The Abbot and Grandma Rayga

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 7 -- Godcarvers/Holymolders]

Back at the Godcarvers, the next team to leave was awaiting one of its
crew. But not impatiently; the Upwinder envoy, Beekin, really did need
safe passage to be escorted into the middle of the Godcarver/Cat Mob
combined camp without any embarrassing incidents on either side, and
Lomi had been the scout on the scene to arrange the time and place for
the rendez-vous. This was a job that any similarly talented Scout could
have performed, but arranging the meetup had fallen on Lomi’s shoulders
in the Waterworks aftermath, and offloading the task to someone else
would just add more potential chaos. Not to mention, disrespect for the
Upwinder’s representative.

Initially, Finfin was a bit concerned about the delay this would cause,
even though he conceded the necessity and the politics. But he fretted
that this would compress the time that they had available for the
Holymolders and Fort Resolute. Until, that was, Lomi told him the
details of just when, and not where she had arranged to meet the
Upwinder envoy. Clearly Beekin was not limited to just a slow plod on
kobold feet; the RV was scheduled for not much later that morning.

As a result, it really was not much after the Heroes’ Feast ceremony was
complete that Lomi returned to the combined Godcarver and Cat Mob camp,
bringing along the smiling kobold envoy under a widely understood banner
of truce and parley.

To the Kenobi Expedition leadership, Lomi quietly made introductions for
the few that had not already met the kobold. “Good people,” the scout
stated quietly, “I’d like to introduce you to De… Beekin.”

The kobold chuckled. “You caught that little slip from Mother, I take
it.” He showed no signs of alarm or offence, as he continued, “Yes,
Beekin is indeed an assumed name. My real name is too dangerous to use;
there is an SJE nasty named Kopeerahyt sharpening a knife for me.”

“An assassin?” Finfin asked, genuinely curious. He had a few run-ins of
his own with the Dread Isle’s Dagashi assassins.

“Worse,” Beekin replied with a grimace. “A lawyer.”

All agreed that this was a threat from which Beekin MUST be protected.
Fortunately, the affable kobold was rather a hit with a number of the
defenders, including Team Keeryte, some of whom would be escorting the
envoy to the Briar Patch, once Laquendi was cleared for Teleportation.
Uta, in particular, was quite emphatic in her opinion. “Am VERY pleased
to meet you. Iz MUCH nicer than other kobolds ve haff been meeting in
Forest.”

“The Green Death,” Beekin mused. “Since we have a bit of time on our
hands, can you tell me as much as you can about them? I confess I have
never actually been outside this Valley, though I have studied all the
lore of my people and yours that any kobold willing to talk with me can
recall.” The envoy and Team Keeryte were well content to spend whatever
Ground Stop time was needed bringing their guest up to speed before
Laquendi was cleared for launch.

Fortunately, there was no SJE legal action imminent, and it was time for
the first Teleportation leg to begin. Finfin would be transporting Abbot
Kenobi and Sister Erin to visit with Grandma Rayga over at the
Holymolders, clear across the Plains and just on the far side of the
River Kirith. Also along for the ride was Tramma, to facilitate any
diplomatic hurdles, as well as the Pussycats Josie and Val, not to
mention the scout Lomi. Josie, along with Tramma, were going to be later
transported on to the Briar Patch, while Val and Lomi left at Fort
Resolute along with the clergy. Quite UNLIKE the clergy, however, Val
and Lomi’s reasons were entirely more… conjugal. Of a sort. And of
course, never far from her mentor’s side was the apprentice wizard
Mithralia.

“Never far” was even more true than usual, since Finfin was technically
just over his limit for the number of people he could transport at once.
But there was a ready cure for that, and with an impish grin, Mithi
leapt up into his arms, and repositioned herself so that Finfin could
easily hold her with his left arm alone, his sword hand remaining free.
All of the travellers reached out to touch one another as Finfin
chanted, and a moment later the curious black and white ringed tunnel
that could only be seen from one side appeared before him. The small
crowd shuffled forward into the tunnel, their figures shrinking – or
receding into the impossibly far distance. The tunnel then collapsed.
All with Beekin watching intently, furiously scribbling some notes. This
was a magic he had never even heard of, and quite fascinating to witness.

And as near as anyone could tell at the “same moment”, the same
collection stepped OUT of a black and white ringed tunnel mouth at the
Holymolders. This was the same spot that Finfin had used not too
terribly long ago when he had transported Lord Erik (and his mount),
along with himself, Mithi, and Tramma to see Grandma Rayga. Now, he was
returning with a substantially different cast for the same reason.

Tramma’s Sending had apparently worked its usual quite literal magic.
They were expected, and a line of Holymolders were arranged in two lines
to welcome the honoured visitors to their village. And given the
importance of Great Medicine Man Kenobi’s arrival, both acolytes Morden
and Sabia were there to welcome their revered guests.

Soon, they were before the Chief’s Fire, where Grandma Rayga smiled up
at them, her eyes twinkling. “I’m glad you didn’t bring that walking
carpet THIS time, Kenobi,” she chuckled, waving her guests to seats
before her. “If you REALLY want, we’ll do all of the formality, but at
my age, I prefer to cut to the chase. What can Grandma Rayga do for you?”

With Tramma’s and Erin’s help, Ben laid out the Case of the Upwinder
Refugees, or at least those who WOULD be refugees once freed from the
tyranny of the Social Justice Engineer kobolds. Along with the notion
that these far more morally upright kobolds could displace or even
eliminate the zombie loving Green Death kobold tribe off in the interior
of the Forest People’s habitat.

Grandma Rayga nodded thoughtfully at the tale. “Good guy kobolds,” she
mused at last. “Even after all my years on this world, something can
surprise me.” She then looked shrewdly at her guests. “And you know, of
course, that you will have to put this proposal before our Chief’s
Circle, and before doing so, you are hoping that the Medicine Lodge
through me will give our support to this plan.”

This was a summary that, while rather baldly put, was in no way
inaccurate. Grandma Rayga sighed. “One the one hand,” she continued, “I
like the notion, if for no other reason than it would REALLY put the cat
among the pigeons and stir up some of our stick in the muds.” She shook
her head sadly as she added, “But I find that I cannot yet give my own
personal blessing to this venture.”

“You’re concerned, of course, about your people,” Tramma ventured.

“Dear girl, of COURSE I am,” the old Medicine Woman agreed with a gentle
smile. “But more to the point, I must first be convinced that this plan
of yours meets the approval of The Great Spirits.” She looked shrewdly
at Ben, and added, “Now, I am certain that you have already determined
that the Thunderbird is fine with this plan. But I have not lived these
many years by simply accepting the Word of the Thunderbird’s servants.
This is something that I must determine for myself.”

“We can arrange a fine Commune Ceremony,” the Abbot began, but Rayga cut
off the suggestion with a shake of her head.

“I must determine for myself,” she repeated. “And for me, that does not
mean simply rolling over and asking for Divine advice. To be sure, I
will; differences of opinion are, after all, hardly unheard of even
among the Great Spirits… but in my Tradition, the Great Spirits ask… or
sometimes even demand that we think for ourselves. So I must do some
serious prayer and reflection myself before resorting to Grand Divinations.”

“Is there anything that we can do to help?” Finfin asked quietly.

The old Medicine Woman chuckled. “Bless you, pretty boy. Of course there
is. I would very much like to meet this ‘Mother’ you describe, and hear
her story firsthand. Only then can I judge what I truly think of the
notion.”

“I can perhaps bring you there now,” the elven officer suggested. “I did
happen to prepare an excess of Teleportations in case something similar
to this eventuality arose.”

“Bless your heart,” Grandma Rayga chuckled, and something in her tone
suggested that this time, it was not entirely meant as a compliment. “At
my age, I am far too old to go Teleporting all over the place, and then
Wind Walking and sneaking into an armed camp. You must invite ‘Mother’
to come see me here.”

Finfin blinked, and looked over at Tramma. “If you could perhaps wrap
the invitation up in a Sending, I should be able to do the required
transport.”

“Including the Wind Walks to get in and out of their home?” Grandma
Rayga cackled. “I think that is beyond you, Witch Doctor.” She sighed,
and added, “No, this ‘Mother’ you speak of is probably just as old, in
her people’s terms, as I am, and asking her to come and see ME will be a
major imposition, and one that will need to be delivered by a honey
tongued diplomat.” Here, she smiled at Tramma before concluding, “And
NOT wrapped up in a twenty five word Sending demanding an immediate
answer like ‘Mother’ was one of the Thunderbird’s always so obedient
minions.”

Sister Erin winced on her Boss’ behalf, but did not object. The
Belmakians – or followers of the Thunderbird – were rightly known as an
organized sect, well used to giving and obeying orders.

“Think a moment, child,” Rayga chuckled. “From what you tell me, she is
just as dedicated to the well-being of her people as I am, and has just
as many responsibilities. Neither of us can drop everything and rush off
to even so important a meeting as this without prior arrangements. I am
sure Brother in Spirit Kenobi has to do the same sort of planning when
he goes off into the field.”

Here, Sister Erin was on firmer ground. “That is most certainly true,
honored Great Medicine Woman,” Ben’s clerk agreed.

“Now, among my people at least,” Rayga continued with a smile, “there is
something of a custom that when one of the Medicine Lodge wants a favor
from a Brother or Sister in Spirit, they must personally travel to make
the request unless the situation is so dire that lives are at stake and
only the use of magic is fast enough. Just as Brother Ben has rightly
done. That does not seem to be the case here, and you must admit that
asking to move a huge tribe of creatures usually known for their cunning
and aggressiveness onto our borders IS something of a favor.”

“We’ll reach out in a couple of days,” Tramma suggested, “when our
current set of missions allow. And if ‘Mother’ is agreeable, may I be
back in touch to help make all of this happen?”

“Of course you may, child,” the old Medicine Woman agreed. “And by all
means, continue your plan to let Great Chief Erik be the spokesman for
this plan and formally present your leader’s request to the Chief’s
Council.”

“Fort Resolute is our next stop,” Finfin agreed. “And in fact, if our
business here is concluded for the moment…?”

“Fin!” Tramma squawked, and then continued quickly to their hostess,
“Please forgive him. He DOES mean well, but as a military type, he’s
always sticking to plans and schedules.”

Grandma Rayga’s eyes twinkled in delight. “Apologies not needed, and I
am all too aware of Champions like him needing to stick to plans. Will
save me having to bake an extra cobbler.”

“But part of any good plan,” Finfin added, “is thinking upon one’s feet,
and adapting as needed. How may I better help?”

Again, the old Medicine Woman’s eyes were twinkling as she nodded to
Tramma. “Go ahead and explain it to him, Silverhair.”

“Fin,” the bard began gently, “we are, after all, making a large request
of the Forest People in general, and of the Holymolders in particular,
for wanting to bring their Medicine Woman into this plan. That means
that we MUST, above all, play NICELY, and respect their conventions.”

“I meant no disrespect,” the elf began, but was waved to silence by
Tramma and Rayga together.

“You have my full permission to fill him in, child,” Rayga observed
tranquilly.

“It’s like this, Fin,” Tramma explained. “There is some debate that the
Corn Mother, revered by Grandma Rayga here, is an analog for the Tela we
know as Tarique. Or vice versa; at so many levels it probably does not
matter.”

Certainly Rayga did not appear to be inclined to argue the matter, and
merely nodded for Tramma to continue.

“Now, through no fault of our own,” the bard continued, “we missed their
morning meal. And breaking bread is an important social interaction with
the Holymolders.”

A nod confirmed that Tramma was on the right trail.

“But what would help now is if, as a token of our growing friendship, we
exchanged favours. Namely, enjoy a fine lunch with our hosts.”

“I can provide another Heroes’ Feast,” the Abbot offered.

“Just not the same as real home cooking,” Rayga smiled indulgently.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Tramma replied. “But it’s better if we exchange
gifts with our hosts.”

Grandma Rayga nodded. “We have a wonderful corn bread and fish bake in
the making.”

Finfin nodded. “So we should accept our hostess’ gracious offer, and
extend some other service as a sign of friendship.”

The old Medicine Woman cackled. “And I know JUST what Morden and Sabia
would like from YOU, sonny boy,” she observed, giving Finfin a broad
wink. “From BOTH of our Witch Doctor guests, more like. But to benefit
all of my people, I think there’s another notion that would do quite
nicely.”

The two acolytes, for once, were not staring at Finfin. Instead, they
were staring intently at the unusually silent Pussycat, Josie. “We would
dearly love a brief concert, honored Flying Tiger,” Morden said.

“Here and now?” the redheaded singer asked. “Without all of our gear?
And with Mel still back out across the Plains?”

Val, however, grinned. “I think we can pull it off, Kittycakes,” the
bassist predicted. “Particularly if we have Tramma’s help warming up the
audience.”

“Lunch and a concert would be the polite thing to do, Your Grace,”
Tramma suggested quietly to Ben. “And I think we can afford the time.”

“It would be a wonderful to share a fine meal,” Ben agreed. “And an
impromptu concert by the Pussycats would be delightful.”

Soon afterwards, preparations were underway. Rather to his surprise,
however, Finfin found himself being directed off towards a quiet
meditation spot away from the hubbub of the Fish Bake and the
“unplugged” after lunch almost Pussycat concert. In fact, he found
himself flanked by Mithi on one arm, and Josie on the other, while
Tramma was engaged in a giggling conversation with the two acolytes.
“Mithi told me about that Visualization spell you’d memorized this
morning,” the redheaded Pussycat whispered. “You better believe we want
you to have the chance to cast it.”

Morden and Sabia were both positively delighted when Tramma finished
explaining the elf’s need for a quiet spot where he could spend the next
hour casting the lengthy spell. “Of course we will help with that,”
Morden agreed.

“And hopefully he can return sometime and demonstrate this spell for
US,” Sabia added.

“Ya don’t mind missing out on lunch?” Mithi asked her mentor. “Oi fink
we’ll make it up ta ya.”

“We will bring him a wrapped fishcake when his spell is complete,”
Morden interjected. “After all, it sounds like he will be in need of his
strength tonight; we cannot have him faint with hunger.”

And so the plans for a pleasant lunch, and a brief concert were put in
motion. Though per the ladies’ plan, it was a social affair that Finfin
missed, as he sat alone, sitting motionless as he chanted a spell over
the next hour, surrounded by clouds of burning incense. But the elf did
not mind missing the celebration. The ladies had said that they would
make it up to him, and they were well known to him for being good for
anything they promised.