J Welsh

Nomad

She unloaded the two monster suitcases she had managed to bring with her. Everything went straight on the bed, color coded and assorted by type. If anyone ever managed to make grayscale skittles marketable Tori would be the inspiration behind it, and probably the only one who'd buy them. She fit right in with the locals as far as attire was concerned, blending in with the heavy rains and practically eternal mist that covered the nearby mountains. Colorful frocks were what the young things wore when they were looking to catch a few free drinks at the local pubs. Tori didn't have much of a nightlife to be overly concerned about whether or not her tops were cut low enough for intrigued men. She had become one of those people, the kind who only goes out to get what they need and don't take time to window shop. The working world had turned her into an efficient, but bizarre, being sadly considered normal by many of her colleagues.

Tori's boss ended up sending her to a wild back country of a place where all the senior citizens spoke gibberish. They were probably communicating in secret code about how their old ways had been shot to hell. She couldn't really blame them, if she could speak in gibberish and get away with it, she'd do it too. At least there were bilingual signs everywhere so she could pretend she understood something. The people here called it Cymru. Tori wasn't sure how she felt about the sound of it, but at least the spelling was pretty. It sounded so exotic when compared to the English rendition of "Wales" that always had the propensity of being mistaken for swimming mammals.

Tori had worked an office job, or at least a job that normally required her to sit down in front of her computer for longer than she would have liked. It was the sitting at a desk part that entitled her to call it an office job. She didn't like desks, even when they were made for efficiency. She'd gone through her graduate studies program working on an internship with the same company she was working for now; at least she was getting paid this time. Maybe she should sign up for an Anthropologists Anonymous meeting or something, just to figure out why she ever decided to follow this career path.

Her specialty was folklore and mythology. She remembered how enthralled she had been with those subjects when she was in school. She felt that she would be able to delve into real world field research and go to all the places she had read about. Unfortunately, she hadn't been surrounded by that kind of luck or funding, and there were local projects in the States that needed to be addressed. At the very least, she'd wanted a vacation, but there are only so many sick days people can save, and Tori needed more than that.

Somehow she'd heard a museum somewhere was planning an exhibition and wanted to get their stories straight. She had snapped down on that like it was the best confection on a cake walk and her number was the first one called. The museum wanted a number of people to travel to different countries to work on a case study comparing the characteristics of folk-heroes. Tori's company was propositioned to work with one or two other corporations that would aid the project by sending over additional staff. They would be working in teams, collecting data from museums, interviews, and anything else they could get their hands on for the sake of research.
Her coworkers who were participating in the study had been sent to a variety of places, one was in Egypt, another in India, and then there was the lucky bastard who ended up in Greece. A few others were traipsing about Europe, and there was one somewhere in Mexico. Tori again sent a mental thank you out to her boss for ending up where she was, though, a year's stay in Greece did seem something to be envious about.

It was the tail end of summer when she'd arrived, and since the base of her operations was in North Wales, she had flown in to Manchester to arrive by train. At least her boss was nice enough to have sent her to a country where she spoke one of the languages fluently. Of course, that wouldn't stop her from using the "foreigner" excuse once or twice. It was expected, really. Americans never quite understood the pace of the UK. They could pretend they did, that was easy enough, but there was always something off about referring to the bathroom as the toilet.

…

Jet lag never seemed to bother Tori for at least a couple of days after her arrival, and since it was still fairly early in the afternoon she thought it would be a good idea to familiarize herself with the town. Her landlady had set Tori up nicely with a few maps and local attractions, and Tori stuffed them in her purse for later. She didn't like to walk around while staring at a map; who was crazy enough to want to stick out like that?

Every town had a high street, the place where everyone could find everything they needed, and maybe get a little extra something just because. It was lined with an impressive amount of pubs sitting next to coffee shops, high end clothes next to pound stores and the occasional homeless vagabond piping a tune for a couple of quid. The university was on an upper level of the town, placed on what used to be mountain before industry leveled whatever was left. Naturally, she'd done some research before coming, mainly those guidebooks sold at Barnes & Noble written by Rick Somebody or other who spent his life traveling. He'd called the university the Welsh version of the "acropolis," and Tori guessed it rather suited the place in an odd sort of way. It was definitely the most apparent structure in the entirety of the town, and that was where she'd be teaming up with whichever group members she had been assigned. Tori shuddered at the idea of a group project, those never turned out well when she was a student, and she'd had a distinct dislike for them ever since. So why was she here; a vacation from the norm, a relaxation and spa treatment? It didn't look like she'd be getting served any cocktails while lounging on a beach anytime soon. With her luck, even if there was field research to do, she'd end up stuck behind a desk anyway.

Though it was summer, it was still cold enough to merit layering a vest over a long sleeved shirt. Tori might have been fine pulling on a hoodie over a t-shirt, but she'd dropped that habit years ago in favor of a far less casual approach. At least now she could look the professional part instead of a student lost in the world of academia.

She made the hike to the university from the streets below, needing to take a breather or two from the steep incline of what the students called "Bitch Hill." It was a fitting name, though Tori doubted if she could use it in any formal report. The road systems bothered her; there were no such things as grids or square blocks for easy neighborhood transit. Every road curved around another and one way traffic was a massive confusion for any foreigner who could walk in both directions. Thank god the modern acropolis was relatively easy to spot.

Tori walked into the main arts building, her eyes immediately scanning the lobby for a list of departments and room numbers in obscure locations. The directions she had were listed in a left-then-right style, usually not corresponding to the number of rooms or hallways that she came across. It came to the point where she had to actually ask a security guard how to get to the level where the Anthropology department was located. That, of course, just happened to be through the main hall, down a set of stairs and was the right immediately following. Maybe she made things way more complicated than they needed to be.

"- and we'll be working on various sites in Anglesey and Gwynedd while the others are conducting field research in different areas associated with the Arthurian legends." A tall man was sitting on one of the tables holding what Tori guessed was a checklist. She'd done the brilliant thing of walking in mid-meeting with an already frustrated attitude. The twenty or so people who were in the room turned to catch a look at her; she knew a couple of them from the States, and the rest were foreign.

"Good of you to finally make an appearance. Ms. Pierce." The sound of a single pair of hands clapping for her entrance came from the opposite side of the room. The tall windows outlined a man's figure. Tori had heard of the legendary British humor employed by the people here, but she wasn't sure if it was begging a comeback from her or not.

"Sorry, did I miss tea?" She managed a quirky smile.

"Yes, you did, Ms. Pierce, and no one ever misses tea; it's practically a sin."

"Right," she nodded in the man's direction and took the seat closest to the door, just in case the idea might dawn upon her to run.

Once the tall man finished going through his sheets of paper, he left his perch to join everyone else sitting only in chairs rather than atop tables. One of Tori's acquaintances from the States took over his position and read from a similar set of papers detailing specifically where the cultural anthropologists would be instigating their research. She was heading up the cultural team since she had the most experience in this country. The woman rattled off a slew of places that Tori could barely catch, let alone hope to pronounce. There was something about a mountain range, a few towns scattered about the Snowdonia National Park, possibly an area along the coast and a couple of libraries they could use as resources. Tori's colleague finished and looked expectantly in the direction of the man who had tossed out the earlier remark about her tardiness. He stayed where he was and addressed them all.

"Unfortunately, the program head couldn't be here with us this evening – attending to family business and all that – so he has asked me to take over for the next couple of weeks. Now, I'm pretty much going to let you other anthropologist people do your own thing; you'll know better than me anyhow. I'm going to be with the archaeology teams directing their projects. But, basically, glad you're all here, be safe, blah blah blah, let's grab some pints!"

Tori thought the grin on his face was too big for someone put in charge of such an extensive project. He ushered them all out of the room with a promise of buying the first round at the Yellow, a popular pub near High Street.

…

"Hope you didn't think me rude earlier, Ms. Pierce." The smartass who had invited them all out for the evening had a broad grin plastered on his face.

"Tori." She corrected him.

"Right, Tori," he paused for a moment trying to digest her name. "Can I get another pint for Ms. Conservative here?" He waved his hand for the barkeep to set up a second drink.

His name was Jonothan Preston, but everyone called him "Jono," at least that's what he said when they had finished with their meal and moved on to the finer tastes of drinking everything from pint glasses. He was in charge of overseeing various archaeological sites that pertained roughly to the same time period Tori was assigned to study. Everything was either before or during the Dark Ages, and Jono was the one who was literally able to sift his fingers through it. He said it was his passion, always playing in the dirt and finding treasures. Granted, the treasures weren't necessarily gold and riches, but pottery sherds and animal bone, and even finding those regularly was something of a rarity. Tori thought he just liked the feel of dirt and might be better off with a family of moles.

"When I heard about the project I was so ready to work on it, you know? I was able to see myself digging up Excalibur's sheath or something." He went on, saying the whole project was an amazing opportunity.

Tori was only half paying attention; she found the pool game, here snooker, more interesting than a conversation of how inspired her coworker was with his job.

"What about you; why are you here?" He barely let the question fly before tipping his glass for a mouthful.

"I'm on assignment."

"Oh c'mon now, you wouldn't be here if you didn't love something about the research. It's the books isn't it? You're a closet bibliophile, stacking old books on your desk just for the smell. I can tell by looking at you."

Tori chose to ignore Jono in favor of tipping her own glass toward her face to keep her mouth on the singular action of drinking politely. She wouldn't tell him he was right. She didn't care for books when they were piled high on a desk threatening to suffocate the rest of her day. Tori only liked them when they were in rows upon rows of shelves, stuffed together in libraries where she could feel the dust on their spines. Her father's library had been like that. When she was a girl, every time she would intrude upon his work, he would pull a book from one of the shelves and usher her to a chair in a corner of the room. Every book was from the same section, mythology and ancient legends. Tori figured it was probably the only part of his library that had anything of interest for a ten year old.

There had been times when she'd thought pouring over volumes containing lists of ethnographies, references, statistical analyses and surveys would be a way to live life as the eternal student, always spending time in the university library. There was always something to learn, something to fascinate and spawn an interest in something else, at least there had been, before the academic world decided to take all interest out of her specialty. It might have only been the particular schools she'd attended over the years. Where they were located had a definite affect on what course material was covered. She had grown weary of folklore departments only offering lessons on the peoples populating the continent. What had happened to all the European and Classical stories, the ones she had read about as a child?

"I only like to look at old books," Tori said, and it was true. New publications never felt experienced and rugged, like they deserved to be referenced thousands of times; they were just someone's excuse to have an article in print. Everything was about a name now, who was published and who was not. Content stopped informing years ago, it was all overdone in thick language only understandable through a Ph.D.

"Well now, remind me to take you to Aberystwyth. The national library there has the oldest known manuscript of The Mabinogion, and if nothing else, maybe you'll be able to use it for the project."

Tori raised an eyebrow. Aberyst-where? She'd obviously have to look closely at a Welsh map before the project officially started in a week. She was familiar with the belief that King Arthur originated in Wales, that he was birthed from a race of giants and divinities, but there were definitely a few place names she hadn't registered yet. Still, the idea of being near The Mabinogion manuscript delighted her; she liked having the tangible evidence of stories told ages ago; those always made the best books. Tori had read translations, and the oral devices used and repeated, greatly reminded her of Homer's epics. She didn't bother to mention to Jono that an early manuscript of the writing may not even reference Arthur at all. Of course, there was always the possibility of gaining new insight about a topic by reviewing its roots, and she was hoping she needn't sit in an office all day feeling them out.

...

It had been several weeks since Tori came to Wales, and in that time she'd had the opportunity to travel through the country listening to people tell her stories about how their town or that rock was the legendary seat of Arthur. She always made it a point to ask them which Arthur they meant; there were a number of times when it was the idealized, knight-in-shining-armor description with the Holy Sword, Excalibur. Sometimes she hated what the Romantics had done with heroes; they never made them believable as normal human beings. Maybe that's why they were heroes to begin with, because nobody could picture a warlord or a king doing any farming that involved getting his hands dirty like everyone else. Normal people weren't interesting, even if someone was ordinary enough to serve as the reference and birth of a legend.

Jono had taken her to the National Library in Aberystwyth like he had said he would and several other trips as well. He said he traveled around frequently enough to be in want of some company when he went to check on the dig sites for weekends at a time. He liked showing her the country. He liked the way she secretly scoffed at old plaques proudly displaying the Arthurian legacy of an old stump or a mound somewhere in the center of town. She said nothing about how she knew the dates never meshed together properly. No matter how ridiculous it was, Tori would take all the information in, categorize it and file it away in her mind and her notebook; the two were practically the same save for the bright tabs that pointed out things of interest.

They were coming back from spending a few days in Denbigh when Tori had briefly mentioned that the Romantics were to blame for the warped perception of Arthur as King of all Britain. She was sitting in the passenger seat, thumbing through her notes with a relatively disgusted look on her face.

"Oi, best not to read through all those on some of these roads. Don't want you getting sick and all that; we won't be able to go out tonight if you do."

"Who said anything about going out?"

"C'mon Tori, it's going to be a Friday night. Occy's going to have the big floor open. That's the best time to go."

"Yeah, and the worst price." That was a very true concern, but mostly, Tori didn't want to rub shoulders with the college crowd.

"If it's that much of a bother I'll just spot you a couple a quid."

Tori closed her notebook and reached behind Jono's seat for her field bag, stuffing the tabbed binder away for the rest of the trip. She never liked answering Jono too soon, before she had time to think of what else he could say to reel her into doing something she may not have wanted to do in the first place.

"Oh, check the bag behind you; I found a little something for going out in."

Bending her arm awkwardly behind her, Tori grabbed for the plastic bag behind her seat. It had the words "New Look" emblazoned on both sides. She knew Jono was a fan of the store and figured he probably just wanted to show her a shirt he planned on wearing. Her fingers rubbed against what felt like satin and she lifted the draping material from the bag.

"It's for you," Jono said.

At that point, Tori didn't care if he saw her look of horror. She had pulled out a slinky, forest green top that looked like it had been cut to resemble a snowflake people could actually wear, not that they should want to wear it. While it had straps, it still threatened to bare her shoulders while sliding down to expose part of her chest. Tori didn't even have to look at the back of the thing to know it would probably afford her little cover there as well.

"You wear it," she said, stuffing it back in the bag and tossing it behind her.

"Oh Christ, you need some color, and green suits your eyes."

"That can't even be considered clothing Jono!"

"Will you just wear it?"

"No."

"C'mon Tori, it's just for a few hours and you'll probably get free drinks out of it besides. Hell, I'd buy them all if it made you wear the bloody thing."

"Oh sure and the fact that I'll probably freeze my ass off isn't a concern. Tell you what, you go out in nothing but your boxers and I might consider it."

"You know that's what I meant."

"Just forget it. I'd rather go to the Harp and listen to terrible karaoke than go dancing in that thing."

"Alright, alright, you don't have to go out with me tonight. I'll just sit in and go over paperwork."

Tori crossed her arms and looked out the window, catching her pouting reflection in the side view mirror. Jono always did this. "Fine. I'll go. I'll wear it for a few hours and we can go dancing. But when I want to leave, we leave; no questions asked."

"Great," Jono regained his cheerful tone quickly enough.

…

There was a lot of talk about Mt. Snowdon being Arthur's stronghold, and with such references to the area surrounding the mountain as Arthur's final resting place, several members of the team wanted to spend a few days exploring the peak.

The weather was calm for this time of year, but the air still bit through layers of cloth searching for skin. Tori was packed tight with insulated gear and still shivered. The chill grew heavier the higher they climbed while the fog circled them with its fingers.

"You much of a climber?" Jono shouted back at her from over his shoulder. He was leading four of them up one of the scrambling trails.

"Why? Is there a sheer face in front of you?" She couldn't remember the last time she was so physically active. Even the idea of a solid, rock wall made her want to stop and head back down the mountain.

"No, just curious. It gets isolating up here if you don't talk."

Tori scoffed a little and denied Jono the pleasure of a vocalized response. He'd probably talk to the air if he was climbing around on his own, and that didn't even seem to be isolation enough for him. Tori was fond of this particular sort of remoteness; it left time to think about things other than her research, mostly the number of bruises she'd end up with after crawling over rocks.

The research group had split themselves into teams once again; two teams would climb the mountain from opposite ends while another studied the valley. They all camped together at the base come nightfall. Anthropologists had a penchant for being rowdy drinkers when they were in groups, and probably when they were alone too. They had come well stocked for the first night, and for those nights after, they'd followed up with marching to a nearby pub and usually stumbled back to a cold tent for a few hours of sleep. If people still had hangovers after their morning coffee, the cold numbed them to a point where headaches kept the warmth in their bones.

Jono led them over a series of challenging tracks; if he hadn't shifted position to the rear of the group, Tori doubted she would have bothered to traverse them, especially in this weather. He kept telling her to look at it as an adventure, like stumbling over loose rocks and not being able to see ten feet in any direction was something to be happy about. She only thought of it as an adventure to the frozen underbelly of hell, not something she'd willingly repeat.

They came up through the cloud unexpectedly. The fog just stopped and hung in the air like a sheet about to fall on a bed, but never finishing its descent. They were practically on top of the world, a swirling ocean of cloud shifting around their feet. The sun was high and the five of them welcomed the fresh warmth. The clouds passed through one another, and the stark image of Snowdon's peak surged from their depths like it was surfacing for the very first time, tasting its height in air.

"Pretty obvious why people say this was Arthur's realm." Jono had his hands behind his head as if he had just conquered some great army and there was nothing else to do but bask in the glory.

"I don't know. The horses probably had a rough time of it, hauling all those stones for his sparkling palace and whatnot."

"Tori, you are the most determinedly cynical person I've ever met."

"Yeah, well, everyone's a critic."

"Hey, how about we keep going? Let's continue to the top of Snowdon and see what we can see, yeah?"

The other three agreed and started trekking off in the direction Jono pointed out. He said they maybe had ten more minutes until they peaked so it was okay to start off if they wanted.

"So, you ready to be on top of the world?"

"No."

"What? But think how far you could see."

"I can see what I want to see from here well enough. The rest of the world's probably covered in cloud anyway."

Jono let out a sigh. "You know what I find fascinating?" He didn't bother waiting for her response. "Wordsworth experienced the same thing, only he was crazy enough to climb up here at night. How many chances does a person get to see something like this?"

"A handful."

"You sure it's not just once in a lifetime?"

"If it was once in a lifetime, would there be any reason to enjoy it?"

"Like I said, you're a cynic. C'mon, let's go." He reached for her hand.

Tori stepped back from him so he couldn't reach her. "I don't want to, Jono. I'm not going."

"Tori, I'm not going to just leave you here. We need to stay together, as a group."

"It's not like I can't find my way back."

"Will you cut the crap and come on already?"

"You cut the crap. I'm sick and tired of you always doing this."

"I'm not doing anything!"

"Bullshit. You never know when to stop. You never know when to lay off. If I don't want to do something, I don't want to do it. I'll do what I want when I want." "Christ, Tori, I just want to show you the view from a mountain, is that really so bad?"

"Yes. I don't want to be shown things Jono. I don't want to dig them up and marvel at how they're broken."

"That's not what -"

"Go and dine with your gods, but don't make me do it too."

Jono was quiet; he had enough composure not to let his mouth drop, but he made up for it by tightening the pack on his shoulders and shaking his head while he turned around. He put a hand in the air and shouted, "When you decide you don't want to be a fucking pain in the ass about stupid shit let me know."

She didn't have to go to the top to know the world was round, to know it was completely hidden from view. The air that was surrounding her, the mist moving like it breathed, told her that. It told her she wouldn't learn anything new up there. That's what the air did, made her think. She guessed that was the isolation Jono had mentioned before; it does strange things to a person. It moulds to a person's mind, making every thought, but the most important, quiet and large, taking up space until it forces that thought to be shouted and heard, and then smothered away by the clouds as if it might never have existed at all. But Tori knew it existed; she had felt the words come from her throat as smoothly as the mist slid over the mountains.

…

Transitioning from a "foreigner" to a "foreigner-local" takes somewhere between five to eight months. Tori had her favorite haunts, pubs and places, and she even knew a couple of people at the local market by name. The school year was well underway and the university students were always a force to be reckoned with, mostly at night. There were a couple of students who would take part in the folk-hero project when they had the time. They would always ask Tori the expected questions about living in the States, what information on pop culture she was privy to and various other curiosities. She had a few brave souls ask her what graduate school was like and she told them; it was everything they wanted it to be and everything that they could make it. As long as they had an interest to pursue their studies they should continue with them.

She didn't say they should question their reasoning for continuing their studies. She didn't impart that a person can be completely at odds with what they thought they wanted, or that it takes a long time to do anything and growing up takes the longest. She never suggested they should take a vacation if they needed it, and that sometimes those vacations could be more work than they may have thought. Tori didn't tell them that she would rather have earned a degree in traveling for the sake of that handful of moments that preceded sitting atop the world.