Hanson and Graber

Chapter 1 One might begin a tale such as this with the classic Once upon a time, but such high-flown clichés are not right for the humble village of Wolmerk-on-the-Wald and two of its denizens. So, let us just begin at the beginning. One evening in the village pub, pig farmer Hanson sat with hunched shoulders, work-worn hands wrapped around a heavy earthenware stein. Their mass almost dwarfed the pint-capacity vessel. “If I was a wizard, they’d not be calling me Hanson the Pigs,” he grumbled, addressing no one in particular. At his side, his lifelong friend Graber turned his attention from his own pint to slant a glance Hanson’s way. “And had I a sorcerer’s skills, I’d not be known as Graber the Firewood.” From a few seats away, close enough in the narrow stone cottage that housed the pub, a slender man rose, a sly grin on his narrow face. He was known as Bartle the Bard, and although his tales and music entertained well enough on festivals and holy days, the villagers mistrusted him. And not without reason. He tended to be a trickster, quick to pull a prank or a slippery deal. Approaching from behind, he slapped a thin hand down on Hanson’s solid shoulder. “I’ve a suggestion, my friend,” he said. “I’ve heard tell there’s a wizard dwelling on the far side of the forest. If you can locate him, perhaps you could prevail on him to share some of his spells and charms, enough to become at last a hedge-wizard for Wolmerk-on-the-Wald. Mayhap, swap some pork for his lessons. After all, the needs for magic deeds in Wolmerk are not so great. You could acquire this new trade in a flash.” For the first time since his naïve youth, a flare of hope swept over Hanson. Although he knew he should probably not trust Bartle’s advice, the lure of magic sank a sly hook into him. Even though the deep forest was reputed to be haunted and home to myriad dangerous creatures, he was big and strong. Could he not fight his way past them if the reward was great enough? He turned for another glance at Graber. “What do you think, my man? Would you come with me on such a quest?” Perhaps it was a good thing neither one saw Bartle’s smirk as he turned back to his own pint. The bard saw a unique chance to claim Hanson’s sturdy stone cot and excellent swine herd or the fine sharp saws and axes Graber used in his trade once they were gone. Either could bring him enough coin to seek a new and more lucrative venue for his trade. Of course, they would not return. Who had ever gone through the forest and come back again? Graber thought for a long moment. “Aye, that I would. I couldn’t let my blood brother and best friend go alone on such a dangerous journey. With your boar prod and one of my axes, we should be able to deal with any dangers we meet.” And so it began. Within a few days, the two set out on their quest, Hanson leaving his pigs in the care of a neighbor’s son, and Graber able to cease his wood gathering for a few summer days with no serious consequence. The villagers shook their collective heads and murmured at the bravery and the foolishness of the two, but wished them well. Both men shouldered heavy packs with bedding and provisions for a ten-day, feeling certain they could make it to the end of the earth within that time, or at least the far side of the forest. Once they reached the wizard, they’d surely have no need for ordinary provender. They forged on for half a day, leaving behind all glimpses of their home fields and the open country along the river. Graber glanced back, uncertainty in his posture and expression. “Shouldn’t we leave some mark of our way to follow back home? No one we ever knew has gone more than a league or two into the woods and returned. I don’t fancy the idea of getting lost in this wilderness.” Hanson shrugged. “I guess you can blaze a tree here and there if it’ll make you feel better. I always know where my big sow is. I can follow that lead back home from as far as we may go. I was there at her birth and have been with her all of her days. Moonbeam’s scent and the echo of her thoughts are carved deep into my mind.” Although there were some vague paths, most rambled so much the two men soon gave up following them and just hiked on into the woods, first facing the rising sun and then with it falling to their backs as the day passed. Although they walked all day, as evening fell, they seemed no nearer their goal of the far side than when they had begun. When they found a small clearing, they decided to camp there. Graber gathered a bit of dry wood and soon had a cheery blaze going. Sitting on their rolled blankets, they ate a simple meal and drank from the stream that flowed through the meadow before they settled down to sleep. Visions of magical powers danced through their dreams, a lure more potent than gems and gold. Hanson had no idea how long he’d been asleep when a bloodcurdling howl made him sit straight up, blanket falling unheeded to his waist and below. It didn’t make much difference since it wasn’t cold and he’d taken off only his heavy, mud-crusted boots before settling for the night, his normal habit. Before he could do more than shoot a hasty glance around the small clearing, Graber landed at his side, so close a single bristle from the old boar’s snout could not have been wedged between them. Graber seemed to have grown a pair or two of extra arms and they all clutched Hanson in a death grip. “W-w-what was that?” “Hey, you’re the woodsman, always headed into the forest to cut your trees. I’ve never gone farther than I could still see the vale and the village, just enough to let my pigs get the acorns and mushrooms along the edges. But I’m guessing it must have been a wolf.” “A w-w-wolf? Oh my soul, we’ll be eaten alive.” “Nah, I’m too rank, and you’re too tough. He’d have to be mighty hungry. Come on; let go. You’re choking me.” Graber edged away a scant finger width. “I—Can I move my bed over here by you? We can lie close and be ready to defend each other.” A prickle of uncertainty edged along Hanson’s spine. “Noooo, I don’t think so. We’re friends, not bed buddies…never have been. Is that what you’re after?” Graber huffed in disgust. “Don’t get all stand-offish on me. I wasn’t angling for that, but I know I’ve gotta be better than some old white sow.” Hanson surged to his feet. “I never f****d Moonbeam! Never! I wouldn’t even think of it. She’s not that kind of—er—a girl. What kind of twisted whoreson do you take me for? I thought we knew each other.” “Well, I’m better than Widow Sheena then. She must be forty and she’s fat to boot. You can hardly find the right wrinkle…” “And about as much a widow as Moonbeam. Wait, who ever said I f****d her? Damn it, man, I’m regretting I asked you to come with me. Wait a minute. How do you know about which wrinkle?” Grabbing his blanket, Hanson got up, circled the now near-dead fire, and lay down on the other side. But that was where Graber had left his blanket. In a heartbeat, he was there, wrapping up in it and then rolling up against Hanson’s broad back. Well, he can’t do much harm, both of us bundled like babes in swaddling. Goes to show you never really know people, though. With that last thought, Hanson again fell asleep. The next time he awoke, the sun was peeking through the trees to the east. He scrambled to his feet, rolled up his blanket and then gave Graber a boot in the arse to get him up. Then afterwards he stood for a breath or two, looking down at his snoring partner, feeling a vague and confusing mixture of affection, protectiveness, and uncertainty. They’d grown up together and been friends since childhood, but did he really know the other man at all? Suddenly, he was no longer sure. This quest already had him thinking things that had never crossed his mind before, as if he’d begun so soon to morph from Hanson the Pigs into someone else entirely. It was too late to turn back now, although he wasn’t as confident in his desire for magic as he had been just a few short days, even hours, before. Maybe all change was not progress…