Chapter 1 - Meeting Maang
I first met Maang on my way to Corgath, travelling along the Northern Byway.
About a day’s walk outside of Hoobank, the byway becomes narrow and steep as it follows the tributaries that feed Lake Brokefang. I had stopped for a mid-morning rest beside a set of rapids, to chew on some dried Moro Fruit and let my aching feet soak in an eddy. I hadn’t fallen asleep (at least, I certainly didn’t intend to), but I did close my eyes and become immersed in the sound of rushing water.
When I did open my eyes, I was startled by a large yellow eye, a mere foot from my face! “SHALVAST!” I cursed in surprise, slipping in a wild scramble off my rock and falling sideways into the river. Thankfully this eddy on the shoreline was shallow. I now saw my assailant in full view. He was tall and reedy, and wore a woven cloak over his shoulders. In his right hand was a tree branch that he surely meant to crack over my head. Most frightening of all was his face. His skin was completely black - not like the men of the Endalen Savanna, rather like charcoal. His head was round but came to a long point like a crow’s beak. And his eyes were so massive that they took up most of his face, but his head was turned so that only one glared at me at a time. His eyes looked painted on - with a large red ring with a pointed back corner, around a yellow ring, surrounding a deep black pupil. It felt like being watched by a bullseye.
“S-stay back!” I stammered as I fumbled for my blade, which was about a meter out of reach on shore. But to my surprise, my dreadful assailant bent down with his walking stick and extended a hand. “Sorry! Sorry! I did not mean fear!” I took his hand, and he helped me up. “I am frighten, I know”. He apologized with a raspy and dry voice. I straightened myself, as we both stood in the water. “What-Who are you?” “I am Maang, of the Whittled Peoples” He croaked. “And who are you, Boy Who Falls In Water? Or maybe Boy Who Rests At Rapids?” I scoffed. “I’m not a boy!” I was barely a young man at 20, but I was stubborn. “My name is Daniel” I introduced myself, but the strange creature replied “Hmm. We’ll see”. I’m still perplexed by why he said that.
I stepped back on to the slippery stone shoreline, and kicked my feet dry. I plopped back onto my rock, pulled a towel from my pack, and scowled as I began to dry my feet. “So, Maang, why’d you startle me like that?” He cooed like a sick mourning dove and said “Aah. To see if boy was dead! Well, I know not dead. But maybe praying? Human men never slow down - always rushing like rapids. I was curious” “Ah, thanks. I do pray sometimes, but I was just resting. I’m not used to this long of a journey” I say, making small talk as I get ready to leave. “Well, I must be on my way to Corgath”. “Mmm! Let me come! You travel alone, and need company. I must trade, also”. He insisted and insisted, so I relented. We went on our way, with just the cloak on his back. I almost felt silly with such a large pack, and my sword and shield I apparently couldn’t even use when I needed to.
As we walked together, I studied his appearance better. His pitch black skin and large eyes did indeed seem painted on. Elsewhere, on his chest, arms, legs, and especially kneecaps, were other painted-on markings. But it was different than body paint I’ve seen on others. Underneath the black I could distinctly see wood grain, and his features were so angular that I could make out knife marks. Maang appeared to be carved out of wood!
“Wait a minute” I said with realization. “I’ve heard about people like you. I even thought I saw one in the crowd. I’ve heard you called ‘Carved Folk’ and ‘Masterworks’. But I thought those people were chiseled from stone”. He nodded. “Yes! My cousins are often carve stone. I hear ‘construct’ sometimes. Some of us are carved, chiseled, or molded. My people are whittled from wood, and I think not worthy of calling Masterworks”. I was taken aback. “What do you mean by that? Why not? A living person made from wood is astonishing and rare”
“Not that rare” he said, shaking his head. He gestured his walking stick to the forest we hiked through. “You see, Creator King make all nature beautifully, through hard work. Tall cedars grow longer than duns. He gift the first Masterworks with magic life, and their life’s work was make another. That has been purpose for generations” “Their main goal in life is to make another Masterwork?” I clarified. “A labour of love…” “Yes! Some spend year, some spend twenty year. Longer is more beautiful, usually” he chuckled. “But not the Whittled! Trees grow quick, we say, and wood rot quick. My people make each other quickly. Hastily.” I paused, unsure of how to respond. “Why do that? Are they impatient?” “For war!” He shouted, bringing one eye right near my face again. His carved-out eyes rarely moved, and yet they conveyed wild emotion. “Called pirates on west Fereina shores! Wood floats, unlike stone, so sail and swim. Wood fast to replace”. He looked down gravely. “Attack masterworks, human, and dun, them all. Took food, took clothes, took people…” “Oh…” was all I could say, and then we walked quietly for a bit. I eventually asked “So, you left them?” Maang nodded. “Yes. With other carved people I take large boat to Corgath. Sharkville. Too rocky there - I like these woods”. He paused, and then with a happy chirp he exclaimed “Now I sell beads!” as he shook the bead-strung tassels on his cloak and walking stick.
Maang was no killer - and not as frightening as he seemed. We hiked and chatted for the rest of my journey to Corgath.
