Bare Jonas Pt. 01

Bare Jonas

Part One

by The Preve

Inspired, in part, by "Mr. Tumnus", by Crisreyart

In a northern country, once upon a time, on a farm across a river, lived a young lad named Jonas.

He was a comely young lad, just turned eighteen summers, yet not considered full grown in the eyes of his parents, nor the village elders.

Such assessments were attributed to his fine features and short stature. Some thought him of possible elfin blood (a rumor which included his mother, who was short and fine featured as well, and from whom he obviously inherited his looks).

Others pointed to his gentle and straightforward nature, many thought him simple for it. A few of the village gossips thought him a moonchild, or fae born.

It is not to say Jonas' slight body made him weak. His parents worked him hard as any farmer's lad. His mother made sure to teach him his letters.

The lasses of the village thought him comely enough but were more interested in the larger, more strapping young bravos from the town and neighboring farms.

In the main, most in the village thought little of him one way or the other.

Sometimes he'd attract derision for some foolishness, such as showing up with red skin from an accidental stumble into a bladderwort pool (he didn't say he was trying to find a shortcut through the marsh, to avoid paying the bridge troll's fee). The village generally ignored him otherwise.

On a midsummer morn, just a day after his eighteenth birthday, his mother roused him.

"Up! Up lazybones! You have errands in the village needing done a'fore eve."

"Yes, Ma," Jonas grumbled.

Jonas' Pa was already in the field, tending to the barley. The shoots were tall and green. It looked to be a good crop this year.

Ma and Pa let him sleep in for his eighteenth the day before, but his mother let him do so for today, as an extra gift.

Jonas rose, washed, and donned his clothes, including the new shirt his Ma made for his birthday. It was a good shirt, of yellow, red, and brown; a man's shirt, in the colors of autumn.

He came down to breakfast. His Ma rarely smiled, but he could see in her eyes happiness at his shirt's fitting.

Porridge, eggs, and ham broke his fast, and he prepared to set off.

"Now remember to avoid the marshes this time. Your man hair hasn't grown back from that foolishness."

"Yes, Ma," replied Jonas with a slight blush.

"Avoid the troll bridge. You might have to take the long way."

"I'll use the old bridge, this time," he said. The old bridge was somewhat rickety, but still safe for lone travelers. Village talk, recent, said the Duke was sending one of his knights to deal with the troll.

"Probably more 'cause the troll wasn't paying his taxes, and unlicensed, than bullying the farmers," Jonas thought.

"And careful, this is midsummer. Mischief will be about this time of year."

"Yes, Ma." It wasn't just pranksters and bravos attracted to the upcoming midsummer festival to worry about. "Others" got a bit frisky as well.

"You have the shopping list?"

"Yes, Ma."

"A roll of cheese, a jar of honey, and a spade for your Pa."

"Yes, Ma."

"Now go, and be sure to get back a'fore supper."

"Yes, Ma."

She gave him a loaf of bread, and a sausage, for lunch, and a peck on the cheek.

Jonas set off in his autumn shirt, waving to his Pa in the field. Pa waved back and set to work on the barley. I'm going to have to find a wife for him soon, and maybe that plot of land near the river to farm.

Jonas walked along the road, whistling a merry tune. The day was early; the dawn's cool giving way to a summer morn's warmth. Beautiful and quiet, with none but soft breezes, singing birds, and buzzing bees to make a sound.

"The day's going to be good," thought young Jonas.

He came to a low rise and, as he crested it, discerned some mutterings in the air. Over the top, and there on the downward slope, he espied a hunched figure on the roadside.

It might have been a local, one of the farmers, or a vagabond, perhaps a highwayman. Jonas slowed his steps, watching cautiously. If a local, greet him. If a vagabond, pass him. If a highwayman, run.

As he approached, he saw the figure was, in fact, a Wander Woman, an elderly one, probably arrived for the midsummer festival.

She was crouched over, muttering Wander curses. Jonas was cautious; stories of Wander Folk's deep magic and penchant for curses abounded, but he noted a sack nearby, ripped open, and some objects scattered about.

Jonas hesitated, Should I help? The Wander Folk were known to be tricksters, and ploys such as feigning distress were among the stories told about them, but the Good Book said always lend aid to the stranger, no matter how strange, and Jonas' parents taught him well.

"Hail Old Mother," he greeted, "Do you need help?"

The old woman looked up, a sour, annoyed look on her olive-colored face. "Aye, and none such a young callow as you would notice an old woman's distress. The rudeness of young toffs harassing an elder and scattering her 'shrooms. Nae the respect."

Jonas, in spite the woman's thick accent, got an idea what happened. Probably Karl Tieger and his gang. Bully boys all. They were some of the bravos the lasses mooned over. The boys deferred to the local elders and highborn, but were prankish and rude to those weaker: like smaller, slight built young lads, and elderly Wander Women.

I don't know what the lasses see in them. "I can help old mother, if you'll let me," Jonas offered.

"Aye, young lad. Thank ye, and gather me up my 'shrooms. Mind the red and brown."

Jonas helped the Wander gather the mushrooms, noting the redcaps and browncoats, known to induce visions, and deadly as well.

"Um, Old Mother, these mushrooms, I don't think these should go in soup." Did she pick these by mistake?

"Aye, and don't I know my 'shrooms young lad? 'Tis rude to question your elders' knowledge. These 'shrooms make good medicine, and helps one speak to the Saints."

"Yes ma'am," Jonas finished gathering the mushrooms.

"Into my apron with these young lad, and you can help me to my wagon b'sides."

Jonas would rather continue to the village, but the old woman needed more help, obviously. Plus Karl and the others might be laying about, still, not that Jonas knew what he could do if he met them, given past experience.

As it stood, the woman's wagon was not too far out of his way; just off the roadside.

A classic Wander Folk vardo; Jonas heard they served as home to them as well. A gray and black roan stood to the side, quietly munching the grass. A stew pot sat, waiting over heated coals, in the clearing.

"Well and good, your mother raised a polite young lad who respects his elders," the Wander Woman said, setting her mushrooms near the pot. "Such kindness calls for a vaticination."

"Well . . . uh . . ." Jonas started, remembering stories of Wanders' foreseeings. He jumped when the old woman unexpectedly grabbed his hands.

Her grasp was akin to iron manacles, and she stared into his eyes, her steel grays riveting like a wolf's.

"Your journey to town will be the first step of many. Unshod, skyclad you will be. Much of you will be required. Self, innocence, body will be given, and taken, but you will receive so much more."

The old woman's voice faded as she spoke. A final whisper, "Such a comely young lad," brushed against him like a soft breeze.

Jonas blinked, confused for the moment. He stood by the roadside. It was still morning. There was an old woman . . .?

No, there wasn't.

There was no sign of the old woman, Wander wagon, horse, or stew pot. However, a ring of mushrooms grew where he swore the wagon had been.

"Did I dream her?" he asked. He set back on the road, making sure to put distance between himself and the mushroom ring.

He'd heard the tales of fairy rings. Most scoffed, but some of the elders warned the youngers to stay away. "The fae are always tricky," said they.

"Maybe I did," Jonas thought, or she made him eat a mushroom somehow, and he forgot. Wander Folk were known to be tricky as well.

The route to the old bridge went through a small copse of oak. Jonas had taken it before. Nothing happened in the previous few times. Few took this route, as the other bridge was more convenient.

Except now. Karl and his fellows were there.

They'd been hunting. Their game, mostly coneys and pheasants, were hung on the oaks' lower branches.

Jonas walked on, hoping the braggadocios would ignore him; no such luck.

"Well, well, Jonas Barre," he heard a familiar voice snicker.

"Karl," he answered, not looking back, and quickened his steps.

A few whispers and snickers hissed behind him. Jonas was used to that, but then, the sound of running footsteps followed, to his dismay.

In moments, a bevy of young toffs surrounded him. Karl and his cronies hailed from the larger, richer farms, and lorded over simpler farm boys like Jonas.

Jonas had to look up at the bully. Karl Tieger was taller by a foot, and outweighed him by 100 stone, all of it muscle. He was tall, blonde, handsome, and cruel. His straight, straw hair, and ice cold eyes, contrasted with Jonas' glossy black curls, and darker sapphire blues.

Most of the other boys were all taller than Jonas, with the exception of Alois Ratte, whose thin, rodent face matched his name. He was Karl's chief crony and hanger on, deciding early on it was better to run with the bullies, than be bullied.

"So Jonas, what sends you through our woods this morning?" Karl smirked.

"Maybe he's going flitting like last time," snarked Alois.

Jonas blushed slightly, then recovered himself. His delicate looks tended to invite assumptions, and derision, from the Karls and Aloises. He couldn't help his looks, nor could he help the bladderwort incident Alois referred at.

"None of your business, Karl, and this isn't your woods." Jonas knew he couldn't match Karl or the others, but his parents taught him to stand his ground nevertheless.

"Tusk, tusk, tusk," clucked Karl, "It's ours today. Especially in your case, elfling." Karl used the pejorative for those suspected of having elven blood. "There's a toll for passage."

Snickers and smirks oozed around Jonas. Alois' ratlike grin grew rattier.

Jonas looked at Karl's cruel face. "Okay, here's your toll," and he used a kick to the balls as payment.

Jonas' best weapons, learned from childhood against Karl and his ilk, were speed and agility.

There were advantages to being smaller than your enemies. Jonas used them all, and they usually worked.

Except, while he had success initially, a hidden tree root took the luck away from him.

He scrambled up to try an escape but Alois, the fastest of the gang, immediately tackled him.

Jonas could have gotten away, easily, from Alois, but the bigger boys caught up. Seconds later the boys held him to behold a red-faced Karl, staggering towards him with eyes of murder.

"Filthy son of an elven whore!" he gasped. "You're going to pay for that!" Karl raised his ham-sized fist.

One of the bravos, Elmar Beck, a mean but more level head, stepped in front of him.

"Out of the way, Elmar! I'm squashing this bug!"

"You're going to squash him in a way that doesn't get our necks stretched, Karl. We're having fun, not killing, and you should have been on your guard. You know how quick he is."

Elmar was the closest one to reasonable the gang had. It was enough to calm Karl, but just barely. He spat down, contemptuous and hate-filled.

"Sod it, he still pays the toll. I'll take that shirt for starts."

"You're not getting the shirt," Jonas glowered.

"We're getting a lot more elfling," Karl sneered. "Hold 'im."

Jonas fought, they won anyway. They got his autumn shirt, and his pants, and his shoes, and his underclothes.

They didn't use their fists at least; only backhand slaps. They didn't want too many bruises for Jonas, in case he called the constables on them (not that chief constable Meyer would care. He was more concerned with bandits and drunks, not rough-housing boys).

When Karl and the boys finished stripping Jonas, however, a quiet swept through the group, in part derisive, in part shock.

The derision, "Bloody hell! He has no man hair!" Alois the Rat pointed with a grin at Jonas' smooth, hairless body.

Karl, Elmar, and the others, while sharing chuckles, were somewhat subdued in their mocks. They'd not seen Jonas naked before (he avoided them at the swimming hole), and the sight of his manhood, made more prominent by the lack of pubes, evoked some envy.

Not that he sported something out of proportion to his body, but he did impress, in such a way as to cause a stir of discomfort.

If that discomfort extended to Karl, he masked it with cruel jocularity.

"Well! That bladderwort did you good last year," he laughed.

Jonas blushed, more from anger than embarrassment. "Give me back my shirt, Karl Tieger."

"What do you mean? Oh! You mean my new shirt?" Karl laughed. "Good shirt, nice colors. I think I'll give this to my little brother. He could use a hand me down. Ha!"

Jonas moved to get up and go at Karl. Elmar held him down. "Stay down, Jonas. You'll lose."

"My Mam gave me that shirt."

"Too bad," Elmar said, "See Constable Meyer about it, but stay down 'til we leave."

"Why do you run with this pig, Elmar? You were good once."

Elmar watched the departing, laughing boys, slapping each other on the back for their little fun.

"I run with the strong, Jonas," he answered with uncertainty. "And Pap wants in good with Karl's pap. He wants me married to Karl's sis, so I have to be friends with Karl."

Bethel Tieger, Karl's sister, was pretty but every bit as cruel as her brother. Jonas felt some pity. He knew Elmar's father was ambitious for more status, and forging a link with the Tiegers was a path.

"Your Pap will ruin you, Elmar."

"Yeah, he will," Elmar smiled ruefully. "Go see the Constable, Jonas," and Elmar went after the others.

Jonas lay for a few moments, then looked around. At least they left my satchel. He picked it up and set off.

"I'm going to have to creep in this time," Jonas thought.

The bladderwort incident was bad enough, but he'd dried his clothes off before putting them back on.

When he'd gotten to the village, his skin was red and itchy. Frau Baum and her husband, who owned the store, were good about laundering his clothes, and giving him a bath, and some salve. Bladderworts weren't all that dangerous, so long as you were quick to get out of them.

"Maybe they can get me some clothes," he thought. His plan was to head to the store, get some clothes ("Hopefully."), and find Constable Meyer.

The Norns, and the Wander Woman's prophecy, held different plans for Jonas.

The first bit of bad luck occurred on the outskirts, when he ran into Frau Bach and her daughter, Ilse. Oh blast!

Frau Bach and Ilse were the last people Jonas wanted to run into in his present state. The Bachs were townsfolk, merchants, and very pious. They turned up their noses at simple farmer boys like him, preferring fellow merchants and landed gentry.

"Jonas Barre!" Frau Bach shouted, red-faced and scrambling to cover her equally crimson daughter's eyes. "How dare you! Coming into the village unclothed! Outrageous and sinful!"

"My clothes were stolen, Frau Bach," Jonas said, shifting his satchel to hide his cock (and ignoring Ilse's sly attempts to peer through her mother's fingers).

"Such lack of shame! I should take you by your ear to the temple and have you scourged! The Constable shall hear of this, come along Ilse."

Frau Bach hustled her daughter away. Ilse glanced back, briefly, earning a quick, sharp scolding from Frau Bach.

Jonas watched them for a second before moving on. He never liked the Bachs. Neither did his parents, and Ilse tended to gossip and rumormong, with embellishments.

He hoped to reach the Baums before the villagers found another story to laugh over. The bladderwort incident had not been lived down yet.

His plan was to cut through the back alleys, and hope no one dumped a chamber pot on him. It was still morning and activity, hopefully, would be low.

Unfortunately, the Norns struck again.

Jurgen Struntz, the tavern owner, with his wife, were in the alley both, tending to a lager delivery.

Jonas sighed. Herr Struntz was almost as bad as Frau Bach. Plus, his brother, Erich, was burgermeister.

The Norns are using the black thread on me today.

Jurgen looked from the barrel in shock, as did his wife. "Don't look Ethel," he growled. Ethel ignored her husband, but her face blushed rose.

"Lewd display young lad. I would think your parents raised a better boy," Jurgen snorted.

"Clothes got stolen sir. I'm hoping Frau Baum has some." Jonas was straightforward and plainspoken.

"Rumph! My brother will hear of it nonetheless. You affront my wife with your display."

"As you wish, sir," Jonas moved on. It would be useless to try reasoning with Herr Struntz. He looked down on Jonas, as did Frau Bach. He neither cared about the circumstances, nor offered Jonas clothes for his modesty. Not that Jonas was embarrassed. Just angry.

Jonas parents made sure to teach him of the Norns, the three goddesses who spun the fates of all.

"Each creature will have many threads in their allotted life," his mother said. "The gray for a plain life, the silver for fame and fortune, and the gold for immortality. Sometimes the Norns will spin the black thread of misfortune. When that happens, you must grit your teeth and endure. Don't waste time on shame. The only shame comes from failing to do what is good and just in the eyes of the Saints."

Jonas took his mother's lessons to heart, which is why he felt no shame at his nudity. Anger at Karl and his gang was his only emotion, mainly for stealing his shirt.

More people appeared in the alleys, on some business or other. Scowls, whispers, astonished gasps, admonishments became the theme for the morning. More than a few whistles, and some leers, were added. The whispers included the words, "That elfin lad," with some asperity.

His relief on reaching the Baums' store evaporated upon seeing the sign, "Closed for the Duke's visit."

"Duke Alberich is here?!" Jonas gasped. He hadn't known, but then, the Duke was known for the occasional, unannounced visit. Still, bad timing for a naked young man standing outside the Baums' door.

Jonas stood on the step, pondering his next move, when the hand of authority fell on his shoulder. He turned, startled, to behold Constable Meyer, who looked down with bemusement and some disdain.

"Come along, young Jonas. A morals complaint is lodged against you. I can see Frau Bach is right in it. Not a good day for youthful pranks on the day of the Duke's visit."

Jonas frowned but accompanied the Constable. "Not a prank. Karl and his pack stole my clothes."

"Tell it to the Burgermeister. Maybe he'll just have you sweep the streets rather than put you in the stocks."

Jonas scowled; the day was just getting worse and worse. Constable Meyer, who held a dislike for Jonas (rumor had it he'd been sweet on Jonas' mother before she chose his father), seemed to want to rub in his humiliation, choosing to walk Jonas through the main thoroughfare, rather than the back alleys.

Many of the townsfolk stood at the front of their shops, conducting the day's business. Others made their way to the town square, where the Duke was holding court.

Constable Meyer's parade of Jonas created much interest. More, louder, admonishments, whistles, jeers,and insults grew along the thoroughfare; along with the number of people who chose to accompany the constable and Jonas to the Burgermeister.