Elder Cultivator

Outside a farmstead in the village of Dungannon, swirling winds carried cold snow onto the eaves and ground. All of the animals were safely tucked away in the barn, and the thought of repairing fences and other tiresome work didn’t even cross the minds of any of those crowding around inside. Inside, there was something truly wonderful happening- the birth of a child.

Not that they hadn’t all seen something like that before. Of course, all twenty-odd of the family present had been born, and the two grandparents in the room and ten parents had seen most of those in the very same room be born. Anton and Janina Krantz were excited because it wasn’t so often that people had a chance to become great-grandparents.

The village midwife was quite experienced, having helped with Tabby’s birth, and now Tabby herself was having a child. There were many things that could go wrong with a birth, but skilled hands and practiced care greatly reduced the dangers. In this particular case, the midwife might not even have needed to come through the burgeoning snow at all. The birth was quick and smooth, and less than an hour later a beautiful little girl was being held in her mother’s arms.

“Annelie,” her mother said. “Her name will be Annelie.”

Anton Krantz had seen all five of his own children be born, as well as his nine grandchildren. When he first laid his eyes upon them, he loved them… but even as he grew older and more directly removed from the process he found his attachment increased. He would willingly die for any of his family if it would help them somehow. If the little baby could talk and told him to kill himself he felt he would have done it without hesitation, even without anything to gain for it but a smile. Fortunately, neither of those things had cause to occur in his peaceful life.

Annelie was just the first in a line of great-grandchildren that would be born into the family over the next few years. Even if half of the third generation had chosen to move away from Dungannon into other towns and cities, their numbers were continuously growing. Everyone knew who they were, of course, with the ever growing family and farm… but then again, everyone knew everyone in Dungannon.

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Some of his children told Anton Krantz that he shouldn’t be working outside, wrangling cattle and building fences, driving oxen and planting seeds. He was ‘too old’. Whenever anyone suggested that, he asked them who was going to do it in his stead. It wasn’t that they weren’t willing to work, but quite frankly it would take two or three of them to replace the work that he did, and they were all occupied with other things throughout the day. Janina had once worked out in the fields with him, but age had hit her more strongly, especially over the past few years. She still wasn’t the sort to sit around doing nothing, so they had a constant influx of tailored work clothes coming from her. 

“Grand-grandpa,” Annelie said from behind him where she was tossing seeds into the plowed field. “Are you really a thousand years old?”

“That’s right!” Anton Krantz might have been exaggerating his age a bit, but sometimes it felt like it. A thousand was… a bit out of reach for a normal person. That was the sort of age that heroes in the legends reached, but even for cultivators a thousand years was probably an exaggeration. Not that he had any way to know, since he’d only met a couple in his life, usually when he was visiting a big city. They were the sort to buy a whole animal without a thought, and with the sort of money they often had he didn’t really blame them. At least they mostly didn’t cause trouble. The whole country of Graotan was watched over by The Order of Ninety-Nine Stars, at least in theory. Anton wasn’t sure how they could manage to handle that, especially since they were a whole fortnight of travel away on horseback. However, he had heard that they regularly stopped by Alcombey, the large city to the southwest. At least, one of their disciples. As for what that actually accomplished, he wasn’t sure.

“How big is a thousand?” Annelie asked.

“That’s ten hundreds,” Anton replied.

“Oh.” Annelie nodded, “I thought mommy said you were almost a hundred years old.”

Anton laughed, “Don’t you think I would know how old I am? I was around when your grandpa was born, too.”

“He says you’re only a hundred too.” Annelie was technically scattering seeds still, but several handfuls ended up in the same spot.

“Maybe they’re right then,” Anton gave up on the joke. “Watch where that seed goes. You want to make sure not too many plants grow together. None of them will make those big potatoes you like so much if they’re cramped.” Well, it didn’t matter much. She only had a relatively small portion of the seed, and mostly she was just there to watch. Speaking of which, the oxen had probably rested enough. Anton wasn’t sure if he had rested enough, but he could still keep going. Just because he wasn’t young didn’t mean he was weak.

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With all the work on the ever-expanding farm, he rarely got out into the forest for hunting. Technically he still wasn’t hunting, though he did have his bow with him. If he saw a wild boar or a deer, it wouldn’t hurt to take it back with him. However, he was looking for something else at the moment. He needed medicinal herbs that he knew grew in the area. Of course, if they didn’t grow in the area he couldn’t do much but wistfully think about them. While the farm was expanding, it merely took care of the family and provided little beyond what they needed. They weren’t poor, with some savings for harsh winters or the like… but they also couldn’t afford to spend a large amount of money on medicine. When they did… it was for the great-grandchildren. 

What Anton was looking for required a constant supply, and he made regular trips out into the forest for the herbs. Janina wasn’t any older than himself, but the last few years had been harder on her. She’d developed a persistent cough, and anything that could ease her pain for a while was welcome. Anton was quite familiar with the locations it grew, how it liked to live in the shade and especially near sources of water. 

He found himself ranging further and further looking for the herbs, letting them regrow in places he’d already been and instead seeking out further patches. Since he might spend several days away, it was best if he came back with as much as possible for his efforts. Sometimes that meant some fresh game… but usually it meant edible mushrooms or root vegetables.

This was looking to be one of the second types. He hadn’t spotted even something like a rabbit- though realistically a rabbit would be harder to spot than larger game. At least he still had a bagful of other herbs they might be able to sell. As he finished plucking a few mushrooms after checking their coloration and placing them in a second little bag at his waist, he noticed someone in front of him. “Oh…” Anton bowed his head. “Hello, sir. I don’t often see anyone else out in the forest.”

The man in front of him was young. He might have taken him for a hunter as well with his obvious physique, but he didn’t have a bow and his clothing was much too loose. The man bowed his head in return. “Good day to you, sir. I don’t suppose you have come across signs of any others? There are reports of bandits moving into the area.”

Anton frowned. Bandits were never good news. “No… I haven’t seen anything of them. What have you heard?”

“There was an attack on Thorpes last month. I know little more than that, I fear.” The man extended his hand. “I am Vincent. If you stumble upon anything, please let me know. You can leave a message for me at the Prancing Deer in Alcombey.”

The Prancing Deer… that was one of the nicer inns in the city. The journey was far enough that whenever Anton visited he had to stay overnight, but he’d never been willing to spend enough to stay at that place. It might not have been as overpriced as the Golden Swan, but it certainly wasn’t within the range he was willing to pay for a place to sleep. “Very well. If I hear anything about bandits, I will contact you there.”

“Much obliged, good sir,” Vincent bowed his head. “Good luck with your hunt.”

Anton watched as he left, and strangely enough Vincent seemed to almost float over the land. Of course, he was walking with his feet on the ground but the patches of rough terrain didn’t seem to slow him down. It seemed like every step brought him the same distance even up or down a slope or over rocks or roots. Somehow, the steps avoided being awkward or mechanical. There was something strange about it… but Anton returned to thinking about his newly increased concerns once the man was out of sight. Now there were bandits.

There was no way for Anton to know if the man’s blessing meant anything at all, but not ten minutes later he stumbled upon a large patch of the very herb he was looking for. After picking a handful of the most mature specimens, he left the remaining herbs to continue maturing. There was some chance someone else would come pick them up before he could, but he would prefer to give them a chance to grow and repopulate even if it meant perhaps not getting everything himself. Then he started on his return journey… worrying about all sorts of troubles that might arise.