Cyrus LongBones Box Set

by Jeremy Mathiesen

  Furious, she began to drag Cyrus down the tree-lined road and towards the town square. He heard the large key ring jangle in the pocket of her grey, ankle-length dress. He needed that shed key if he was going to escape…

  When they arrived at the village main street, Llysa dragged him past stout, grey-haired adults and round, white-haired children. All watched them out of the corners of their eyes. The smell of mud and animals filled the crisp, fall air.

  “There goes Gunnar’s bastard,” said one young girl, from the balcony of a two-story shop.

  Cyrus looked up and noticed that the girl was not alone. Beside her was Sarah Heiler. Sarah was not like the rest. She seemed thoughtful and kind. She was one of the few kids in the village who did not pick on Cyrus. She peered into his eyes, then quickly looked away.

  “It ain’t right, him being pointy-eared and skinny,” said an old woman.

  She sat in a rocking chair beside the two girls, smoking a pipe.

  “Where do you reckon he got those odd, blue eyes and yellow hair?” the first girl asked.

  “His mother was a witch,” the old woman cackled.

  Sarah’s face flushed red. Cyrus looked to the ground. His skin prickled and burned with humiliation.

  His stepmother yanked him stumbling into a crowd and through a long lineup at the Virkelot Work Office.

  “Back of the line,” shouted one man.

  “You have plenty of work on your own farm,” shouted another.

  “Mind your business, you greedy gluttons,” Llysa yelled back.

  From there she pulled him along a small wooded trail and across ChickenLop Lane. When they reached the family farm, she hauled him through a shriveled apple orchard, past a burnt down barn and towards the family home.

  The house was old, squeaky, and like most others in the village, painted pale blue. Thick tor grass grew from its sagging roof. A grey roof goat chewed at its bowed ridge.

  Llysa pulled out the ring of keys to open the kitchen door. Cyrus focused on the shed’s skeleton key. The kitchen door was already open.

  “Niels, how many times do I have to tell you to keep the doors locked?” Llysa yelled, “You never know who might try to break in.”

  “Did you find him? Is he okay?” Cyrus’ half-brother replied.

  His voice came from the pantry.

  “He was right where I said I’d find the little sneak,” Llysa said, locking the door behind them, “hiding from his chores as usual. Just like his father, can’t pull his own weight.”

  To Llysa, pulling your own weight seemed to mean moving piles of bricks from one spot; then moving them back. Or digging deep holes in the earth, only to fill them in again.

  Cyrus’ half-brother Niels walked into the kitchen with a plate of steaks in his hands. He gave Cyrus a sorry smile.

  Niels was taller than both his half-brother and mother, with broad, brick-like shoulders and a square jaw to match. He was a year and a half older than Cyrus and had graduated from school one year earlier. He kept his thick, grey hair short and neat.

  “Grab a seat and dig in,” he said.

  The table was spread with baked potatoes, roasted vegetables, fresh bread and a dish of warm, creamy butter.

  Llysa shoved Cyrus into a seat, then sat down herself. The keys jingled in her pocket, seeming to taunt Cyrus.

  “It looks amazing, Niels,” she said, “You’re such a hard worker. Why don’t you say grace?”

  “Sure,” Niels said, smiling awkwardly.

  He took a seat, clasped together his thick fingers, and said, “Oh Angel King, we thank you for the bountiful work you have provided for us, and for the Dead Fence which protects us. Please, bless our family and keep us safe, and pray that we always respect the boundaries that you have set forth for us. Thank work.”

  “Thank work,” echoed Cyrus and his stepmother.

  “So, how was work today, son?”

  Llysa’s face seemed almost kind when she looked at Niels.

  “Worked in the orchard all day,” he said, “Those trees aren’t what they once were, but they’ll live.”

  “Such a hard-working boy,” Llysa said, “You take such good care of your mother. You’re nothing like your drunk of a father was.”

  “What did you learn in school today, Cyrus?” Niels asked, changing the subject.

  “The usual,” Cyrus said, “Work harder, not smarter, or the Sea Zombie will get you.”

  He and Niels chuckled at the familiar joke.

  “Smartass, eh?” Llysa said, “He wasn’t at school today. The little rat was playing hooky all day in the forest.”

  She whispered the last part as if someone might hear.

  “I didn’t,” Cyrus lied, “I was coming home from school, I swear.”

  “Liar!”

  His stepmother grabbed the plate of steaming vegetables and heaved it into his face.

  “Mom, no!” Niels shouted.

  The cauliflower and broccoli seared Cyrus’ chin and neck. He fell out of his chair trying to brush the burning vegetables off and broke a cup.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” Llysa growled, “Go to your room and get out of my sight.”

  Cyrus sat on the floor, covered in soggy greens. He stared up at his stepmother and half-brother. Niels looked as shocked and scared as Cyrus felt.

  “Get to your room, now!” Llysa repeated, “And don’t worry about cutting school tomorrow, cause tomorrow you’re going to work with your brother.”

  “No,” Cyrus gasped.

  But he knew it was useless to argue. He picked himself up off the floor and retreated to his bedroom, alone, hungry and afraid.

  ***

  AT AROUND NINE O’CLOCK, Cyrus heard a knock.

  “You awake?” asked the large, square silhouette opening the bedroom door.

  “Niels? Everything okay?” Cyrus asked.

  “Shhh, Mom’s sleeping.”

  Niels walked over to the bedside and handed him a plate of meat and a glass of milk.

  “I thought I’d bring you some dinner. Tomorrow you’re going to need your strength.”

  “Thanks,” Cyrus said, stabbing at the steak.

  Niels reached out and touched Cyrus’ cheek. He looked at his blackened eye and frowned.

  “I know Mom’s hard on you,” he said, “but it’s tough for her with Dad gone. I don’t think she’d be so angry and bitter if…”

  “If Dad hadn’t found me on the doorstep?” Cyrus finished.

  “If Dad hadn’t died,” Niels said.

  Cyrus nodded, unsure of what else to say.

  “Tomorrow will be good, you’ll see,” Niels said, smiling, “We’ll get lots of work done. It’ll be fun.”

  Then he said goodnight and retired to his own bedroom for the evening.

  ***

  SHORTLY AFTER MIDNIGHT, a shuddering jolt shook Cyrus awake. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he peered around the darkened bedroom. Everything seemed just as he had left it. He thought maybe the sensation had been part of a strange dream. Then he noticed the glass of milk on his bedside table sloshing about. Earthquake, Cyrus thought. Even though he had heard of them, he had never actually felt one on the island before.

  Chapter 4

  THE KEY

  THE NEXT MORNING, after a cold breakfast of porridge and dry toast, Cyrus and Niels packed a lunch and headed out into the chill, moonlit morning. The scent of hay and damp soil permeated the farm. The brothers crossed a field of brown and purple mork wheat and walked towards an ivy-entangled tower. The tower rose fifteen feet above their heads and looked like a large barrel on stilts. At the base of the structure, Niels turned its rusted valve.

  “Soil here just isn’t what it used to be,” he said, wiping, wet rust filings off his meaty palm.

  Water began to spring out of the earth, quenching the stunted crop.

  Behind the tower, like the bones of an ancient giant, slouched the burnt-down family barn. Cyrus stopped and stared. The barn looked so cold and alone
in its grave.

  “Come on,” Niels said, “Dad was a good man, a hard worker, no matter what Mom says.”

  He took Cyrus by the shoulder and led him around to the tool shed.

  “I’ve tried telling Mom we don’t need all these locks around the house,” Niels said, pulling out a ring of keys, “but she’s afraid blood-sucking klappen are going to break into the house in the middle of the night and run off with all our souls. She believes all those stories about fire-breathing dragons and giant wolves.”

  Llysa’s keys, Cyrus thought. Niels unlocked the shed and began to load a wheelbarrow with the equipment they would need for the day’s work. This was Cyrus’ chance. His heart began to quicken. He could feel the veins in his neck swell. He entered the shed and started to look through buckets of nails and around shovels, picks and sledgehammers. His nose grew itchy with dust and rust. Cobwebs clung to his ankles and sleeves. He would have to grab at least three steel pegs to get the perfect fit.

  “Don’t worry about that stuff, Cyrus, I got what we need.”

  Cyrus grew hot. He ignored his brother and continued to rummage through the cold, grimy tools.

  “Cyrus?”

  “Wait, I dropped something,” Cyrus said, still searching.

  “What?” Niels asked, his square frame moving closer.

  Cyrus prayed to the Angels as he picked through the last tin can he could find.

  “Clothespins,” he whispered, through clenched teeth.

  Niels put a meaty hand on his shoulder.

  “Nothing, I guess,” Cyrus answered, unable to think fast enough, “just thought I dropped something.”

  He choked down his disappointment and reluctantly followed his brother out of the shed empty-handed. I need those pins, he thought, I need to get away from this place. Niels began to turn the key in the lock. Cyrus searched his mind for some ploy or excuse. How long would he have to wait for another opportunity like this? The lock clicked shut.

  “No, wait,” he blurted, his voice cracking.

  He moved to the door, nudged his brother aside and unbolted the lock.

  “Cyrus, what are you doing?”

  He ignored Niels and began to search the shed, tossing aside buckets and bins and spilling nails and bolts.

  “Thank the Angels,” he whispered, as finally, he found what he was looking for in an old coffee tin.

  He rubbed a thin coat of oil off the three pins and placed them in his pocket. Then he walked out of the shed.

  “I’m not coming with you,” Cyrus said, refusing to look his brother in the eye, “There’s something I have to do.”

  “What are you talking about?” Niels asked.

  “You have to cover for me. You have to tell Mom I was with you.”

  “Cyrus, don’t be stupid. You’re coming to work.”

  “I’m not. Not today,” Cyrus said, looking at the ground.

  “And what if Mom finds out?”

  “She won’t. Not as long as you cover for me.”

  “Angels, Cyrus,” Niels cursed, “You can’t continue to go messing around with that forest, and never mind village law or the curse. Something evil waits past that wall. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

  Cyrus looked up. Evil? What was he saying? Niels looked away.

  “It was a long time ago. I don’t like talking about it. But you stay away from that fence. And if you see glowing blue lights, you run.”

  The blood seemed to have drained from Niels’ face. Glowing blue lights, hadn’t Edward mentioned something like that?

  “I’m not going anywhere near that place,” Cyrus said.

  “I hope you lie better than that if the Mayor’s men catch you. They’re not joking when they say they’ll hang you by the neck or worse.”

  A small tremor shook the earth.

  “An earthquake?” Cyrus gasped.

  “It’s okay,” Niels said, “Mom’s been drilling a few new wells. Supposedly, they happened daily with all the well drilling during the Hoblkalf Water Works Project.”

  Cyrus did not feel reassured.

  “I’ll be back in time for dinner,” he said, turning in the direction of the nearby woods.

  “Be careful,” Niels whispered after him.

  Cyrus made his way quietly through the forest until he was out of earshot of his home. Then, like a fugitive, he started to dash through the woods, springing over fences and ducking under fallen trees.

  He passed a grey mill bordering the Virkelot Ring Road and took cover behind a blue-leafed bush. To the left of the structure, a windmill resembling a large, wooden dandelion spun in the wind, pumping water up from the earth, into a nearby water tower.

  Inside the mill, an old grey-haired man drank from a flask and mumbled to himself about the good old days as he tinkered with the mill saw’s motor.

  The steam engine resembled a large tin drum resting on its side with belts and pistons rising through its casing. Out the back, an exhaust pipe dripped water into a small canal. The engine’s excess moisture, along with many other village machines, helped feed tiny waterwheels, dams and other such mechanisms before flowing out into the South River.

  Cyrus hunched low. A twig snapped underfoot.

  “Wha-, who’s out there?” the old man asked, looking up from his work.

  Cyrus’ senses spiked. He took a deep breath, then sped across the gravel street and plunged into Hekswood Forest.

  “Wha- the Sea Zombie…” he heard from the old man’s direction.

  Cyrus ran so fast down the trail that he nearly crashed face first into the Dead Fence. Ignoring his brother’s warning, and village law, he threw his lunch over the wall and climbed, struggling, to the other side. Then, within the forbidden part of the forest, he snatched up his bag and continued towards the seashore.

  Dawn blanketed the coast in a dark blue hue. The setting moon rimmed rocks and trees with a silvery sheen. The stars glistened like gold dust, and the breeze felt brisk and light. With time running out, Cyrus tucked his hair behind his pointed ears and ran towards his best friend’s tree.

  Cyrus found Edward snoozing in one of the silk hammocks he had taught the spider to make.

  “Edward?”

  The little hammock shifted and sagged.

  “Cyrus?” the spider asked, through half-shut eyes.

  “Get up. We’re going.”

  Edward sat straight up and accidentally flipped out of his bed, landing like a plump berry in Cyrus’ open hand.

  “Right now?” Edward asked.

  “Yes, quick, before sunrise,” Cyrus said, dashing towards the cave.

  Within the cavern, Cyrus lit the lantern. The contours of the boat appeared out of the inky blackness.

  “Secure the jib and mainsheet. I’ll go out and block the river,” he said, setting Edward down on the boat.

  “What if it’s not safe over on the island?” Edward asked.

  His two eyes grew moist, and his seven legs began to tremble.

  “That’s why we’re going over to explore it first, make sure it’s safe,” Cyrus said, “If it is, we’ll come back tonight, steal some supplies and leave tomorrow for good.”

  The little spider nodded, took a deep breath, and began to spin silk to fasten the sails. Cyrus ran from under the waterfall and followed the South River over the stone tile, up into the forest.

  He found the rope tied to the stone counterbalance and lowered the board and ball down from the trees. Then, searching his pockets, he collected the three pins of slightly varying thicknesses. Kneeling down, he slid the board into place, locked the lever and tried securing it with the first pin. The steel was too thin. The lever unlocked. He tossed the pin aside and tried the second. The steel was too thick. Wrenching it free, he dropped the fat piece and tried the third. It was even thicker.

  “No…” he breathed.

  His head grew light, and his blackened eye ached. What was he going to do? He could not stand to be on that miserable island a day longer than needed. And w
ould Niels let him back into the shed? Why had he not grabbed a few more pins just in case? Keep your head; there’s got to be a way to fix this, he thought. Then it occurred to him. He fought back the panic, took the fattest of the three pins and began to work it into the hole. The wood bit and stiffened around the steel. He picked up a rock and started to hammer at the pin. He looked up. Would someone hear? He decided he did not care. He was too close to escaping for good. He pounded the steel clean through, forcing the hole wider. Then again, he tried the medium-sized piece. It jammed. He worked it around a few times until it fit perfectly. He fell to his seat, relieved and out of breath. The river had been dammed, and the waterfall would not impede their craft’s voyage.

  Back along the shore, he ran through the trickling fall and into the cave. Edward skittered across the boom and bit a loose thread from the mainsheet.

  “That’s the last of it,” he said, springing onto Cyrus’ arm.

  “Then this is it.”

  It was time. Time to do what he had planned to do, dreamed of doing for so long. Cyrus grew hot and clammy. What if all the stories were true, the monsters, the Sea Zombie? He thought of the alternative, going home to his stepmother. He made up his mind. He walked to the ledge, collected the lantern and placed it in the boat. Then he moved to the bow and began to drag the craft out of the cave and towards the sea.

  “Edward, hold on.”

  He hauled the boat over the grating sand, through the pool where the waterfall had previously poured, and into the ocean. The cold water lashed at his legs as waves crashed over the prow. The pontoons bounced and jostled.

  “Quick, hop in,” Edward said, from his shoulder.

  Cyrus threw his body over the side and into the craft. Then he clumsily found his seat, grabbed an oar and began to paddle. The surf foamed and frothed. His hands felt tender gripping the damp wood. His back strained with each stroke. He looked out into the sea, felt it roil beneath him. A sense of helplessness began to creep into his bones.