Forty Eight

Lange had been out on his trade mission for a couple too many days. Solomon, despite his chemical distraction, had noticed this. So had other people in the village. They had begun appealing to Solomon to have somebody go and find him. Because everyone was so busy with preparations for the winter, a situation like this would typically be handled by Lange himself.
Because of his condition, Lange couldn’t really hold down a job. Not that anybody in the village had actual jobs, they all sort of had roles to play. With these roles came responsibilities. Lange’s role had eventually evolved into him being the guy that other people ask to do things that they can’t get to. Not exactly a handyman, but he was rather handy to have around. He ended up being in charge of the local economy.
The G traded with a number of other groups of people. They knew people that herded sheep, kept cows, grew wheat and corn, among various other things. What the G had to trade was alcohol. They made this in vast quantities out of whatever they could ferment. They used fruits in the fall, wheat in high summer, maple sap in the spring, and honey whenever they could get it. The main ingredient though, was Japanese knotweed. It grew prolifically anywhere within sight of a river. Its successful combination of tenacity and edibility made it a staple on any post apocalyptic table. It was simply everywhere.
The alcohol that the G made was distilled in a great potstill that they (as legend has it) dragged clear across the valley so they didn’t have to keep leaving the mountain. This alcohol was not only used to get extremely drunk, but also as an antiseptic, a fire starter, a preservative for tinctures, and if there had been paint, it would have been used to remove it. It was truly useful stuff and absolutely everyone wanted it.
The cannibals on the other hand, had nothing to trade. They simply stole whatever they wanted. They had no tradition of keeping knowledge sacred or really any sense of introspection. They were pure feral instinct. The apocalypse had done a real number on them from an ethical standpoint.
The G maintained that this group of people were not from here. In the time before the fall of civilization, they had come to this idyllic valley to seek a better life. The problem was that they had absolutely no connection to the land or nature in general. They had come from large metropolitan areas with an idea of what they wanted their rural life to be, and when it wasn’t what they bargained for, they chose to try to change it into something more suitable to them.
This was working for the most part until the end of the world, but when their machines stopped working and their houses fell apart they were left to their own devices to survive. Having little to no actual survival skills, they relied on thievery and intimidation to get what they wanted.
The people who would eventually become the G banded together and drove them to the east out of the valley. Given their ethical flexibility and lack of survival skills they turned rather quickly to cannibalism. While human flesh wasn’t their main source of sustenance, they were referred to as cannibals because it remained as an option for them. They were called cannibals because they didn’t grow their own food, or even think about trying to leave the world better than they found it. They saw the world as theirs to exploit.
This sort of general asshole nature that they subscribed to, ran counter ethically to what the G were all about, so they were constantly at war. The G had cool shit, and the Cannibals wanted to take it. What the cannibals didn’t understand was if you take all of the G’s cool shit and kill them, there would be nobody left to make more cool shit. Everybody else in the valley understood this and that was why there was diverse trade and not mass pandemonium.
This wasn’t to say that the cannibals weren’t crafty. They weren’t a stupid people by any means. In fact, inherently they were just as smart as the G. They just didn’t choose to educate themselves. They could learn to brew their own alcohol without much trouble, but they just found it easier to steal it from the G.
Bird also did not have a job. She and Fyndraxis had been just kind of hanging out doing as they pleased. Granted, they were actually busy and doing things, but from an outside perspective, they didn’t look like they were doing all that much. When word came down that Solomon would like to see them, Bird had the distinct feeling that Solomon had found a way to employ his freeloaders.
“You wanted to see us?” Bird asked as she entered the throne room and presented herself to the King.
“Yes,” Solomon had answered, it was early afternoon and he was in a state that he liked to refer to as “the zone”. This was post hangover and pre blackout. He was just drunk enough to have his wits about him, but not drunk enough to do or say anything stupid. He understood this, and tended to make important decisions around this time of day.
“I fear for Lange’s safety,” he went on seriously, “he has been on a trade mission and was supposed to have returned a couple of days ago.”
“Well, he has the tendency to get distracted,” Bird offered.
“That is certainly the case, but I have a bad feeling. The Cannibals have begun their summer raids and I want to make sure he hasn’t gotten caught up in anything unfortunate,” he explained.
“I suppose you want me to do something about this?” Bird asked.
“Yes,” the King continued, “everybody is very busy with preparations for winter. I’d like to see you take point on this, as a personal favor to me.”
This was a loaded statement. Bird and Solomon had a complicated relationship. She was there at the village staying in a yurt that he had provided and enjoying the benefits of everybody’s labor. There was also some unspoken debt between them, Solomon owed Bird for something. Bird had also just recently rebuffed the King’s amorous advances.
The calculus of who owed whom was convoluted and would need several pages of scratch paper to figure out. What it really came down to though, was that Solomon was the King here and if Bird didn’t want to do this thing, she could find someplace else to be a freeloader. Solomon didn’t have to say this directly, but the message was pretty clear.
“Happy to help, Solomon,” Bird wasn’t necessarily lying, but this was clearly a pain in her ass, “do you know where he was headed?”
“He was going to negotiate a deal with the shepherds to the north, so that would be a good place to start. Take anything that you might need from the larders, I would prefer it if you left immediately,” Solomon stated as he poured himself another drink. He got up from his throne and strolled to the balcony, motioning for Bird to follow him.
“Look,” he said finally as he was gazing to the north, “I know this is a pain in the ass for you, but this is important. I love Lange as a brother and I think you do too.”
“I do,” she said reluctantly.
“Thank you, Liberty,” he said as he finished his whiskey, “hopefully, this is a fool’s errand, and nothing comes of it.”
“That would be nice,” she observed.
Bird turned on her heels, and left the throne room. She made her way down through the lodge and headed directly out of the village. When they were well out of earshot of anyone that might be wandering around, Fyndraxis piped up.
“Don’t you need to grab any supplies? We could be gone for days,” he said to her.
“I think I have everything I need. This should be a pretty quick thing,” she mused.
“What makes you think that,” he asked.
“I just have a feeling,” she said cryptically.