Chronal Reunion Pt 1

Chronal Reunion Part 1

She woke up in a field. That part was unexpected. She didn’t know what she thought was going to happen, maybe a gurgling noise, or a bright light that was very disorienting. Instead Sylva was in a field where she could hear hogs diving snout first into their trough.

Sylva stood up and looked around. The little town of Dundly was down the hill, a third the size it usually was. Everywhere around her was green pastures, and little wooden cottages fenced off from one another.

It worked, she had gone back in time. She ran down the hill, and into the dirt roads of the place she wouldn’t call home for another year or so. That was about when she would be born, if her research was correct.

The little town was bustling, considering it wasn’t much more than a place to buy feed, assign mining rights, and collect taxes for the king. There was one other thing, and it was where she saw men pouring in and out of double doors, the local inn.

She was nearly clobbered by a half orc who came out as she attempted to enter. The large grey-skinned man sneered at her, and she kept her head down long enough to push inside.

She had to make sure this was the right time. Before the miners strike it rich, Dundly stayed small for some time. For all Sylva knew, she was 25 years off her mark. She couldn’t make that mistake, this mission was too important to her.

Two men were at a table by the door, talking amongst themselves. Sylva stood up straight, evened out her robes, and adjusted her spectales, and marched toward them.

“Are you sure?” One man said, “Sometimes a port can be, overworked if you know what I mean.”

The other grinned in a fashion Sylva reserved for thieves and cutthroats, “You know what I mean. That hog will scarf down anything for a coin. I heard even free if she likes the swell between your legs.”

Sylva cleared her throat, and the men stopped and looked at her, before turning back to their conversation.

“Hardevsk says the challenge now is what you can get the hog to do.”

Sylva coughed loudly.

“What is it bird?” The man growled as he turned in his seat.

“Gentlemen,” She began, “I’m wondering if you know how long the king has been in power.”

The men looked at each other as if Sylva spoke a foreign language. She opened her mouth to start again, but one of the men put a hand up. He reached into his purse, and pulled out a small copper coin.

“By this, I reckon the good king has reigned 10 years,” He sneered, but he didn’t sound angry anymore, “or is it 11 now?”

“Nine I thought,” Said the other man.

She was in the right range, that was all that mattered. Dundly wouldn’t have a scholarly citizen for another 15 years, or 16.

“Thank you,” She said with a bow of her head.

The man turned back, “So like I was saying. My plan is to see if she will…”

“And do you know of Betsy,” Sylva interrupted, “daughter of Geoff?”

The man turned back, and this time his annoyance was replaced with a half-toothed smile. It was enough to make Sylva want to retch, but she knew this was just the conditions Dundly was in at the time.

“So even a little bird like you knows about the hog?” The man said.

Sylva’s face went flush, “The hog?”

A door opened, and the room became a little quieter as everyone turned to look who was leaving a back door. It was a mountainman, half a man taller than anyone else Sylva had ever seen, with beast-like ears that flopped above his large red hair.  The mountainman adjusted his belt, and ducked to walk toward the entrance.

“Here she is now,” The man said, “Fresh from breeding I imagine.”

A woman was in the mountainman’s shadow. She was short, shorter even than Sylva who barely came to the nose of most men. Most striking was that she was, voluptuous. The woman, the hog, gave the mountainman a pat on the behind, and smiled the most beautiful smile Sylva ever saw. Then she adjusted her bountiful cleavage for the sake of modesty.

Sylva whispered, “Mother?”

“What was that, bird?” The man asked as he leaned back in his chair.

“Nothing,” She said as she tried to recover, “Thank you for your assistance, the both of you.”

“Long live the king,” The men said.

“Right,” She replied, “Long live the king.”

“Oh and bird, if you’re going to talk to the hog, you might need this,” The man said as he extended his hand.

Sylva put her palm out, and the man dropped the single copper there.

“She don’t usually go for young girls, but I’m sure that will grease her sides.”

Sylva felt a terrible knot forming in her stomach, and she couldn’t even build up the strength to fake a smile to the man.

The lustrous black hair, her button nose, even the hue of her skin, there was no doubt about it. The hog was Sylva’s mother. She came here to meet her, to see the woman that would give birth to her, and to find the answer to one important question among many.

“Betsy?” Sylva said as she approached her mother.

Betsy turned and smiled with all the excitement of a bar waitress, “Hey there, do I know you dear?”

“Did you just sleep with that mountainman?” Sylva accused in a whisper.

She didn’t feel part mountainman. Her hair wasn’t red, or as scraggly. Though there was a resemblance in the cheekbones, and she did feel a connection to the mountains at times. No, it just couldn’t be true.

Betsy’s eyes went wide, and Sylva could see them in full for the first time.

“A real woman never says a peep,” Betsy said, her face scrunching up in sudden suspicion, “Who are you, little lady?”

Sylva stood up straight, as if called by a commanding officer, “I am s-”

She stopped and thought about it. She still wanted to get her own name, what if she told her mother her name, and then Betsy decided she didn’t like it? Sylva realized just how dangerous her mission was, she didn’t know for sure what would cause waves for the self she left behind in the future.

“-Birdy,” She said, “My name is Birdy.”

“Well for one, Birdy,” Betsy said while walking over to the bar to pick up a selection of drinks, “Just ‘cause you’re a cleric don’t make you my father. My life is my own, and you’ll learn to respect that.”

Sylva realized what she did, jumping in and questioning her mother. It wasn’t suspicious so much as rude. Considering Sylva’s robes likely made everyone think she was from the church in the capital, it wasn’t a good combination.

“No no,” Sylva said, “You have me all wrong. I was just going… to congratulate you!”

Betsy raised an eyebrow, and squeezed her mouth off to the side.

“He was a… cute one,” Sylva continued, winking at Betsy.

A smile slowly spread across her mother’s face, and the woman leaned in close, “Tell the truth, he was a big one. Though I wouldn’t have taken a girl like you for the craggy type.”

Betsy let out a sharp laugh, then hit Sylva so hard across the shoulder that she nearly fell to the floor.

“I think I like you Birdy,” Betsy said, “Sorry I was looking at you funny, some folks in these parts are rude. They act like they rule the land, and long live the king, they don’t.”

Sylva caught her breath from the blow, “A shame.”

Betsy walked down the bar, putting a drink down in front of a man with no pants and long curled horns on each side of his head. He was a satyr, right here in town? Times were truly different.

The satyr turned and struck Betsy over the rear of her pleated skirt, and Sylva watched as her mother squealed and then snorted. Was that where they got the name?

Betsy turned and slid her well curved frame up beside the satyr, and Sylva’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. Her mother’s breasts were pressed up against the man’s shoulder, and her hands massaged the fur on his thighs.

“You satyr boys are so playful, and daring,” She said, “Why don’t you come by more often?”

Probably because they were being systematically wiped out in the far glens, but that wouldn’t come to light for another 10 years.

The satyr suddenly sat up straight, and Sylva saw why. Her mother’s fingers had slipped into the fur at his groin, massaging him. Was she pleasuring him right there in public?

“Betsy!” Sylva yelled, then covered her mouth.

“Yes?” She said with a smile on her face.

That smile was so strange to see. It was so motherly, so beautiful. She wanted to see it again for so many years, but not on a woman whose hands were sweaty from pleasuring a satyr.

“The drinks?” Sylva said.

“Oh,” Betsy replied, “You’re right, Tuttle always gets mad when I take too long. Did you want to help? I know how hard it can be for a young lady to find work in these parts.”

“Work?” Sylva asked.

“Yeah Birdy,” She said with a smile, “If you’ll give up the robe that is. The boys here like all sorts, they’d love to see a cute young thing like you walking around. I’ll get you the job, and you can even stay with me until you get a place of your own.”

All of it was too much, all at once. A chance to be around her mother, a chance to talk to her. One of the few things she heard about her mother was that she was kind, helpful, and giving. At least that was holding true.

Betsy continued, “I understand if you don’t want to. You made a pledge to the king after all, long live the king.”

Sylva smiled at her mother, “Fuck the king, he’ll be dead in a year anyway. I’ll take your offer.”

Betsy looked shocked at Sylva’s language, but then a naughty smile spread across her face. “I knew I liked you.”

Besides, there was no better way to find out who her father was, than to be right alongside her mother. Any day now, he would come through the door of that inn.