LIGHTNOVELONLINE Chapter Eight: Touvolder
It seemed Prolo was as well off as Joseph initially expected. After a few hours of riding in that wagon, they had reached a fork in the trail, taking the path that led to the left took them all the way to a large manor, at least ten thousand square feet worth of home if his estimations were right. The forest bordered the whole property, its long branches reaching almost longingly toward the manor. It seemed like they wanted to reclaim the property for the wilds, reaching over those tall stone walls to get at the manor.
As always he kept on guard, Prolo seemed to be an agreeable sort, but the most dangerous of individuals always were. The young man continued to babble at him in his own tongue, despite the established language barrier. He supposed that this was better than just awkward silence, after all, part of learning a language was listening to a native speaker. It would take time of course, but it wasn’t like Joseph had a tight schedule to adhere to. If he wanted to dedicate his time to learning something, he would.
He wouldn’t be fluent in it for quite a long time, but if he could at least grasp the basics, he’d be better off. Hopefully Prolo understood that, but only time would tell. As the wheels of the wagon rolled past the gate, he found himself worrying after Betty. He knew deep down that there was nothing that could breach her interior… not unless this seemingly feudal society had access to welding equipment. He doubted it, but the thought of all his hard-fought gear getting stolen made him mildly upset.
He squashed the thought, turning his attention back to Prolo. The young man still seemed at the peak of his excitement, with wide eyes and animated gestures as he spoke. Joseph smirked at the kid, enjoying this joyful display. Back home people didn’t normally get this excited about anything, it was refreshing to see. A couple guards shut the barred gate behind the wagon once it finally passed into the plaza, their expressions the epitome of boredom.
Joe supposed that meant that this place wasn’t under constant attack, if it were they’d look more stressed, more alert. Those half-lidded gazes screamed ‘I want to go home’, he’d seen that same face on many a security guard before The End. When finally the wagon came to a stop, Prolo stood quickly, urging Joseph to follow as he rushed out the back, basically jumping from the wagon bed and landing on the cobblestones with a strange hyperactive grace. He winced at seeing the landing, already feeling ghosts of pain in his joints.
Then he blinked, remembering that he had been de-aged. How old was he biologically now? Twenty? Maybe twenty-five? Hard to say, but his joints could handle such strain now as well… Yet, in his old (mentally) age, he’d attained wisdom. That wisdom was preserving your joints, as such actions normally came back to bite in the future.
And so, he carefully climbed out of the wagon, easing down gently onto his feet. It was a slow, sort of embarrassing display, but if he could save himself from knee pain in the future that was far more preferable. Prolo stared at him beneath furrowed brows, clearly confused as to why he was moving like a sloth. Young fellas simply didn’t understand… but Prolo would in time, most likely after it was already too late.
Too late being about thirty or so.
The plaza they’d been deposited into was a wide open space of cobbled stone, with two small, rectangular gardens sitting by the far wall. Didn’t look like anything was in bloom, but this was Autumn. The large fountain in the center caught his eye as well, burbling with crystal clear water. It looked plenty drinkable, meaning it was a struggle for him not to run over and fill his canteen to the brim with the stuff. It would be inappropriate, or perhaps even insulting to go and do that on what he assumed was Prolo’s property.
At least, he couldn’t do it with anyone watching.
He shook his head, either way the stuff would need to be boiled and they likely already had a clean source of water for drinking.
“Elcow ou Pientershuld namor!” Prolo shouted, gesturing to the wide manor before them, “Joseph, ou et Touvolder, ei plor ou ot ste und usty Faesh!”
“Sure is buddy.” Joseph replied, giving a thumbs up.
Prolo practically jumped with joy as his words, “Faesh.” He repeated, sticking out his tongue and pointing to it, “Faesh.” He said again, the word slightly slurred by the protrusion.
“Tongue? Is that what Faesh means?” Joseph asked, sticking out his own tongue and pointing to it, “Faesh?”
Prolo shook his head, then put both his hands up, clapping the tips of his fingers together as if he had a sock puppet, “Faesh.” He repeated, making one hand match his words. Prolo then pointed to Joseph, “Und ou?”
What could the kid be trying to say? Faesh wasn’t clapping fingers or a tongue, and clearly he was trying to ask him something… wait a moment. Joe then lifted up his own hands, mirroring Prolo.
“English.” He said, pointing to himself and mouthing the word with his hand. He then pointed to Prolo, “Faesh!” He yelled excitedly, mouthing the words with his hand again.
Prolo clapped, jumping again as he nodded his head emphatically. So Faesh was the name of the local language here? Good to know. Did that mean that Prolo had offered him the opportunity to learn Faesh here? If so that was a dream come true, that’s exactly what he wanted, and yet…
What did Prolo have to gain from this? Teaching a complete stranger their language would be a massive undertaking, so why go through with it?
The young man smiled and repeated, “English.” Giving a firm nod.
Could it be that his reasoning was exactly the same as Joe’s? Did he just want the chance for new knowledge? Could he indeed have the same joy for learning as Joseph did? It was possible, and if that were the case, then he would be glad to teach Prolo his own language. Prolo basically skipped toward his manor, beckoning him to follow along.
And he did, but he wasn’t going to be skipping. The Wrath doesn’t skip.
The retinue of guards that had been following the wagon had seemingly dispersed, going over to the fountain to sit on the stone benches surrounding it. Prolo had spoken to everyone that had been with him when he’d met Joe, in a tone that brooked no argument. It had seemed at the time that they had been trying to suggest other plans for Joe to their lord, but Prolo had dismissed them and indeed seemed to reprimand them.
Those same men started staring at him again, and Joseph glared back. He’d not be intimidated by a buncha boys playing knight. Besides them, the grim-looking man that had been driving the wagon busied himself with the horses, untethering them before leading them off towards a small stable in front of the manor. He spared a glance for Joseph as he moved along, and then smiled widely before entering the stable proper. He decided right there that Agdaler, or whatever his name was, wasn’t to be trusted. The guy was a total slimeball, especially with that smile. At least there were other, more pleasant things to look at, such as the other animals in the stable. Joe could spy at least five more horses in there, wonderful beasts from old times in a new world.
At least, it was most likely a new world. He hadn’t completely given up on the theory of time travel just yet. A couple of guards stood posted in front of the manor doors, their eyes a tad bit sharper than the gate guys. They stopped Prolo in his tracks, glaring at Joseph before chattering at him in Faesh. Their sharp eyes then went to the gun slung across his shoulders, and the various weapons on display at his belt. They seemed to be demanding that he relinquish his weaponry.
“No.” He said sternly, forcing his arms to stay by his side.
Prolo raised his hands to the guards, “Ees os Joseph…” He hesitated, “et un… et un Touvolder.” He finished in a whisper.
The guards both gasped, and their glares became awed stares.
“Touvolder!?” One man asked, tone baffled, “Ew oust llet Owld Pientershuld unu!”
Prolo’s face went from cheerful to deadly serious in an instant, “Ou liw ton.” He said in a borderline threatening tone, “Ey liw ecut ou fi os.”
The guards face went pale, and he backed away, resuming his position nervously. Prolo continued to glare at him a moment before his smile returned, beckoning Joseph to hurry inside. What had just transpired between the two men? Was Joe’s life in danger? Well if it was, Prolo clearly was letting him keep his weapons… a sign of trust between them, perhaps? It seemed he was warning the guard not to say anything about Joe’s arrival. Whatever the word ‘Touvolder’ meant, it applied to him.
Best to find out what it meant soon.