know this was coming...”

 

“But it feels too soon...” Finn blurted out.

 

“Yes, yes it does feel too soon, doesn't it?” She looked up at the swaying silhouettes of the treetops. “But your Grandmother...she had to get us into this little...Trouble.”

 

No one was quite sure of the details as to why the Bandyfords and Thornroses were at war, no one on their level at least. The two Families had never gotten along; there were no marriages between the two houses and their allies for at least two centuries. The Thornrose Family was powerful in the Overlands, but the Bandyfords had a number of connections in the muggin homeland of the Brooklands. That was a reason for a little friendly rivalry but it wasn't a reason to shed blood. The general consensus was that Grandmother Payla had something to do with it, but to what end she'd start a war, none could say. Or rather, none were allowed to say.

 

“Are you mad at me?” Finn lived and died by what his parents thought of him.

 

She shook her head, almost violently. “No! No, Finny. Why would- No, I'm not mad at you Finn. I'm just...I'm just a little scared...I remember what happened to Geoffrey is all.” Finn's older brother Geoffrey was younger than he was when he joined the Family, and he'd taken to it like a fish takes to water. No matter what he did in this life, Finn could never live up to him, even though he'd outlasted him by three years. The Bandyfords were terrible people, but even they weren't as cruel as the Underfoots were to Geoffrey. “Your father told me about this earlier this week actually. We had a big to-do about it up and down the house...when the next Family member...went, you were to take their place.” She started tearing up again, but there weren't any sobs. “When they told me that you were alive but Tusty was dead, I...I knew. No one came and told me. Not even your father. It just happened and I knew. I knew you were next.” She wiped her eyes.

 

One of the loons let out a cry in the garden pond.

 

“I can tell her no, mom.” His mother shook her head. “I can tell her whatever you want me to.”

 

She punched his chest lightly and still shook her head. “Don't make me make that decision, Finn. Don't.” She sniffled. “This is your life now. I can't...” Nothing else needed to be said, so they continued walking in silence.

 

When they circled around again to the front of the manse Wilmina Redrose trotted up so fast her skirt flew all around her. “Haddy! Goodie Hutch is here, poor thing! We've taken her up to the house and...and-” Wilmina seemed flustered and in need of direction, and Hadria Thornrose may not have been the Head of a Family but she was still unnaturally gifted at giving direction.

 

“Dear, I need to tend to Goodie...is that alright?” she patted Finn on the arm. He nodded, though he didn't need to give her permission to tend to a mourning friend.

 

He was by himself now. The Bandyford Troubles were the most bizarre time of his life. The day the manse caught fire. The day he found the cook bloated and poisoned. The day his father asked him and his friends to help steal a cart full of what turned out to be explosives. Every month for the past three years felt like a tale out of somebody else's storybook.

 

The next three hours were longer than they needed to be. Whatever the rest of the Family were doing it was being done quietly and out of the way and everyone else seemed preoccupied with one thing or another. Goodie Hutch agreed to stay the night. She talked about moving in with her brother back in the Brooklands, but his mother convinced her to stay close until the current Troubles were over and done with.

 

Finn glanced his father talking heatedly with Callie Riverbend about Thom Garlic but they both walked off when they discovered they were being eavesdropped. He eventually made his way to a couch on the top floor of the manse where the Grandmother held her court. It seemed strange to him that such a frail old woman would choose to climb these stairs again and again throughout the day.

 

“Feel like you've woken up in the Otherworld, Finn?” Erich Bandytongue suddenly appeared next to him like an apparition.

 

“Heh, yeah it does kind of feel like that.”

 

Erich sat next to him. “This is the life of a muggin, Finn. It's not fair, but nothing really is. One day you're a happy little jester dancing for a crowd of humans on a street corner, and the next minute you're stabbing another happy little jester in the chest for shooting your friends with a smallbow.”

 

“It's insane, Uncle.”

 

Erich seemed to find some hidden joke in that. “Yes. It really is. You ever hear the tale about the birth of the god of fools?”

 

It was a rhetorical question, but Finn couldn't help but answer. “Yes...”

 

“Baltyr, the Urdun god of wisdom and war cut off his hand to learn the secrets of the universe, and when the universe whispered the secrets back to him he let out a long loud laugh.”

 

“The secrets of the universe were a joke,” Finn continued, “and from his laughter came the Muggin God of Fools.” Finn felt like he was being talked down to.

 

“The laughter, Finn," Erich's eyes lit up. "Baltyr's laughter was a long, cold, cruel laugh. The secrets of the universe weren't just a joke. They were a cruel joke.” Erich folded his hands and stared at the floor. “The God of Fools is clever. Very clever. He's also wise and nimble and merry; but he's cruel Finn. He's the cruelest god there is. And the muggins are his people.”

 

The door to the Grandmother's room creaked open. It was midnight. Erich didn't need to say anything else, he simply sat there staring at the floor, smiling.

 

Finn shakily stood up and wandered in through the doorway. His father stood just inside, and his grandmother stood at her ornate desk.

 

“Dad...”

 

Breddin let himself out without saying another word. It was just him and the Grandmother now.

 

She sat down and smoothed out her maroon felt dress. She said nothing, which made Finn feel like he should make the first move. He moved to the chair opposite of her and sat down.

 

Almost as if it were written for her as part of a play she leaned forward and stared straight into him.

 

“Do you want this, Finn?”

 

“Grandmother?”

 

She leaned back and seemed tired for the first time in years, as if relaxing her muscles came so unnaturally to her. “Finn, I can't ask you to join the Family.” For reasons that couldn't come to mind he felt angry.

 

“And why's that...Grandmother?”

 

She stared helplessly at the ceiling. “If I hadn't asked you to join the Family in the Hunting Hall, what would you have done?” Finn just sat there looking confused. “I mean to say, what would you have done with your life?”

 

It took him a moment but he found his tongue. “I...I probably would've...joined the Family eventually.”

 

“But assuming you didn't. What would you do?”

 

That was the problem with that question. It had no answer. It was like a riddle. “I might've gone to the Sage's Tower in Tannerel. I could make money for the Family...I...I don't know.”

 

“You could do anything, boy. Anything. You could travel. You could start a family. You could be a sage if you wanted to. You could become a merchant in your own right and earn money for your own pockets if you so desired. Anything...” The silence hung heavy. Nothing was being said, but important thoughts were crossing between the two.

 

“What do you want from me, Grandmother?”

 

“This, little ritual we have; the ritual where the new member of the Family speaks with the Head of the Family at midnight, it isn't a ritual. It's a chance I give to everyone to walk away.”

 

“You want me to say, no?”

 

“I want you to make the best decision for you, Finn.” She looked almost normal then, rather than some household god that dictated every aspect of their lives. “You're my grandson, not my soldier, and I won't deny you the chance to walk away.” She smoothed out her dress again. “I'm not some iron-handed Overdale, I have mercy, Finn.”

 

It didn't add up, and it made him want to shout. “Why did you put everything on the line then? Why ask me to do it in front of everyone in the Hall?”

 

“Because we need you!” She shouted back. “We need the Trunk of our Tree to be strong. You and Higley were twigs on branches up to today, but we need you with us in the Trunk. In the Family. The only people allowed in the Family are the ones we trust...and we've been running out of those faster than I'd hoped.”

 

She needed him? But he was just another useless family member. “Why me?”

 

“You're smart, Finn. And you're clever. You probably don't think so, but you are. You're strong and nimble too, but what this Family needs the most out of you is trust.” She brushed a stray white hair from the front of her face. “But I won't deny you the chance to leave. You deserve a better life. We all do.” She stood up and looked to a tapestry on the wall. Its faded cloth depicted a battle from some ancient Trouble of the Thornrose clan. “I'll pay for it, Finn. I'll pay for you to study at a Sage's Tower. I'll pay to get you a ship with a full crew to sail anywhere you want to make gold I'll never see. I'll even pay to get you a wife and child if that's what you want. All you need do is ask.”

 

The God of Fools is a cruel god. The world was at his fingertips. The Bandyford Family wouldn't chase him beyond the Overlands, and he could still bring honor to the Thornrose Family however he chose. He could live the rest of his long enchanted life wherever, however, and with whomever he wanted. All he had to do was admit that it was more important than family.

 

“And if I don't join the Family, and go off somewhere, what will you do?”

 

She turned to look him in the eye. “I'll tell everyone that I found a special assignment for you. I'll make it up and not even your father will know the details of it.”

 

He looked straight into her eyes. “But what will you do? What will you think of me?”

 

She no longer looked sad, but tilted her head and squinted her eyes. It was a gesture that would mean nothing to anyone who didn't know her, but to those few who did, it was a sign that she thought of you as being on the same level, if only temporarily. “I would think you were a coward and unworthy of the Thornrose name. You would be more disgusting to me than my enemies, and even if you died for me in my service, I'd never respect you again.”

 

What a cruel joke. He was given the world on a gilded platter but the only way he could grasp it was to displease a woman who could never be pleased.

 

“I love my Family more than I love myself, Grandmother.”

 

Payla Thornrose smirked, which was as rare as a blue sunset. “Welcome to the Family.”