Axiom ~ 2!

~ Two ~

*Shkrack*! A thin wooden cup crashed against the wall in the village longhouse, fragmenting into sizable chunks. The Elderly, bossy voice shrieked; releasing a spray of spittle as the sound of a long, thin piece of wood impacted with a *switch*. 

“Ahh!” A screech of pain erupted from a young voice as they were hit by a sharpened switch. The wince was as deep as the injury, but the cowering young adult bore it as silently as possible. 

“I. Said. Do it!” the curmudgeonly Elder demanded. 

The young villager stammered in an attempted reply. “E… Elder we can’t just-” 

His words were sharply cut off as the thin, freshly cut hazel branch swung and missed with a sharp *whizz*. “I. Am the only Elder in this village whose opinion matters. I am the oldest. I have been here the longest. I am Sick. And. Tired. Of being told I cannot do what I want with my village. If I say we are accepting the new trading currency, then we are accepting it. If I say you work on the salt flats this year, then you work on the salt flats, and If. I. Say!” 

Another *whizz* of the rod swinging past without striking the intended target. “That I am the only Elder who matters, then you will live by that rule; or great hazel help you, I will strip each branch from that tree only to beat you with it until you’re disciplined! I chased you as a bothersome little child, and I’ve had to chase you all the way to the age where we’re supposed to name you. Yet you can’t even follow simple tasks!” 

The hesitant reply came with a concerned tone. “Elder, the rule of the village is that all Elders must agree on a decision. Otherwise it can’t be said that the village is sure, or united, about what is good for everyone.” 

He deftly dodged another wildly swung *whizz* from the ancient enraged woman. “That tired old relic isn’t fit to be an Elder, and I don’t care what the rest of the village says! I will never accept him as my equal! I am the one that grew up here, and I am the only one that truly knows what is best! That lost-in-thought outsider has his head so high in the clouds that he forgets mid-conversation what I am talking about. That fallen log can’t agree with me on the most basic tasks of how a village should be run, and he has stolen all my precious young sproutlings!” 

She took a heaving breath and continued her tirade. “My stories are the true lore and history of the village! Not those flighty made-up tales that blind oak keeps rattling off. It’s affecting their young minds and making them deviate from what is truly good for the village! The youngest is even asking questions about things that have nothing, nothing, to do with what he’s going to spend his life doing! All those bothersome, pointless questions about color? There’s nothing wrong with a lack of color! Our clothing is functional, and I have the softest robe. What else matters?” 

The sneering tirade paused as the old crow of a woman leered; her dense brown gaze heavy upon the soon-to-be adult. “Tell the traders the deal is accepted.” 

A deep sigh is all she got in reply. “A decision cannot be given if all the Elder in t-” 

The crone shrieked as the violent whip of the fresh branch snapped loudly enough to scare some others out of the longhouse. “Get out!” 

The young man’s protest was silent and done swiftly with ink and vellum in tow. His arms were full of written documents that clearly weren’t going to be delivered, and the man was sour about having been declared ‘not an adult’ and not deserving of a name. 

“Grouchy old toad.” His trembling voice was nearly audible as he stamped out of the building. Nobody cared that the longhouse was the most comfortable building to physically be in, as by any other standard it was the worst building to be in. Elders had privileges that other villagers simply didn’t. People had to listen without interrupting when they talked, they could set the rules you had to follow, they could assign names, and they would determine the results of any disputes that became loud enough to make it to their old ears. 

What you got out of life stopped being a matter of discussion, instead becoming entirely dependent on their ruling. They were also the only ones in the village that could properly write, even if most could decently read. Once a village had agreed on who was an Elder, the spot was permanent. They couldn’t suddenly not be–as much as some very much desired it–unless an Elder declared they would discard the title and step away from the discussion table entirely. A few had done this, but almost always for the reason that any interaction with Elder Switch was beyond undesirable. Unfortunately, that also silenced their voices and opinions unless called upon, as it stripped them of privileges they otherwise had. 

Only two Elders remained now, and one of them was a nosy outsider that had properly followed all the rules of the Fringe to be admitted. He had been brought up to the position by the virtues he freely provided to the villagers. Elder Switch, to the knowledge of anyone who indulged in gossip, despised her opposition above all else. Her regional purity clearly made her ‘superior’ in her own crone eyes, and she had not a single inhibition about being vocal about the matter. The whipping *switch* of the rod had even become so prevalent that it had been added to her name. 

Elder Switch seethed as she sat alone. Sneering at the small fire that reflected the burning, eternal smolder she felt inside. If something didn’t go her way, it didn’t need to go at all. She’d spent years and years solidifying her grip on the village. However, that sopping-wet-rag of an outsider had doused her rapid rise to power by simply existing! The slight left a sour expression on her face that could be seen just by glancing at her. Each of her heavyset wrinkles described the story of her long rise.

*Plink* Old ears perked up when she heard a sound similar to a cup gently plunking onto a nearby table. Elder Switch sharply exhaled through her nose and started talking to the hidden figure that had just made its presence known. “Gold. It will replace salt as the main currency of the Fringe, and we will be the first to adopt it. I refuse to lose out any more to Lapis, that pathetic crag of rock-gatherers with their tiny little village of color-loving savages. Blue this, blue that, blue rocks, blue fabrics. They’re living in a blue world, and I don’t want nobody to listen! To their attempts at sales, that is. I’m going to throw a cup at someone if I see that Abyss-hued color. I tire hearing of how well it sells! Our Salt is a much more reliable and profitable village, and salt must remain the best-sold good of the region.” 

She swiped a piece of vellum from the little nook next to her, crumpled it in her gnarled fingers and disdainfully threw it right on the fire. Switch derisively watched at the conflagration of the secret message in the hearth. “Lazuli has no place alongside Salt. The Fringe will be known as my salt region, once the mapmakers come.”

“Is the trader informed?” Her impatient voice crooned.

A sharp metal *plink* of a fingernail cleaning knife ceased its repeated activity. Words full of breathy poise and tact bled through a powerful woman’s sharpened teeth. “Of course he is, Grand Matron of the Salt v... Fringe Region.” 

The voice had altered its sugary words at the end, but the obscure figure slithered them forth with only the most minor of pauses. “The trader has all the gold ready; we only need the written documentation and the proper adoption. Once gold is the main currency, our bountiful services will be… available. My men can’t do much with the sacks of salt your village is able to provide.”

The obscure female continued her sales pitch with dark fervor. “Gold, however, will bring in an age of wealth the Fringe has never enjoyed before. All the comforts of the inland regions will start flooding into your coffers and homes. You will be the first to enjoy the tender warmth of a beast-skin cloak. A robe of such refined quality, so unique in its singular presence that only the most loved, respected, and honored of Elders could possibly have one. Which, of course, can be none other than yourself, Grand Matron.” 

Elder Switch took a deep, serene breath with a toothy smile, half-lidded eyes nearly closed as she relished in the praise. *Ahhh*. “Yes. Yes, that’s it. That’s the feeling I love. Thank you young one, for humoring a noblesse such as I. Your presence is warming, and I am ever so pleased you’ve come with news. Are they ready?” 

Switch snapped the last words before the figure in the back rose, only to take a serpentine step forwards and bow. The experienced raider was scarred, her dark-pitch black hair was tightly bound on the back of her head, while a few exposed knives covered her leather-bound frame. Her words had the same inflection of a slow-bleeding laceration as she drawled out the answer. “Your men just wait for the right moment, Grand Matron.” 

The obscure female sidled even closer. “We will remove all those who stand against you and secure your reign over the Fringe. Only your wisdom can lead it to the greatest prosperity, as you are the only one with the foresight to accept and understand the value of gold. Such insight is far too rare in the lands. Without you, Grand Matron, my men and I could have never come this far, and we relish the opportunity to repay you as soon as it arises. I, Hakan the Gilded Blade, will direct all my raiders at your guidance. The Reaper faction will guarantee that your plans see fruition, Grand Matron.” 

Elder Switch nodded, hands laced, feeling as though she was on top of the world. She shooed the raider out, “I’m pleased. You may go, young one.” 

Having been dismissed, a *thunk* of fist striking chest replied, and Hakan vanished into the shadows, slipping out into the almost entirely deserted village. Why sneak at night, when you can walk in broad daylight without a soul present to see? A massive grin graced her face; after all, it wasn’t frequent one found such a disgustingly easy mark. That dumb old toad was just eating up her honeyed words. Hakan was also delighted to learn that her second mark, the Lapis Lazuli village providing blue pigment as a trade up north, was such a sore spot she could use as a weapon. 

The trap had been baited, and thanks to her additional ploy with the trader… the gathering this town was going to have in the evening would be colorful indeed. Soon, her blades would run her favorite color of red once more. Hakan could scarcely hide her delight as she noticed a huddle of children running about.

“I’ll be back for you soon, my delightful recruits.”