Old Blood and New Ch. 02

Inside, he happened to bump into someone.

"Oh, excuse me," was what Vyn said as he readjusted his hat, some of his hair falling out again.

"It's alright," said the person Vyn had contacted, and his heated tone was a little familiar.

Vyn didn't have to look too far down to see him more closely, for he was pretty tall. His hair was golden and smooth, held back by a leather cord and trailing down to his shoulders. His plain tricorn hat was knocked askew, and he had to move it as Vyn had done.

Beautiful violet eyes!

As if a refreshing breeze was moving through him, Vyn had to take a rather quick but invigorating breath. He blinked twice. "I've seen you before." He cringed a little right after he said that. He should just walk away and leave the man alone, but his impulses had won too easily then.

A shoulder quirking, a hand on his hip and the other holding a wrapped package, the violet-eyed man calmly said, "Yeah? Where did you see me?"

"At the bathhouse," Vyn said. "Then at the bakery."

With a small nod, the blond man said, "I might have seen you around. You stand out a little."

"Then," there was a pause here as Vyn's eyelids flinched and he tried to think of what to say next, and then he settled on, "Are you a carpenter?"

Protectively covering his package of meat with his free hand, the blond answered, "Yeah. I have two apprentices at my workshop. What keeps you busy?"

"I'm a farmhand right now," Vyn told him.

Stepping away, the blond said, "That's pretty honorable." He gave a much firmer nod than before, and his mouth tightened. "I need to go home." He spun around. "Have a good day."

Vyn gave a light wave of his hand. "Yeah, you too."

He thought about that blond for a long time, even as he was walking home with his purchase of very fine quality meat. Living in a fairly rural area had its benefits. It was difficult to starve.

***

More work. And more opportunities to socialize. Most of the other farmhands were friendly. That was good. Vyn didn't like to practice his martial arts with anyone that wasn't friendly. Vyn didn't accept too many opportunities, though. He wanted to keep a certain emotional distance. These guys were nice enough, but he hadn't met anyone he wanted any deep connection with, pure friendship or not.

Vyn had a minor accident with one of the bulls on a rather ordinary morning. Something, and nobody was sure what it was, but something infuriated a bull, and the bull charged right at Vyn. Vyn was able to leap out of the way, but one of the bull's horns grazed his leg, leaving a pretty deep scratch that had to be treated. It wasn't deadly, but the Den Mother did warn Vyn to be more cautious until he was healed. She was the one to press some layers of gauze on the wound and wrap it in place.

Vyn wasn't even mad. He was little happy. For some reason, that incident only made him feel closer to being in a real home.

On one of his free mornings, Vyn walked to the marketplace. His wound was mostly healed at that point, but he still kept the gauze just in case. He didn't have any goal in mind. He was looking to look. He eyed the questionable bolts of fabrics that an outdoor stall had. He considered getting an extra bar of soap form another. He even walked to a stall selling spices and wondered how some of them tasted.

Vyn could cook for himself but he wasn't exactly a genius at it, and there were plenty of ingredients he didn't know much about.

Feeling a bit bored, Vyn wandered over to the buildings. When he happened to find a carpenter's workshop, his feet paused and he looked through a large open window.

That blond man!

His violet eyes were pointed down at some blocks of wood that he was drilling holes into. The cranking, spinning motion required for turning the drill only made the blond's arms that much more fascinating. They were experienced and persistent. They turned the sharp, spiral point with expertise.

Vyn licked at a corner of his lips, but he tried not to be blatant.

Two boys, one almost at puberty and the other apparently a bit past that point in life, they were nearby, also working. They were chatting too while the master carpenter was pensive and quiet.

Vyn knew he had no business there. He chose to go into the building next to the workshop. It was a gunsmith's shop. Vyn knew how to use a gun, but he hadn't held one in a while. Maybe he should get one? Yeah, why not? He approached the gunsmith, who was looking through boxes of various parts. Then he asked if there were any rifles and bullets for sale.

Some time later, Vyn had a wrapped up rifle strapped to his back and a few boxes of ammunition in his pockets. This was an expensive investment, and it was an impulse, but he believed it was a very good idea. Not all problems could be solved with fists and feet alone.

Besides, he was considering applying for a hunting license, and that rifle he'd gotten was perfect for that. He might even rent a horse if the time came.

He missed riding horseback.

His breath seemed to lengthen as he walked out of the workshop, his memories were once again damaging his mood.

"Ah! Is that what I think it is?!"

It was an excited tone.

Vyn halted and paid a bit more attention to the person coming into his vision. It was the violet-eyed carpenter! He had an awestruck expression with a smile forming. "The length," he said, "is that model what I think it is?"

Apparently, even with the wrapping, that carpenter thought he recognized the model.

Vyn reached behind himself to touch the gun he'd just bought. "I've never heard your name."

"Oh, I'm Ivan Yenden." The carpenter was smiling then, although he looked unusually sheepish, which Vyn thought was charming. "I think I have a gun just like that. Want to compare?"

His feet tingling, his belly jerking a little, Vyn asked, "What time?"

Ivan pointed to a building's roof that was some distance away. It was one of the largest buildings there, and there was a giant clock for anyone to see. Sometimes it rang, but Vyn had never really paid much attention to it. Maybe he should've, but his work as a farmhand hadn't required much timekeeping from him.

"My workshop will close at five this afternoon," Ivan said. "We can go down by the river, put some bottles on a rock, and shoot."

Vyn nodded. "That sounds like fun, but I don't know what to do with myself until then. I don't have a watch, and where I live there aren't any clocks."

Watches were typically attached to chains that would clip to a man's pocket. They were usually expensive.

His eyes lighting up, Ivan suggested, "You could help me in my shop. You don't have to have any experience to carry tools or hold things down."

His chest jolting with a laugh he had to hold in, Vyn told him, "I don't work for free."

"I'll give you a pinch of coin for every task, then," Ivan offered.

Vyn nodded and held his hand out. "I'll accept that."

Ivan took his hand quite firmly. It was a reassuring kind of handshake. His hands were just as rough as they should be, but there weren't as many scars as what Vyn had.

"My name's Brast Jaster," Vyn said once their hands separated.

"Good to meet you." Ivan bent his neck to tilt his head towards his workshop. "Come on. You're a big man. I need someone like you."

***

While their ears were plugged with cotton, Vyn still had the typical temporary hearing loss and ringing once he made his shot and broke the glass bottle. The cotton didn't make him deaf. It only lessened the impact of the shots.

The light was waning, but that was fine. They had two oil lamps and it was good to practice hitting targets in the dark.

Between shots, Vyn and Ivan chatted about more than just guns and shooting. It started out with pretty boring topics, but eventually Vyn mentioned that he might want to go hunting.

Ivan pointed to the trees across from the river, along with a huge stone bridge. "Those lands are owned by His Grace." He was referring to the local aristocrat that owned the province. "These lands next to us have been granted by His Grace to any hunter with a permit. You may fish in the river with a similar permit. However, if you see a fence with bright blue ribbons, that's where His Grace's personal hunting grounds are. If you wander over there you might face a charge of trespassing, or even poaching."

Watching Ivan load his rifle, Vyn asked, "Is it difficult to get a hunting permit?"

They stopped the talking long enough for Ivan to shoot a bottle away, and long enough for their poor ears to recover.

Lowering his weapon, Ivan told Vyn, "You need to prove you're skilled enough with whatever your hunting equipment is, then they hand you a book about what animals are fair and when, and then you have to pay a fine. Around three drans should do it."

Dran was the name of the currency used in the country.

"That sounds pretty fucking reasonable," Vyn said right before a quick shrug and a thoughtful movement with his head. "I think I'll look into that."

The two men parted ways not too long after that. They each took their oil lamps with them, in case the sun would set before they'd reach their beds.

As he walked, Vyn's mind repeated the evening's events several times. He was looking forward to the next time he could see that man again. He was terribly handsome, and he seemed to be an intelligent and sturdy fellow, always working hard to support himself.

Maybe Cheppa Village could be his home, just maybe.

***

Eventually, Vyn got a hunting license and a fishing license too. He didn't have a special hunting outfit. He didn't think there was enough time for him to make an outfit all by himself either. So he went to a tailor shop. It was small but thriving. After they took his measurements with tape, they promised a hunting outfit of decent quality within a few days, with fittings arranged too.

In the meantime, Vyn bought a fishing rod, dug up some worms and other bugs, and went off to the river for a bit of fishing on a cold morning. It was serene. He sat right on the ground and gently held his rod in place. His thoughts trailed along.

"You could always use your bare hands, but you'll be more successful with a rod."

That was his father's voice, or rather the memory of his father's voice.

Papa had been much like many fellows in his old community. Big, strong, always ready for a fight but never willing to start any. Well, that last part was a bit off. Quite a few men were willing to start fights, but Vyn's Papa hadn't been one of them.

And he was such an understanding, patient man.

If it wasn't for him, Vyn wouldn't know how to sew.

Vyn had said as much quite a few times in his life.

Mama had been a seamstress and a tailoress until she'd married, and she would often try to teach Vyn how to sew. Vyn would often refuse, saying he'd rather play war games or wrestle, which was fair. But one day, Papa sat Vyn down, and right in front of the little boy he opened up a sewing kit and started patching up clothing.

"There are people that would pay good money to learn how to make clothes," Papa had said. "There are definitely people that pay good money to have someone make clothes. I was a tailor once, like your Mama was, and I made more money than I'd expected."

"I don't want money," Little Vyn had said.

Papa had looked up from his work and grinned. "If you have money, you can get lots of things. You can get more toys, more sweets, and sometimes more friends, but I don't know if I'd keep a friend that only wanted my money."

Little Vyn's interest had been prodded. "If I have more money, I can have more stuff?"

"Usually, yeah." Papa's needle had paused in the air for a moment. "Not all the time, but usually. Besides, if you can sew, then even when you don't have time to make your clothes you can at least make them look good. A man should try to dress well for the occasion. Even work clothes have to be good quality. You don't want your breeches to fall apart as you walk."

Adult Vyn felt tension and tugging in his rod's line. He might've caught something good. A few moments later, he had a pretty big fish in a bucket of water, and he carried it back to the dormitory so he could grill it.

***