Common Clay

Clay woke the next morning with the sound of a gentle rain in his ears.

He immediately put aside any thought of entering the Tanglewood. Hunting the spiders on a good day was nightmarish enough. Trying to find them with the wind and rain limiting his visibility seemed like a recipe for disaster.

So instead, he shrugged into his thickest cloak, gave his parents a brief hug, wrestled a moment with Will and Finn, and tickled Amy and Saphy. Then he headed to Pellsglade, for the first time since he had gotten his [Class]. It was time to make the abandoned farmhouse his home, especially as it would save him the long trip home.

Sam walked along with him the first part of the way, shrouded in his own cloak. “Make sure that old Adam doesn’t take you for a ride, son. He doesn’t mean anything by it, but the old codger is simply incapable of not shorting someone if he can manage it.”

“I know, Dad. I know.” He glanced at his father, wondering what had made him so worried now. It wasn’t Adam; the whole village knew all about the storekeeper, and how to handle him. “Do you need any help on the farm?”

“No, son, we’re doing fine.” Sam’s tired smile gave the lie to the easy words, but it was the next ones that caught at Clay’s heart. “I went by your place yesterday. Seemed like you’d gotten a lot done.”

There was an expectant silence, and Clay felt a sudden burst of concern. Had he noticed Clay was entering the Tanglewood? Would he try to stop him? “Yeah… it’s been hard.”

“I know.” Sam nodded slowly, the rain dripping from the hood of his cloak. “I remember what it was like when I needed to clear our farm. It’s not easy, son, but as long as you keep at it, you’ll get through it. Don’t give up.”

Clay relaxed as he suddenly realized what Sam thought was happening. His father had noticed the lack of progress and had obviously decided that Clay was simply slacking off out of resentment. That reaction would have made much more sense than what he had actually done, now that Clay thought about it. “I won’t, Dad. I’ll keep at it.”

“Good.” Sam grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him slightly. Then he turned back toward the family farm, allowing Clay to continue on alone.

Feeling a little guilty, Clay pulled up the edges of his cloak. He knew what he was doing was necessary, but he imagined what would happen to his father if one of the monsters managed to kill him. Would Sam grieve him? Would he try to find him and fall victim to the same creatures?

He shook his head and continued forward. All he could do was keep going.

Pellsglade was quiet as the rain continued to patter down on it. Clay was not alone in making his way through the muddy streets; several other villagers were trudging from place to place, their features shrouded by cloaks. He took a moment to stare at the Stone, where it stood on the village green. Then he sighed and continued on his way to the stores. There was too much to do to stand in the rain and mope.

His first stop was the village smithy, which remained bright and warm despite the rain. David the blacksmith was inside, working his way through half a dozen tools that the local farmers had asked for. When Clay stepped through the door of the smithy, his nostrils filled with the smells of hot iron and smoldering coal. He coughed a little, shaking his cloak to rid himself of some of the damp.

“Be right with you.” The smith was a large man, with a careful, considered way of moving. Clay hadn’t spoken with him much, and he only knew that the man had the [Smith] subclass, which meant that he was the best at working the forge in Pellsglade. The village wasn’t large enough to attract someone like an [Artifactor], so they made do with the [Commoner] equivalent.

Once, he would have found that disappointing. Now Clay felt a curious kind of kinship with the man as he watched him work.

After a few more moments, David quenched the latest piece of work that he’d been pounding on and set it aside. He stepped over and doffed his forge gloves, reaching a meaty hand out to Clay. “So. What do you need?”

Clay shook David’s hand, feeling the strength in his grip. He made sure not to squeeze too hard; he was pretty certain he’d lose that contest quickly. “I need a few things. For the farm I’m working on.”

A flicker of sympathy went through David’s eyes, and he nodded. “That’s the old Rivers’ place, right? Up near the Tanglewood?” When Clay nodded, the smith grunted. “Shame what happened to them. Been a while since anyone was up that way. Hope it isn’t too rough for you.”

He resisted the urge to vent his frustration. In a small village, bad feelings had a habit of becoming public disagreements far too easily, and he didn’t need the baron making his life more difficult. “I’m managing. I do need a few more things to help, though.”

David nodded again, his face serious. “All right. I imagine a new sickle might help. Maybe a new axe?” He stepped towards a table, where a few examples of common tools were laid out. They all looked plain, but were functional enough. Clay felt like he recognized the style; Sam had always come to David for his tools. His father always said the smith was dependable.

“A new sickle, maybe, but I need something else a little more.” He paused, hoping that David’s reputation was well earned. “I need a spear. Something you’d use to hunt boars, with a nice crossguard. Do you have anything like that?”

The smith stopped in place. He looked back at Clay in surprise, his eyebrows climbing halfway up to his shaggy hairline. “A boar spear? I thought there wasn’t much hunting up that way.”

“There isn’t. Or at least, not much I’ve seen.” Clay tried to smile easily. He didn’t know how convincing it was. “That’s why I have to make the hunting trips up near my father’s place or in the Smallgroves matter. When you only get an hour or two, you have to make it count.”

Realization dawned in the smith’s eyes. “And the more meat you can bring in at once, the better, eh? I see.” He folded his arms, bringing one hand up to stroke at his beard. “As a matter of fact, I might have something like that. I got it half-finished for someone else, but they left before I could get it done. A little work, and I think I could have it for you by tomorrow.”

Clay wondered which of his now-adventurer friends had abandoned a spear, and then shook the thought away. “Excellent. With that and the sickle, what do I owe you?”

“Four pieces, copper.” It was a steep price, but the baron’s money wasn’t close to running out yet. Clay handed it over gratefully, and they shook on it one more time.

Then he went back out into the rain, heading for the fletcher’s shop. He hoped the arrows wouldn’t cost too much more, but at least he’d just be asking for broadheads and not something more unusual. The villagers should just think he was after large game, and not the horrors in Tanglewood.

“Well, if it isn’t our latest [Commoner]! Welcome!”

Clay forced a fake smile on his face, trying to hide his actual feelings. “Thank you, Adam. I’m here to buy some supplies.”

“A good day for it.” Adam grinned and gestured to the rain outside. Then he turned and raised his arms. “Come in, come in. I’m sure we have just what you need.”

Clay crossed the threshold of the so-called Great Storehouse of Pellsglade, a grand name for an over-glorified general store. Adam had run the thing since he had been young and had built it up into the main place for the farmers of Pellsglade to shop. Adam’s apparent friendship with the baron had given him a rather large competitive advantage, something the wily old merchant wasn’t shy about using. The fact that he occasionally appeared to have fits of generosity kept him reasonably tolerated in town, though everyone had at least one story of a deal gone bad at Adam’s.

Adam led the way through the store, passing the bags of seed and other sundry items that a farmer might find use for. Clay had to admit that the merchant had done well for himself over the years. He certainly hadn’t been going hungry, judging by his waistline.

“I have seed for you, but I doubt you are ready for that quite yet. Still plenty of work left to do there, correct?” Adam’s joviality was hard to place. Clay suspected at least some of it was false, but the prospect of making a sale was often enough for the old man to grin. “Instead, can I interest you in a plow? You might need a small one to get you started in the fields. Perhaps a bucket for the well?”

“The well?” Clay felt a moment of genuine surprise. “I didn’t know the field had one.”

“Oh, certainly. The Rivers family was quite proud of digging it themselves.” A brief look of sadness crossed Adam’s face, before the man banished it with another too-bright smile. “I’m sure it’s just been a bit hard to locate in everything. Have you already been to David’s smithy? If you haven’t, I do have some of his finest sickles…”

Clay waved the question away. “I’ve already been there, but thank you.” He looked around speculatively. “What I’m interested in are furnishings for the farmhouse. I could use some shingles for the roof, and a place to sleep.”

Adam’s smile grew. “Why, I just so happen to have some wooden roof shingles right here, along with a few struts for reinforcing a ceiling. Freshly delivered from the Calmfords this morning, in fact.”

Clay grimaced despite himself. His father had something of a feud going with the local carpenter; Josiah Calmford had been refusing to build anything for the Evergreens for years now. That fact had been the reason that almost every piece of furniture his family had owned had been handmade. If he wanted something built from wood, it was either make it himself, or buy it from Adam, and he had no time to sit around whittling.

“How much for the shingles? I’ll probably need at least—”

“Ten or twelve, I’d say?” Adam’s eyes glinted. The man was practically rubbing his hands. “You may want fifteen, just in case of an accident or additional repairs. It pays to be prepared, young man.”

Clay really wanted to argue the point, but he could hear the wisdom in the advice. “Fifteen then. How much?”

“I could see my way clear to letting you have all fifteen for a copper piece each.” Adam held up a hand as Clay began to protest. “You can pay me in installments, or favors as needed. You know I bring a fair deal.”

He could have bought the shingles for half that price, if the Calmfords weren’t such stubborn fools. With gritted teeth, Clay nodded. “Deal. I’ll also need some utensils and a bedroll.”

“Now that you mention it, I do have a bedroll available. I will also let you know I will soon have a bedframe as well, which should be delivered in a few weeks.” Adam’s smile practically split his face in half at this point. “I have also put together a package of various cookware that you can inspect, along with some candles. I’ll let you have both things for an additional four copper pieces.”

Clay couldn’t help but sigh. The old man had practically had him weighed and measured before he’d even set foot in the store. “That sounds perfect to me. Thank you.”

“No, thank you, dear customer!” Adam led the way back to the place where a pair of bundles were arranged. The shopkeeper had obviously prepared them well in advance. “Remember, if there is anything else you need, please do not hesitate to ask!”

Slightly disgruntled at being so predictable, Clay sorted through the items, finding just about everything he expected. When he looked at the candles, however, he paused. The monsters he’d been fighting had so far been manageable with just his own strength, but what would happen if he faced something worse? He’d need something a bit more potent. Magic was out of reach, obviously, but maybe fire would help.

“Do you have anything like lantern oil? Or the kind of tar you’d use to make fire arrows?”

The questions came before he could stop them, and Clay almost immediately wished he could take them back. There was a sudden silence from the merchant, and he looked up, almost dreading what he would see.

To his surprise, he found Adam staring at him in consternation. It was as if he had farted in a party the merchant had invited him to. Adam fidgeted a moment, as if containing his own irritation. Then the broad smile returned, though it seemed far less sincere. “That is a…surprise. Might I ask why you’d want such a thing?”

Clay’s mind scrambled for a likely excuse and hit on one that his father had already hinted at. “I’ve…been struggling to clear some of the sablethorn in my field. I was thinking that perhaps a controlled burn…”

Adam was shaking his head with remarkable force. “No, no, I cannot agree, young sir. Using fire in such a way is sure to be a disaster. After all, fire is like a rumor. It can spread far more than you expect, and ruin far more than you hope. It is as likely to turn on you as it is to help you. Better to stick to hard work. It may be difficult, but it can also be relied on.”

The advice rang true, and Clay nodded easily. He’d have to be a little more careful about the questions he asked. “You’re right. Can you show me if you have any rope around? That might be pretty helpful if I ever find that well.”

Adam relaxed and his smile grew more genuine. Clay watched as the shopkeeper went to look for some on a nearby shelf… and made a note to think more about the idea. Whatever Adam said, there had to be a way to test if the monsters of Tanglewood feared fire as much as the old man did. Even if he ended up burning half the cursed place down, it would be worth it.

Once his supplies were all purchased, Clay asked if he could leave them in the shop while he completed his final task. Adam agreed, his eyes still glittering with the happiness of a good deal finished, and Clay stepped back out into the storm.

The rain had still not lessened; if anything, the downpour was getting worse. Whatever other members of the village had been traveling between the various buildings were jogging, hoping to minimize the time they spent getting soaked through. Given that his own home was a good hour’s walk away, Clay simply tightened the cloak around himself and walked quickly. He arrived at his final destination a short while later, his cloak still half drenched from the rain.

The town shrine wasn’t the most popular place during most of the week. Those villagers and farmers that considered themselves devoted to the gods would gather every Valiance, the first day of the week, in order to listen to the Rector speak. Aside from the odd festival, there wasn’t much reason for them to visit the place, a fact that the cantankerous Rector didn’t seem to mind.

Clay stepped through the doorway and examined the dim interior. It was a wide open space, and someone had painstakingly cleaned the old stone that made up the walls and floors. The sight seemed odd to a farmer’s eyes, and he idly wondered how much effort it would take to scrub that much bare rock.

“Welcome, traveler.”

He blinked in surprise and turned to see a young girl standing to his left.

“Oh. Hello, Novice. I didn’t know you would be here.”

The girl smiled slightly. “I don’t have many other places to be, Goodman Evergreen.”

Her name was Olivia Shrinekept, and Clay frowned as he realized he didn’t know much about her. She wasn’t a common sight in town, and most of the village seemed to be uncertain as to how she had arrived at their shrine. Olivia was supposedly only a few months younger than he was, but she seemed far more serious somehow. Her blond hair fell halfway down her back, and her green eyes watched him with a kind of wariness that he hadn’t expected. “I see.” He turned to look back around the shrine, suddenly uncomfortable. “I was looking for the Rector, actually. I didn’t know if he had a book about monsters I could read.”

“A book about monsters?” Olivia’s expression grew vague, as if she was absorbed in thought. “We have several, actually. Which tales were you interested in? Our most popular are the Lay of Sir Mem, or the Legend of the Golden King.”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that.” Clay scratched at the back of his head, searching for the words he needed. “I need something more like a…bestiary, but for monsters. You know, the details about what they are and what type of things they do.”

“I see.” She frowned, her eyes sharp. “We may have something like that, but… the Rector may need to give his permission. It is a very old tome, rarely seen outside the capital. An adventurer left it here, before traveling further to the east.”

Clay smiled in triumph. It sounded like a kind of training manual that an adventurer might have picked up in the capital and then forgotten about. That kind of book would be perfect for what he needed now. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

Olivia gave him a look. “It’s also written in Old Balois. I don’t think that you would be able to read it.”

“Oh. Yeah.” His heart sank. “Well, that’s okay then. I guess I’ll just have to—”

“I can read the book for you, if you do not object.” She brushed her hands over her dress, smoothing the skirt.

“Wait, you can read Old Balois? I thought nobody but the Rector might have even learned a few words.”

Her chin came up. “I learn quickly, according to the Rector. He has hope that I might be a decent [Scribe] after my Choosing, if the gods are willing.”

At the mention of the Choosing, Clay felt his smile go a little stiff. He nodded woodenly. “I would appreciate your help, if the Rector is willing to spare you.”

Olivia studied him for a moment, her hands still fussing with her novice’s robe. Then she bowed slightly and turned to head deeper into the shrine. Clay was left standing on his own, with only the sound of the rain outside to keep him company.

Left to his own devices, Clay wandered deeper into the shrine. The building had been built back when the village was young, raised stone by stone as generation after generation of farmers, traders, and artisans left their mark. The most defining feature of the place was the row of statues set into the alcoves on the back wall.

He walked closer to them, his eyes trying to pick out the details of those statues. The faint light filtering in from the rain outside was not helping matters, but the handful of flickering candles only partially ameliorated the problem. Mostly, the visages of the gods and goddesses were reduced to foreboding outlines, staring down at him out of the dark.

Clay glared up at those statues, his mind revisiting the vision he’d gone through during the Choosing. He searched for similar features in the stone, but he only caught vague glimpses of the real deities. The artists had captured some of the details, but he wondered if they had simply forgotten most of the things they had seen during the Choosing. Perhaps the gods simply appeared differently to each of their followers, depending on what fate they had determined for those they visited.

Either way, he was having a hard time not spitting at their feet. If they had granted him a real [Class], maybe he wouldn’t be hunting monsters in the Tanglewood with a pitchfork. Maybe he’d have abilities to help him, with training and equipment along with it. He’d be off at the capital right now, along with the others…

Clay paused at the feet of the Trickster, looking up at her. He could somehow see the smirk despite the gloom that shrouded her face. If he had been less sure of his senses, he could have sworn a low chuckle echoed through the shrine.

He gritted his teeth for a moment, glaring up at her. “I will do what I have to. None of you are going to stop me.”

Silence, broken only by the wind and rain, was all that answered him. He stared up for a few more moments and then turned away. The gods had obviously made their own decisions. Now it was up to him.

Olivia returned, her plain robes fluttering around her legs as she walked. She stopped, her eyes fixed on him. “The Rector has permitted us to use the book. Come along.”

He felt a flicker of amusement at being ordered about by a girl a year younger than him. One moment a slayer of monsters, the next a biddable follower. “After you, ma’am.”

Her face twitched, as if she had detected his sarcasm, but she simply turned and strode away. Clay trailed along in her wake, following as she led him deeper into the shrine. The statues he left to their own silent vigils.

“Here.” Olivia reached up and took down the book from the shelf where it lay. “This is the compendium I mentioned. We can search it for the information you require.”

“Thanks.” Clay found himself fascinated by the shrine’s library. He’d never been invited into it before; while his mother was a welcome visitor, the Rector had not had any interest in having a rambunctious farm boy bouncing off the walls of his private sanctum.

Now, however, it was both more than he’d expected and less than he’d imagined. It wasn’t some grand, multi-story room with walls entirely made up of books. His younger self might have been disappointed, but it made sense that some remote village would not be the site of such riches.

That said, Rector Semmon had apparently managed to collect and maintain plenty of books. The library was a cozy little room with at least three bookshelves, all of which had volumes on them. They appeared to be organized in neat rows, grouped by subject. They ranged from loosely bound manuscripts of ragged pages to leather-covered tomes with embossed text on the spine. The room also held a pair of desks, set near the middle of the room; one of them had a loose pile of parchment set beside an open book, and an ink quill nearby that suggested the Rector had been copying the book onto new pages.

Olivia had climbed a small stool to reach the book she’d been looking for, taking it from a high shelf with only a few other texts present. It was a small, unimpressive thing, barely more than a simple journal. He couldn’t read the text on its cover, and something about the way Olivia held it spoke of extraordinary age. She carefully set the book down on the empty desk, opening it slowly.

Then she looked up. “What were you looking for?”

Clay paused, searching for a way to phrase his question. “I was hoping to find out something about spiders. Monster spiders, I mean.”

“Spiders.” She raised an eyebrow at him and then began to leaf through the pages of the book. “There seem to be many of them. Do you have a specific interest, or should I start from the first?”

He was already searching his memory for the notifications he’d received from the [Gift]. “Is there one called a Mantrap Spider? Or a Troll Spider? Either one would be helpful.”

Olivia tilted her head as her eyes ran over the pages. She turned to the next page, her lips moving silently, and then she turned it again.

Then she blinked in surprise. Her fingers reached out to flatten the page, smoothing out the parchment. “Mantrap Spider, here.”

Clay came around the desk and leaned over her. The page showed a crude, rough sketch of the first monster he’d killed, its hardened carapace and fanged mouth drawn with particular care. There was also another illustration of it crouching inside its burrow, waiting for prey. “That’s it! What does it say?”

She glanced back at him, her lips pursed. Then she turned back to the page, running her fingers over the baffling text scrawled across the old parchment. “They begin as spiderlings, and ambush victims from inside concealed burrows. Their flesh is armored, and their bite is full of poison. A single strike fells a man.”

He felt a shiver work its way up his spine as he caught sight of a drawing that showed a man with a mantrap latched onto his lower leg. Olivia paused again, and he gestured for her to continue. “They are blindly aggressive. Approach from behind, strike behind the head.” Her fingers brushed over another illustration, which showed a knight hacking down at a mantrap as it emerged from its hole, cutting through its neck as it emerged.

Clay struck his forehead with the heel of his hand. Of course! If he knew it would always strike, why not attack it from behind? Only an idiot would keep putting himself right in front of it every time, hoping to stop it with a mere pitchfork.

Olivia reached the end of the text and calmly turned the page. The next showed an even worse nightmare, one that seemed larger and more menacing. Below it was something that looked like a tree draped with curtains of spiderweb. Tunnels appeared to bore through the soil beneath it. He felt a sudden chill as he thought about what it would be like to approach that kind of place, knowing a monster waited beneath it.

“Mature mantrap spiders dig deeper, branching from a central tree. Beware of multiple exits and pitfalls. The skin is thick and they are fierce. They spit webs from some holes.” Her voice was dispassionate as she read, and her fingers brushed over another drawing, which showed men with spears and swords striking up at rearing spiders, or stabbing at crouching ones. “They remain weak of belly and eye. Strike true, or perish.”

Decent advice, he supposed. Still, it sounded like he’d need to be careful if he saw those things in the Tanglewood. “Anything else?”

She turned the next page, which seemed curiously blank, aside from a few scribbles and another drawing of web-covered trees. “Elder mantraps build nests. They defend the Lair. They kill the land itself. Be brave.”

Not quite as promising. He shook his head. “What about the Troll Spiders?”

Olivia sighed, flipping through the pages until she stopped on a very familiar, stick-limbed figure. “Troll Spider. They hunt from the trees. Beware the branches. Prey is wrapped in web, then carried away. None escape.”

The illustrations showed an example of that, an archer snared in a net of webbing with the spider’s limbs seeming to embrace them. It was all too easy to imagine what that feeling would have been like. Olivia didn’t seem to notice his grimace as she continued. “Fragile of limb and eye. Break the legs with stone, then finish from afar. Be wary.”

Message received, he supposed. Perhaps next time he’d reach for his sling first; blunt force might slow it down faster. The drawings showed a broken-limbed spider crawling towards another archer, this one taking slow aim at its head. Better than wasting arrows on a doubtful first shot.

She continued to the next page without prompting, and Clay nearly jerked backwards at the first pair of drawings. The first showed the same monster as the other page, but the second showed a much larger version, with a person for comparison. The spiderling had been about twice the size of a dog, with limbs included. From the look of it, the body of the mature version was the size of a person, with the spindly legs stretching even further.

“Mature troll spiders hunt above the branches. Seen to fly at times.” Olivia’s fingers paused beside a picture of a spider plunging through the branches onto a surprised knight, a net of webbing outstretched. “Beware the wind. They are silent. Free the bound, break the limbs, and slay.”

Though the drawings showed a knight snapping a long limb, it also showed another knight trapped in the spider’s webbing already on the ground. It was…less than helpful advice to someone fighting these things alone. How was he supposed to anticipate and kill something that could fly through the air and pounce on him from above the trees?

Once more Olivia turned the page, and again there was a page nearly empty of information, save for a drawing of an archer taking shelter beneath a broad-limbed tree that was surrounded by streamers of webbing from above. “Elder troll spiders hunt from the skies. They patrol around the Lair. The skies are theirs, but meet treachery with strength. All is not lost.”

Again, not the most helpful, but at least he knew something about what could be coming. He was starting to wonder what this Lair was, but he’d probably need to kill a lot of spiders before he needed to worry about that. “Anything else?”

She turned to the next page, which contained another strange monster, something like a hawk. “No, that was everything about those two creatures.”

“Thank you, then. It was exactly what I needed.” He straightened up and stretched a little. “I’m sorry if I disturbed your work. Please thank the Rector for me as well.”

“I will.” Olivia also stood, stepping to the opposite side of the chair from him. She bowed slightly, her expression carefully neutral. “May you have good fortune.”

“And you as well.” Clay turned and started for the exit. He paused as he reached the door to the rest of the shrine. “Do you think it would be all right if I came back? I might want to study this kind of thing a little more. Maybe bring some of my own parchment, so I could write some notes?”

She looked at him for a moment before responding. “I will consult with the Rector. If you return, I will let you know.”

“Thanks again. For everything.” Clay gave her a quick bow, something that felt curiously formal, and then backed out of the room. He then turned and headed for where she had told him to hang his cloak. Adam was sure to have some ink and parchment, though he might be a little unhappy at being asked to dig it up now. Hopefully, he wouldn’t raise as much of an issue as he had with the fire arrows. There was only so much more of the wily merchant that he could endure.