The Alterator's Light

by Dan Brigman

“I mean a family.” Jaken held out his hand, palm down to motion away any disrespect. “I can’t remember a time when I guarded a family. It’s got me out of sorts. The responsibility of keeping you safe is paramount.”

  “I’m sure the coins Holli gave you prompts your responsibility ever so slightly,” Ellia replied with a raised eyebrow, the hint of a question laced through the words.

  Jaken grinned. “Not at all. When Holli told me about your tentative arrival and the predicament you all might be in, we spoke about me helping you out. Of course, the money is fine to help pay for supplies, but I consider myself to be lucky to have met all of you. And I consider it an honor to watch over you on this trip.”

  “Very well, Master Jaken,” Ellia said, cutting off anything the children had readied to say. “The trip is the goal here. We need to make good time. All this talking is not helping our pace.”

  Jaken’s grin widened, his gray eyes meeting Ellia’s for a second before he spurred Altaric forward. He did not need to glance over his shoulder to know they followed.

  The sanctuary, eerily similar to all the others, seemed, at first, to be a welcome respite from the increasingly cold afternoon. Biting wind had seeped through their clothes, and no efforts to hold the cloaks and hoods tighter helped alleviate the blizzard’s growing frenzy as the day progressed. Only the shared use of the mounts offered warmth as the riders pressed close together. Icy beards formed on the mounts’ snouts with their continuous white gusty breaths. Celex laughed and pointed, his glee prompting a fleeting smile to others—cracked lips followed by a grimace kept them all silent for miles.

  No one argued when Jaken offered to ride ahead and start the fire. “It’s barely a mile ahead,” he had said before galloping ahead. They watched, over their scarves, Altaric kick up clods of frozen roadway until he passed over the top of a rolling hill and out of sight. As the four reached the hilltop they caught sight of a thin ribbon of smoke pulled south in a zig-zagging line by the wind. Ellia and Kylia spurred the mounts to a trot, the presence of flickering flames bolstering their desire for quicker movement. The four dismounted and Eosy offered to take care of the horses. Ellia sighed, grabbed her saddlebags, and thanked Eosy with a grip on her shoulder before joining Kylie and Celex sitting almost in the fire.

  Ellia placed the tripod over the fire and hooked the wide-brimmed iron pot in its center. Kylia and Celex waited patiently at Ellia’s insistence to simply sit and watch. Eosy joined them around the fire, rubbing her hands near the now-boiling stew. They each thanked Jaken’s efforts to keep them safe and warm, but the waist-high stone wall did little to block the crisp wind. The breeze whipped around stones, rounded by countless years of harsh winds. While they ate mechanically, huddled against the fire, Jaken stood and strode to the massive black stallion. All three mounts stood hunched together due to Eosy’s careful work; Altaric seemed to be unfazed by the wind, standing still while the others had their heads bowed next to the stones.

  Jaken released a strap from a saddlebag and pulled out a hand axe. A moment later he hacked branches with methodical axe cuts. All four of the family members glanced vaguely in his direction, curiosity overwhelming their frigidity. With each branch Jaken carefully interlaced long southern cedar branches into a roof. With two longer, wider branches he created corner posts and stood up one side of the roof—the other side lay atop the edge of the stone wall. With the wind’s grip weakened, Ellia crouched near the fire and recovered a polished steel tea pot from the bags. Ellia barely gave the process a thought, as it had become a ritual—different teas for various illnesses, times of the day, seasons, celebrations, and modes of thought. So many teas, yet I know them all. She glanced up at Jaken—his lack of movement drawing her gaze. She turned away, then looked again. Jaken’s grin, unnerving and yet calming, seemed implacable.

  “What?” Ellia asked before focusing back on the pot.

  “I’ve never seen someone so patient while making tea. It’s as if I can’t feel the cold any longer, just looking at you.”

  “Mother makes the best teas,” Celex offered. He playfully poked a stick under the pot into the ashes. Kylia and Eosy smiled in agreement.

  Jaken shook his head and finished laying more of the branches to form two full walls on either side. A third wall only filled half the open space. He muttered something about leaving enough space to see an intruder and for the horses to get through, then he shook each wall and the roof from a stooped position; no longer could he stand up straight due to the wall’s shortness. With each shake, the entire shelter moved, but only as much as what the strongest gust had produced.

  “Good,” he said in satisfied tones. He glanced down at the pot. “Any of that fine stew left? Or did these growing children gobble it all up?”

  The evening passed with murmured voices mixing into the implacable wind. The evergreen’s needles held in the heat, giving them a relief vaguely remembered. Shivering blue lips and chattering teeth softened to calm, simple tiredness. Jaken retrieved wood each time the supply grew low, and the children alternated turns at Runic. Ellia smiled at the frustrated mutterings when one of them lost—mostly Celex. At least their minds are on something else. After Eosy threw her hands up in the air at losing for the fourth time to Kylia, Ellia looked at Celex’s sleeping form in her lap.

  “Time for sleep, girls. Your brother’s beat you to it.”

  Neither offered a complaint. Kylia carefully stowed the game away while Eosy unfurled all the bedrolls, even Jaken’s, in a circle around the fire. Eosy helped lay Celex onto the bedroll. He made no sound except to pull any spare woven wool around his body. Within moments, the girls’ breathing had the regularity of peaceful sleep.

  Jaken motioned a gloved hand toward Ellia. When she looked upward at him, he asked, “So, why are you really traveling south? In this?” He pointed toward the opening with a thumb.

  Ellia frowned, concern forming wrinkles around her green eyes. “What do you mean?”

  He replied with an exasperated sigh, his eyes widening, as if to ask if he really needed to repeat himself.

  “Holli should have told you enough. Or I thought she did, anyway. Enough for you to burden yourself with three children and a melancholic mother.” Ellia looked down to ensure the children still slept. She sighed, then continued, “All you need to know is that I do appreciate your help. I can tell the children are more comfortable with you here. And I trust Holli; she wouldn’t have sent you with us, if you posed some sort of threat.” Ellia narrowed her green eyes blazing in the firelight, which accentuated her cheekbones. Jaken’s calmness did not waver at the heated gaze, yet Ellia took comfort that his eyes widened a hair’s width. “If you are a threat to any of them,” she nodded toward the sleeping figures, “you can rest assured knowing I’ll be the last person you see alive.”

  A tight-lipped grin, not meeting those still-widened eyes, washed over Jaken’s face before he replied. “I appreciate your candor. With all that in mind, I’ll continue doing my best to keep them safe.” He set his bowl on the ground next to the ring of fire stones and stood. “I’ll keep watch,” Jaken whispered before pulling his hood up and leaving the shelter.

  Ellia shuddered, but not due to the cold. Jaken’s face belied something. He’s not telling the truth. Or he’s fishing for information he already has or wants to know. “Bah,” Ellia scoffed, louder than she intended. Celex stirred at the noise, and Ellia gently rubbed his shoulder. She hummed a few verses of a lullaby she used to calm them all to sleep over the years. No words, just soft humming was all she had needed, even when Kylia had been a baby. Celex settled back into deep sleep, yet she continued humming. Ellia lay back upon the bedroll, pulling a hand underneath her head for a pillow. She stared at the flames, her own humming lulling her to sleep. Memories of each child as a baby ran through her mind before fatigue brought blackness.

  The shelter had been long forgotten in the hours along the Tolsont Road. No one spoke. The horses, even Altaric, moved forward by Jaken’s relentles
s pace. Within an hour of their departure, an inch of snow had piled up under the mounts’ hooves. The merciless wind had abated, leaving only the wide snowflakes pushing downward. They had prepared their midday meals to be eaten atop the horse, as even Celex knew stopping would not be an option. Even so, when he finally complained of needing a break, Jaken’s gray gaze, pushing through the flurry of whiteness, stopped anything else he had to say.

  “Only to relieve yourself,” he had said, “then back up on the mount. Or do you want to die.” Not a question. Just a simple statement of fact. “I’d rather not bring corpses to North Sacclon.”

  No one argued with that. And so they traveled, shivering at the biting frigidity with the gray plane of clouds bearing down. Has it only been seven days since we’d woke up in our beds in Durik’s Pass? Ellia wondered more than once. Other than mile markers and an occasional snow hare blurring across the falling snow to avoid hooves, the travelers paid little attention to anything else. The road disappeared by mid-morning, yet Jaken, atop Altaric, plodded ahead without hesitation, unerringly following the road. Even the passage of time became almost impossible to discern due to the cloud-diffused sunlight. Only the ever-present mile markers, carefully placed at the same height along the road, and the rolling hills offered them a sense of their passage throughout the ostensibly unchanging landscape.

  When Eosy mentioned her hunger, Ellia nodded and passed strips of cheese and jerky to everyone. Jaken bit into a chunk of bread—full of rye and barley powdered with flour—which had been covered with a thick white cotton towel. He glanced backward as he stowed the half-finished loaf, and he noticed Kylia holding a water canteen upside down. Her eyes narrowed in frustration as she pulled the scarf back up to cover her mouth and nose. Jaken barked a laugh before pulling his reigns back, letting Altaric slow to the others’ pace. When all four sets of eyes alternated confusion and irritation, Jaken laughed again.

  He stared straight at Kylia and said, “I figured you’d have one of these, considering who your dad is.” He shrugged, and with his knees he maneuvered Altaric next to the painted mount which Kylia and Celex sat atop. Jaken passed a canteen to Kylia wrapped entirely in thin hemp rope. A thick hempen strap had been sewn into the wrapping. Only the uncorded cap at the top gave any indication of the canteen’s composition—metal with no hint of rust. A thin chain attached to the cap from the canteen’s top would keep it from getting lost when one was on horseback. Jaken grinned and spurred Altaric forward without a word.

  Kylia unscrewed the cap and took several long swallows before passing the canteen to Celex. She replaced her scarf, but not before licking her lips of the moisture, knowing if she did not, her lips would be even more chapped within an hour. Even though the canteen poured water, she tried and failed to recall such fine-tasting water—the perfect temperature, untouched by the cold, flowing smoothly down her throat. Kylia grinned when Celex offered his appreciation with a simple “Yum!” before he handed the canteen to Eosy.

  By the time Ellia took her turn, she took only three swallows before emptying it. She replaced the cap, a resigned look upon her face. When Kylia reached for the canteen in Ellia’s outstretched hand, she asked, “What is it, mother?”

  “It’s been Altered,” Ellia replied with only the faintest glance in Jaken’s direction. “Tell him thanks for sharing.”

  When in Kylia’s hand, she held it with an unhidden reverence, her green eyes widened at the once innocuous device. Altered. Changed permanently, or so father had told me what happens. To suit the needs of humanity. He’d not Altered anything in a long time. Takes too much time and energy. Too much life expended for the convenience of humans. Kylia could hear her father’s words as if he walked with them now. We wouldn’t be here if he were with us. Guilt flushed her face and neck, and Kylia tried unsuccessfully from looking at her mother just a few paces away. She opened her mouth to ask her mother a question, then jumped at movement near her arm. Jaken’s hand stretched out to reach for the canteen. How long has he been waiting? Kylia thought, not really wanting to let the canteen go. The question she had wanted to ask popped back into her mind. Did my father make this?

  Jaken motioned again and he mentioned, the words muffled past his scarf, “So, you don’t know about those, do you?”

  “Not much. Just what father told us.”

  “And, they don’t need to know anymore at this point,” Ellia cut in. “We need to focus.” She stared at Jaken’s face, his grin not reaching his eyes, and continued, “As you said, you don’t want to bring in corpses to North Sacclon.”

  “Oh mother, he’s just trying—”

  “Kylia! That’s quite enough.” Ellia still stared at Jaken. Ellia’s shout brought the other children’s eyes around. Her voice dropped to normal, but her tone held an edge which kept Kylia quiet. “I know what he’s trying to do. Jaken, will you proceed?” She turned without waiting for an answer.

  Jaken’s eyes had tightened, his grin gone. Kylia gasped, immediately hoping no one heard it, at Jaken’s eyes. The coldness tugging at his pupils, the gray becoming glacial blue for a breath, shocked Kylia to silence. By looking at those eyes, the blizzard lent her warmth to compensate for the ancient cold laced within. Ellia and the others missed the look, and when Jaken focused back on Kylia his eyes shifted back to normal. She could not feel anything as his presence, so close, threatened to shake her resolve. A scream built within her—something that would help relieve the ballooning pressure. But then he winked at her, popping the bubble, before she could say anything.

  He offered no words, then turned his gaze south. Altaric moved of his own accord and stopped ten paces ahead. The remaining hours to North Sacclon crept by—unforgiving frigidity seeped through their clothes keeping the travelers quiet. Kylia’s gaze remained on their guard’s back until they caught sight of something she remembered well of the growing town: watchtowers amidst grain silos. The only movement came from golden flags whipping in the air and the snow flowing downward forming snowbanks in the corners of buildings.

  “Mother, something’s not right,” Kylia said, her voice calm. Calmer than she thought possible given what she just realized. “Celex isn’t moving.”

  13 — Respite and Struggle

  Einar sat upon the narrow cloth cot in the small room. The room’s one chair, cot, and a chest of drawers, which also served as a tabletop, offered occupants a rather simple stay without tempting them to take on long-term residence. Vos didn’t like people to stay too long at his inn, The Death’s Dance; he always had a suspicion that long-term visitors were hiding from something or were there to cause problems for people of his skills. Not just his skills, but our skills. Vos had been agitated despite his initial friendliness toward Saen and me.

  Looking out the small, four-paned window, Einar noted the bare back yard of the inn, as well as sunlight trying to break through the impending storm front. The undulating gray-white clouds offered only a matter of time before the storm breached the area to its fullest extent. Something scraping on the other side of the thin wooden wall momentarily caught his attention. Must be another guest, he thought. Einar couldn’t help but rub his eyes; soreness, sleepiness, and fatigue washed over him in equal amounts until thoughts of moving from the cot washed away in a torrent of overdue rest.

  Einar let a long breath release as he laid backward. I’ll just lie here for a moment, he thought, yet just as the back of his head touched the pillow’s fabric he fell into an undisturbed slumber. Flitting dreams of his children and wife being choked by hands appearing out of a blackened room could not rouse him. Dreams of his friend and long-term colleague being chased into the nearing white-out could not rouse him. Dreams of the creature which offered him so much uncertainty, but assuredly death as one of the eventual offers, could not rouse him. Only flickers of wakefulness passed his mind.

  Another vision of his son Celex being readied for slaughter flashed then suddenly faded to blackness. Einar panted as a feeling of dread washed over him like being
trapped under the surface of a frozen pond and unable to break free. Einar felt his shoulders shaking; through a furrowed sluggishness, he opened his eyes expecting more death to reach his senses. Saen’s face, shrouded in concern, tore him from the now-fading nightmares.

  “What?” he mustered.

  “You’ve been groaning for an hour or more now,” she whispered as she sat up on the chair, which now sat next to the bed. “Then, you yelled out.” She stood, then paced to the window and stared outward. After placing her hands on the sill, she continued, “I didn’t want you to disturb the other people here. No need to bring attention to ourselves.”

  Sighing, Einar replied, after glancing outside, “I’ve had some time to rest. Based on the sun’s position, it’s been much longer than I had planned. Why don’t you rest now, and I’ll watch over you?” Saen lowered her gaze, turned, and strode to the door. She twisted the knob and paused for the span of a breath.

  “Please wake me when you’re ready to depart.”

  Before Einar could respond, the door shut with scant a sound. Perhaps Vos spoke with her. Einar stood and departed the room with a brief glance toward Saen’s door on the way to the common room. Seeing nothing untoward, he continued and noticed Vos standing behind the bar writing in a large ledger; the pencil scrapes broke the empty silence of the room, as no other individuals sat in there this late in the afternoon.

  “What say you, old friend?” Vos stated clearly and without looking in Einar’s direction. Based on Vos’s position, if he hadn’t seen Vos’s mouth moving, he would not have thought the man had spoken. After a moment with no response, Vos turned and began to repeat the question. Einar forestalled him by raising a hand.

  “Sorry, Vos. The little sleep I got seemed to clear some of the dust away, yet I still feel out of sorts.”

  “No matter. You’re safe here, as always.” Motioning toward the stool opposite him, Vos continued, “Sit. Let’s talk while Saen gets some rest. We’ve got an hour or so before the regulars roll in.” Seeing Einar’s look of surprise as he moved to the stool, Vos allowed, “Yes, yes. Even with the threat of storms some of the locals still find my food better than what they can cook.”