After some time letting the people leave, Djurle began to shape the sand he had made from the boulder into the frame of a small home, solidifying it back into stone as he went. He created for himself a comfortable stone walled and roofed hut with many nooks, crannies, and footholds for climbing, as well as other interesting shapes and secrets for children to discover long after he was gone.
And now, I wait. As word spreads, the people will come to me. Both good and bad. I can build new contacts, encourage the locals, and bait the poachers at the same time. A Spirit of the Elements in the midst of the refugee camp is no small thing.
Djurle grabbed Crispus from where he'd sneakily tied him with stone during the show and then led him over to the hut so he could de-saddle him. As he did, a middle aged ukitu with tree bark for skin came to greet him.
“An amazing show Mr. Iranu. Truly a blessing.”
Voice crackling, Djurle replied “Thank you. I couldn't let them stay dejected. I had to do something to show them there's still good in the world.”
“I have a sneaking suspicion that's not why you came to our camp, but I thank you for this gesture of kindness nonetheless.”
“Smart man. Hey, is there anyone I can talk to about getting my horse fed?’
The man sighed, clearly a question he was used to hearing.
“No, what horses we own ate the nearby grass some time ago, so we have to travel a bit to feed them, and the new arrivals who were city dwellers keep setting up tents on top of the areas we're trying to cultivate. They don't recognize how hard it is to grow anything around here. The locals aren't much help either. Maybe a hundred of them try their best to give food or seed but it's not enough.”
“Already sounds better than some places I've been. At least somebody cares.”
The man continued. “There are thousands of us to feed and everyone is too scared of their own shadow to work together.”
"What's the local government like?”
“In the camp, there isn't one. Thruf is ruled by Jaunari Reale. We aren't allowed in the city, and only one guard patrols the whole camp area.”
“Not even in the market?”
“We can't get any work to buy anything, even if we could get to it. They have checkpoints surrounding the entire perimeter of town. Humans can get in fine, but us? It's very difficult to put it mildly.”
“I can work with ‘very difficult.’”
“Can you now?"
Djurle managed to get the saddle off of his horse and carried it over to his hut.
“I've never heard the name Jaunari before, is it common around here?”
“It's a title actually, threw me off too when I first heard it.”
“You said only one guard patrols the camp?”
“Yes, a kind man by the name of Zebulon. His family owns some farms on the west. Come harvest time, they give us two thirds of their produce, and sell what they don't eat or plant from the rest.”
“I thought you said you didn't get much help?”
“After It's all distributed it barely amounts to a week's worth of food. We usually supplement it with fish from the river to make it last longer.”
“And you can’t plant it because of the space and new arrivals.”
“Not for lack of trying mind you.”
Djurle walked into his hut, with a nod he allowed the man to follow after him.
Djurle was appalled at all he was learning. How did these people live in such squalor? How could anyone allow this?
“Have you ever met this Zebulon?”
“No, I couldn’t even tell you what he looks like. I’ve only ever heard him talked about through hearsay.”
He dropped his saddle down into the corner of the room he made for himself. He planted his hand on the ground and pressed it down. A hole opened up in the earth just big enough for the saddle to fall into. He then lifted his palm off the ground and twisted his fingers across the dirt. As he did so, a slab of stone formed over the saddle and the hole. The man stared at him in amazement.
“I’ve never seen such abilities before. You’re the first of the ancestors I’ve ever met.”
“You say ancestor like I’m some decrepit old man, I’m only 52.”
“I didn’t mean to imply your age, forgive me. I only meant that those like you are few and far between.”
“You’d be surprised…” Djurle absent-mindedly rubbed his wrist for a moment.
Coming to himself, he asked the man. “I never got your name?”
“My name is Mikail, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Mikail offered his wood-backed hand, Djurle took hold and shook it firmly.
“Djurle Iranu, the pleasure is mine. Do you have any family Mikail?”
“I have a wife and son who live in the camp with me.”
“What are their names?”
“My wife’s name is Morganna and my son is Olden. She’s helping the infirm and the sick. Olden went off to explore, he’ll be back by sundown.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I heard at least five instances of missing people since I got here around the sixth hour.”
“I didn’t say I approved of it.”
Mikail sighed heavily.
”The boy doesn't know how to stay put, no matter how hard I try to reign him in. I hope someone will talk some sense into him before something truly bad happens.”
“For your sake, I hope so too.”
Djurle drank some water from his leather skin.
“That's part of why I’m here, actually. Ukitu have been kidnapped all throughout Stogh, I came here because I heard about the camp and figured there’d be a large concentration of them around here.”
“Are you so sure they’re taken and they aren’t leaving of their own accord?”
“Absolutely. Some of those who disappeared were close friends. They didn’t even recognize me when I saw them out there. I’ve also fought these poachers more than once. They’re dangerous.”
“Out there… you mean you’ve fought in the war?”
“It’s complicated. Let’s leave it at that.”
Mikail thought for a moment before speaking. “Well, if you’re going to be searching for missing people, you’ll want to make your way to the river tomorrow. The guard I mentioned, Zebulon, sent out a written notice that he'd be taking statements tomorrow to bring to the Buruzagi, Jormund Skov. He’s wanting to open up investigations.”
“Why the river?”
“It’s part of his patrol route. He always walks along the riverbank between the fourth and tenth hours.”
“An investigator and a patrolman? Maker, that sounds exhausting.
“It is close to the end of the day, he’d probably be making his way back into town by now. If you tried, you might be able to catch him before he hit the river gate checkpoint, but I wouldn’t count on it. However, if you choose to wait until morning, his route starts at the northeast gate.”
“Thank you very much. You’ll never know how much you've just helped me, Mikail. Honestly I can’t thank you enough.”
“If we don’t help each other, who will?”
Mikail smiled and then clasped his hands together. “I think I should let you rest,” he said, then began to walk out the door.
At the door he paused for a second “I can’t believe it. The whole reason I came to talk and I almost forgot.” He pulled a small piece of folded cloth out of his bag and handed it to Djurle.
“It’s not much, but it’s the least I could do for such an inspiring performance.”
“I appreciate it. Before you go, I have a quick question.”
“Ask away”
“I'm looking for an ukitu, have you seen any unique ones around?"
"Excluding yourself? No, can't say I have."
Disappointed, Djurle grunted an acknowledgement.
“I figured. Let me know if you do hear anything. Have a good evening."
“The same to you.” And with that, Mikail left. When he was gone, Djurle unfolded the cloth to find a small piece of homemade goat cheese. He ate it happily before settling in to rest.
