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Chapter 1.2 Agatha's hike with Onfim to the Drung forest
... And the Episcopate is zealous, according to the age-old rule of "divide and rule," and now useful Free Empires, a people of unsurpassed warriors, have been declared admitted to communion, now the half-hearted have been declared "walking the path of enlightenment," their towns and villages are subject to heavy tribute, church, order and imperial tithes, but — left in relative peace.
The church and the magicians have graciously allowed the dwarves trapped deep underground to somehow trade, orcs, trolls and goblins to do some menial work, they let them into the imperial markets and gloomy kobold caravans.
And the God-defying Danus and elves are outlawed. As well as unreleased heads, gurrs, garrids. But these people hardly really understand what's going on, they are murderers and savage bloodsuckers, with whom the Danu, the former owners of the forests, waged a merciless war....
Agatha's hands, without requiring the intervention of her head, had been diligently scrubbing the iron insides of the cauldrons all this time.
"Have you finished yet?" Evelyn scrutinized the polished steel. "But we'll check it out now...."
"Hey, you, there, at the head!" they yelled from behind.
Agatha raised her head.
Mr. Onfim-the-first's hefty wagon was pulled by as many as six horses pulled by pairs. Yeremey, the snake charmer, was sitting on the front seat; however, he was not sitting now, but just opposite, jumping up and waving his arms.
"On the head! Have you prayed, or not? Mr. Onfim is being asked! And also — listen to the sounds! Mr. Onfim Danku is wanted immediately!"
"We prayed, we prayed," Nodlik muttered.
There was something like sympathy in Kitsum's bleary gaze fixed on Agatha.
The owner of the traveling circus had the misfortune to wake up too early. He usually didn't wake up until noon on the way. He prayed; then he got down to business. As a matter of fact, this meant trouble for all the artists without exception, including the acrobatic brothers; Only Death-maiden, who enthusiastically warmed Mr. Onfim the first's bed in the evenings, could feel relatively safe.
Here, in the middle of a Sub-Human Wasteland, with a Death Shower hanging on his shoulders, being thrown out of the wagons meant certain death. Mr. Onfim was already furious that a good quarter of the seasonal profits had to be given to the Ostrag magician, who had cast a spell of indefatigability on the horses.
The Danu girl slid over the side of the van like a swift weasel. There was an inhuman flexibility and smoothness in her movements, it seemed that she was not running, but flowing like a stream.
Trocha turned around and watched Agatha go for a long time and smacked his lips with a sigh.
"Well, this bitch is going to get it now!" Evelyn giggled maliciously. "So I don't understand, are we left without breakfast?"
"You'll survive," Kitsum said, unperturbed. Strangely enough, he was in no hurry to take a sip of the bottle — either the supplies had really run out, or Saint Sukhorot himself, the hater of drinkers, appeared to him in a dream.
Evelyn grimaced, but said nothing — they had once tried, together with Nodlick, to arrange a "dark" for the clown. The juggler stayed out for a week, and Evelyn had to fork out a lot to have a makeup magician fix her well-known facial asymmetry. They didn't dare to offend Kitsuma anymore.
The woman immediately took out her anger on Nodlik. Hunching his head into his shoulders, he began to cook.
* * *
Agatha deftly dodged the whip that lashed out very close. The snake Charmer cursed in frustration.
"Good morning, Mr. Yeremey," Agatha sang in a honeyed voice, managing to curtsy as she ran. She grabbed the side of the cart and was inside in one motion.
It was warm in Mr. Onfim's van. There were two stoves here, and one was lined with stones. A fire was already burning in both of them. Acrobatic brothers jostled around the stoves, extremely annoyed by this turn of events. Both of them had soot on their faces.
Mr. Onfim was reclining on a cash chest covered with four layers of blankets. Death-Tansha bustled nearby, bringing steaming bowls.
Yes, it's an unprecedented thing. Mr. Onfim drove his mistress to cook! This was usually done by a Danu slave; something special must have happened today.
The circus owner did not like to bother with greetings. Even with Tansha, he usually talked like this: "Well, are you ready? How long can I wait? Lift up your skirt, bitch, and bend over! And you turn away, you brutes..."
"We're passing through the remnants of the Drung Forest," Onfim hissed. "Let's make a stop now. And let's go for a walk. Just the two of us. Take your stuff. Don't keep me waiting! That's not it..."
"Yes, Mr. Onfim," Danu bowed deeply.
"Dirty pigs. Drung Forest! The western border of the Danu lands... is the last stronghold. I knew he'd be in our way.... He called me, he recognized me from a dozen leagues away, but he couldn't see the collar around my neck... great Gods, Onfim, it turns out, knows history pretty well!.. And once again I will have to watch how the foot of a pitiful human tramples on the sacred land of my fathers!.."
However, there was still nothing she could do. The collar was riveted by skilled magicians. Onfim threw back the blankets. In a dark green hunting caftan, high boots, and with a curved Artsakh saber on his belt, he looked nothing like a traveling circus owner who had recently turned sixty, grown a sizeable paunch, and was a big fan of beer and women of both human and non-human races. His puffy cheeks had disappeared, and his pale eyes burned with a real, lively fire-something that had never happened even in the happiest moments of his life, when he counted the proceeds.
"I'm waiting," he reminded her coldly. Agatha bowed in silence.
"Yeremy! We're stopping," Onfim commanded.
The acrobatic brothers looked at Danu with evil rat eyes.
It was only a matter of a minute to catch up with the lead van, grab a warm raincoat, the only thing she had left, and pull on her hiking boots. The wagons creaked to a stop; Kitsum gaped at his master.
"Mister... Mr. Onfim!" He was hoarse with fright and stumbled on almost every syllable. "The rains... Mr. Onfim..."
Agatha almost fell over, noticing the smile on the thin, bloodless lips of the owner.
"It's okay, Kitsum. I've thought of everything. Including this stop. Wait for us... we won't be long, at most — until the evening. And so that the hotheads won't be tempted to run away with the wagons and the money, I put a binding spell on the horses."
He raised his hand. On his ring finger, Agatha saw a ring with an emerald-colored stone in a cheap bronze setting. Onfim muttered the words of the password, and the stone burst into flames, disappearing into a bright green flame. There was only an empty nest on the ring.
My ears hurt for a moment.
"Make sure the van is heated and dinner is ready when I get there", Onfim ordered in an unpleasant voice. "Now let's go ahead, Danka!.. Earn your bread!.."
Agatha moved forward in silence.
"You surprised me, Onfim. I would never have thought that you would know about our Forest. I would never have thought that you would want to climb into it yourself. But most importantly, what do you need in the Drung Forest? Your magicians have combed it inside and out. Yes, and there were a lot of people — they were looking for a summer cottage, fools.... You don't look like a fool, Onfim. You're a dirty, cruel, depraved, and dishonest pig, Onfim, but you're far from stupid. So why did you need to come to our Forest?"
The trees along the road were ordinary, human.
Garbage trees, as the true Danus called them. They were small, skinny, plagued by rot and aphids, and in some places entangled in silkworm webs. Their hateful gazes bored into Agatha's back; their tongueless mouths opened, spewing a stream of dirty and disgusting curses inaudible to anyone but her. The desire to be raped and strangled by her own father could pass for refined politeness against this background.
A little further from the road, the forest became cleaner. This is understandable — the trees along the highway took on all the anger of the passers-by, all their grief and disappointment, and therefore they were sick, withered, but did not die and even gave offspring. The endless torment only intensified the anger.
The branches tried to grab Agatha's hair, scratch out her eyes — Onfim whipped them with a thin bone stick, and the girl felt a sudden icy prick in the pit of her stomach — the yellowish bone clearly harbored some kind of spell, and not an easy one at that.
"Why did you get up? Come on, pointy-eared!" They made their way through the gloomy thickets-the leaves and grass seemed to be covered with dust, but where did the dust come from? Lime trees and maples were side by side with pines, hornbeams and firs — the result of the general magical chaos during the War with Danu, which human minstrels sing about at every fair, at every celebration and at every inn. The survivors of Danu try not to think about her as much as they can.
"Where to go, Mr. Onfim?" another pathetic attempt at self-defense. Not the master, but the master, just a polite address...
"Don't pretend you don't know, pointy-eared. Take me to Drung! Into the depths! You can feel him, I know. Lead the way!"
Agatha bowed briefly. She closed her eyes for a moment, shutting out the sick, evil forest, the pathetic parody of it that surrounded her now; the feelings of the girl-Danu stretched forward to the distant hills, where fast, uncluttered streams still flowed from stone caves, where real Lhadann Naastonn still towered on the slopes, True Trees, where everything was different, Even the air...
Where Dan's homeland is.
The forest responded immediately with the combined hum of gigantic branches, the gentle flutter of foliage that did not wither (when the Danu retreated, Lhadann Naastonn learned to shed leaves for the winter — a naive attempt to protect themselves from the wrath of the Humans, whose law is "Destroy the unknown!").
Onfim stayed three or four steps behind Agatha. His right hand is on the hilt of his saber; his left hand is clutching a bone stick. Have you heard about the monsters of Drung, which originated from the remains of evil magic that swept through the stronghold of the ancient people with a fiery broom?
Agatha herself didn't really know anything about it, but she hoped that her blood, the blood of Danu, would serve as reliable protection. It's happened before, and more than once.
Little by little, the mutilated human forest retreated. A fluffy Ssortti panicle flashed among the weeds, a lacy Doconni corolla was red on the branches of a quite ordinary oak, and here was the first blue Auozynn bush.
"Hello, Drung. The human larynx is unable to convey the consonance of your true name: Dad'rrount'got. Even a primitive Dadrountgot (although it has almost nothing to do with your real nickname) is too difficult for them. Drung! The name of a dog, or a breeding bull...
Well, you've started, Dad'rount got. I'm treading on your land, and my neck is wrapped in an evil human iron. With a speaking iron. And I'm powerless against him. I could have died, but my life and revenge were bequeathed to me. And that's why I'm leading this filthy human, whose breath is more foul-smelling than decaying carrion. Forgive me, Great Forest, forgive your windy granddaughter, she has been singing and dancing for too long.... But now she's paying the bills of the entire Danu tribe."
"We are on the border of Drung, Mr. Onfim."
"Try hard, pointy-eared, and maybe you'll get through today without a spanking. Come on, lead on! Lead the way!" If Onfim was surprised by the sight before him, he did not show it.
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