Chương 34: A Slight Misunderstanding

It's always important to make a good first impression. Unfortunately, we don't always have that luxury. —The Artificer's Guide to First Contact Large, curious eyes danced back and forth, surveilling the 'hoomans' milling about. Carefully, silently, the small creature crept forward. The tall grass was its friend. Its protector. It whispered a nearly silent request, and the grass obeyed, opening a path for its small form before folding over it to keep it hidden. Pabu knew of these creatures.

Pabu knew that they were dangerous. Pabu also really, really wanted the colorful bolt of cloth that lay outside the large dead-house. The others would envy Pabu. Pabu would be the talk of the clan for years. Maybe one day they would see Chief Pabu, garbed in yellow and purple… Pabu carefully arched its neck, looking up at the dead-house. It bothered Pabu. It was scary; Pabu remembered the stories of the last 'hoomans' to enter the valley. These were different, the other one had told Pabu.

But these had a dead-house too. They killed for it. Just like the others. Pabu took time. Pabu would not be caught.

With my devious plan having come to fruition, I left Darby to come to terms with his new responsibilities while I tended to my own. Back on the hilltop overlooking the burgeoning quaint village, I cracked the dried clay on top of the kiln and pried it open. Dark sticks of charcoal circled the interior, now cooled after sitting the past two days. I reached a hand in and pulled out the first specimen. > Charcoal > Slow-burning fuel for a fire.

> Quality: Common > Grade: Medium As expected, the more mundane material had created a decent quality product. I was sure that if provided a more sterile environment and some time to experiment, something of much higher quality was certainly possible. This first attempt left me feeling very satisfied, and I excitedly brought out a sample of my test with the fireleaf charcoal. > Fireleaf Charcoal > High-quality heat-resistant wood that has been made into charcoal.

It has an extremely long burn time, often lasting for hours. > Quality: Uncommon > Grade: Medium Yet another reason that they were logging so much. I wonder why they didn't just use the trees on the way from Fairfield to the valley… I turned it over in my hand, and like shedding an oversized shirt, the heat-shrunken coal slid out from the outer ring of still-intact bark. It was firm, heavier than I'd expect of charcoal. Holding it in a fist, I pressed my thumb against it until it snapped with a satisfying pop.

The inside was dark and uniform. It was so solid that it hardly left any residue on my hands. This would work very nicely at the forge. With things nearly prepared, I returned to the longhouse to gather some of the rusty remnants of tools that had been left by the previous expedition. Refurbishing them would take less time than making something new, or at least provide material to reforge. That, and another idea had begun to flourish in the back of my mind.

Weapons had been a high priority, and the main reason for getting the forge complete so quickly. That, and the fact that we needed pickaxes if we were to continue to build without wood as our main material. There was a lot of loose stone, but as the available sources were depleted, we had to travel further and further to find viable pieces that were able to be used as-is. With the proper tools, we would be able to open a small quarry to collect as much as we needed, as well as the proper dimensions.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. I took the old pitted and rusty tools back up the hill, and began to prepare for the process of cleaning up the iron. As with all things, it seemed that I would need a tool to make my tools. In this case, I needed sandpaper. And I had just the thing. I removed my stuffed pack and pulled out the items that I'd need. Several strips of leather, my blades, and a stalk of thistledown vine.

When I had first encountered the plant on our trip to the ruins, it had an intensely sticky sap that dried hard. Setting the two to the side, I started the third, and only other material that would be needed: Sand from the brook below. Placing a small handful on a flat rock, I began grinding it down, needing rough, sharp edges over the current round and smooth shape. I rolled it between my fingers, testing it. Once satisfied, I brushed it into a pile.

Cutting the dried end off of the thistledown vine revealed fresh sap. I squeezed it onto the grain side of a leather strip. It was thick and viscous, resisting my attempts to spread evenly, quickly drying and becoming unusable. I discarded the failed attempt with a sigh and changed tactics. I lit a small fire and began to roast the next segment of the vine. The small hairs crisped and curled away, making me wish that I'd thought of that to begin with.

My hands were already becoming irritated from squeezing the sap from the first attempt. With the sap properly heated this time, I found it much easier to spread. Like soft butter, I coated the grain of a leather strap and sprinkled the coarse sand over it, pressing it into the glue before it could dry. I repeated another layer of sand, ensuring every bit of the sticky surface was coated. Within moments, I was left with a hardening strip of sandpaper.

Fifty-plus years had left the old iron tools in a condition where they were nearly more rust than they were iron. I cycled through the tools I'd brought up, carefully sanding them down, preserving the rust in a quickly growing pile. I was left with a spade, what I think was an axe, and an unrecognizable mass that no one but a renowned archaeologist might determine the true nature of. I set these aside and gathered the truly valuable material. The rust.

Nearly giddy with excitement, I searched through my stuffed bag until I found what I was looking for. I carefully removed a glass jar wrapped in a mix of cloth and leather, and unscrewed the lid. I gagged as a sulfurous, rotten egg smell crashed into my nose, making my eyes water. I scooped about a tablespoon's worth of Tar Fiend remains onto the flat rock I had been crushing sand on and began to work it, slowly adding in fine rust that I'd ground from the tools.

Steadily mixing the material, I worked it until it was a little over half rust. In a rare moment of forethought and workplace safety, I pulled a small pinch off of the putty-like mass to test before committing the entire ball. I mashed the pinch down onto the stone and collected a branch that I lit in the fire. With the blazing branch held at arms length, I placed the flaming tip onto the fingernail sized portion of my experiment. Immediately, a blinding light flared to life.

I closed my eyes, but the damage had already been done. Brilliant spots danced in my vision, and I had to wait for a good ten minutes for my sight to return to normal. I approached the still-glowing rock in front of me and peered down. A two-inch hole went straight through the rock, leaving a molten path in the wake of my new weapon. Pumping my arm in victory, I celebrated for only a moment before I became acutely aware of the disastrously dangerous clump that remained next to me.

I frantically looked around for the smoldering branch, ensuring that it was at a safe distance before returning to my victory dance. MAGIC THERMITE BABY!

Pabu pulled the cloth behind. A bowl was placed on top of its little head, along with two spoons and a handful of shiny coins in its stomach pouch. Pabu had found a few treasures to accompany its original target. Pabu couldn't help it. It all looked so nice. Pabu followed the large, strange hooman up the hill, taking extra care to tell the grass to cover it while exposed to the hoomans below. Pabu watched while the hooman made something. Pabu smelled it, and shrank away.

The grass between the two protected Pabu's eyes, and while the hooman moaned and groaned and rubbed its eyes, Pabu took the opportunity to look through the big sack. Eyes wide with wonder, Pabu sifted through the treasures. Pabu wanted all of it; Pabu could perhaps drag it down the— Pabu froze. Pabu's heart beat frantically. A piece of a dead Elder Tree. THE MONSTERS! Pabu nearly cried out in fright as it kicked its legs, backpedaling away from the sack, its contents forgotten. Pabu ran away, far, far away.

Pabu had to warn the others. An Elder Killer had come to the valley.