by Blake, Bruce
“Who’s there?” he called, redirecting his ire.
The words had barely left his mouth when the horse doctor’s hand touched his arm.
“Quiet,” he said, desperate force punctuating the whispered word.
Stirk held his breath and waited. He wiped his sweaty palm on the front of his thigh, the half-moon shaped wounds caused by his fingernails stinging. Enough time passed Stirk needed to release the air from his burning lungs and draw more. Enin spoke right after, as though he’d been waiting for his breath.
“This way.”
He spun on his heel and headed down a street away from the noise they’d heard. Stirk hesitated an instant before following and found himself glad they’d chosen not to go the other way. Despite his anger, he decided he didn’t want to find out what made those sounds.
They went one more block before taking a right into a narrow alley, wide enough for the two of them to walk abreast if they didn’t mind brushing shoulders. Stirk did, so he stayed a pace behind his manure-perfumed guide.
After thirty paces, the alley widened to a courtyard which led to a single-storey building with a low, flat roof, no windows, and nothing to set it apart from any other buildings they’d passed on their journey.
“This it?”
“It is.”
Stirk stepped past Enin and squinted at the structure, attempting to find some distinctive feature about it to indicate what and who lay within, but he found nothing. He wasn’t certain what he’d expected from a place housing one—perhaps more than one—like the healer who’d taken his hand, but this wasn’t it. He’d realized it wouldn’t be a palace, especially in this part of the city, but shouldn’t they find a hint at what dwelled inside?
“Are you sure this is it?” He faced his guide. “If you’ve led me…”
The remaining words poised on his tongue teetered for an instant then tumbled down his throat on a gulp of saliva.
The alley lay empty behind him.
“Enin?”
He took a step back toward the alley, stopped.
Where did he go?
He stared along the narrow passage, searching in the night that was dark enough to hide a man’s features, but not enough to make him disappear. They’d passed no doors in the alley the horse doctor might have slipped into, nor had he heard telltale footsteps as he made a retreat.
He disappeared.
Stirk’s eyes widened. A chill found its way along his spine.
I’m alone.
The muscles in his arms and legs tightened into knots, holding him in place as his gaze darted side to side, up and down. The dark hid all but shapes from him, the buildings transformed to black blocks against the night sky. He shivered. A rustle of cloth behind him halted him mid-breath.
Did Enin get behind me?
The horse doctor couldn’t possibly have gotten by him; the man was too tall and gangly, lacking of grace. Knowing this didn’t quell Stirk’s nerves. Instead, his limbs tightened further until his shoulders ached. His back teeth grated together hard enough he thought he tasted the dust it created.
He inhaled a deep breath through his nose, readying himself to spin around and see who’d crept up behind him. The stink of fish wafting over from Fishtown was near overpowering, but the scent buried beneath it convinced Stirk that following Enin here had been the wrong decision.
Under the pungent aroma of creatures pulled from the sea lurked dirt and rot and death.
With a sudden change of heart, Stirk took off down the alley in the direction the horse doctor must have gone. The thump of his boots pounding the cracked cobbles echoed off stone walls, preventing any other noise from reaching his ears except the hammering of his heart forcing fearful blood through his veins.
At the mouth of the alley, he paused and glanced first one direction, then the other.
Which way?
Something soft slid against stone behind him. He resisted the urge to look back and went in the direction of his arm which still had a hand. His feet tangled and he stumbled, arms flailing. He kept his balance at the expense of a muscle in his groin and labored on, choking down a cry of pain.
Stirk’s gait took on an odd cadence as he limped up the block as quickly as the throbbing at the top of his leg allowed. Still unsure which way to go, but knowing he had to get as far from the alley as possible, he rounded the next corner. Sweat ran along his temples, his mouth pulled into a grimace. He hobbled thirty awkward paces down the narrow lane before it widened into a courtyard.
Panic swam through Stirk’s head as he gazed at the one-storey building ahead of him, its low, flat roof and lack of windows all too familiar. Gulping a mouthful of frightened saliva, Stirk looked from the structure to the alley behind him, expecting to find the healer fast on his heels.
The alley was empty.
No feet traversed it making the sounds that had sent him fleeing the courtyard that appeared the same as the one in which he now found himself. He dug the knuckle of one hand and the edge of his smooth-skinned stump into his eyes, rubbed hard enough to make light dance in his vision. When he took them away and the sparks faded, both building and alley remained.
How is this possible?
He shook his head. Could it be two identical alleys ended in identical courtyards and buildings? Unlikely, but maybe. He saw no other possibility; at least no others he wanted to consider.
He headed back along the alley, away from the mysterious building. When he reached the adjoining boulevard, he continued straight instead of turning this time, unsure if doing so would carry him home but knowing he didn’t want to go back.
In deference to the pain in his leg, Stirk moved more slowly this time, paying attention for noises in the shadows. His feet scraped in dirt and broken stone, his breath wheezed in and out of his lungs, his heart beat hard against his ribs. Darkness wrapped itself around him, giving him the impression the walls on either side of the street bore down on him, closing in.
Stirk craned his head around to peer back along the boulevard. No one behind him but, to his surprise, the buildings had actually closed in. On both sides, blank stone walls set close enough to allow two men to walk abreast if they didn’t mind brushing shoulders replaced ones he was sure had had doors and windows when he passed them.
Loose gravel grated beneath Stirk’s boots as he skittered to a stop, a wave of cold crawling over his flesh. Slowly, he faced forward again.
The same courtyard. The same low building.
“No.” Stirk shook his head hard. Saliva spilled out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin. “This ain’t possible.”
He backed away three steps, the pain in his groin flaring as he turned to leave. One step passed beneath him before he halted again.
A blank wall stood not two paces away where the alley had been, blocking his retreat. Stirk blew short, hard breaths out through his nose.
“No. Can’t be.”
Someone must be playing a trick on him. Despite his fear, he forced himself forward a step and reached out, forgetting the loss of his hand. The stump brushed against stone, its hardness taking away any doubt of its authenticity. Stirk raised his other hand, pushed against the solid, ungiving wall. When it didn’t move, he stutter-stepped back two paces.
“How—?”
The chill he’d experienced before returned, but this time it didn’t feel like the chill of fear radiating from within. This time, it seemed as though a winter wind blew upon him, coming up from behind.
Stirk stopped and clenched his fist, certain that should he turn around, he’d find someone—something—at his back. He let his lids slide closed; if he didn’t look, perhaps it wouldn’t exist.
“Stirk.”
The voice drew out his name, pulling the single syllable on for the space of half a dozen beats of Stirk’s racing heart. His lids snapped open and the wall that had stood before him was gone. Somehow, while his eyes were closed, he’d rotated to face the courtyard, the low building, and the headless
woman standing before him.
Stirk’s lips quivered. His mouth went dry.
“M…mother?”
The figure might have been a statue for all it moved. The dark outline was undoubtedly a female with a space above her shoulders where her head should have been. Stirk’s gaze trailed down the front of her, taking in the familiar shape, the dark stain on her shirt that must have been blood. His appraisal halted when he saw the apparition’s head dangling from its grip, fingers laced through graying hair.
The dead eyes stared at him, the minuscule light in the courtyard shining in them. Stirk’s lips moved, but no words came out. His knees melted to water and he stumbled, pain from his groin shooting along his leg. If not for the wall at his back to support him, he’d have found himself sprawled out on the ground.
“M…m…m…”
Stirk’s eyes refused to move from the severed head, from its stare. His dead mother took a step toward him, then another, closing the distance between them. The head swung back and forth, but its gaze didn’t leave his. Another step, another. Stirk slid down the wall until his ass touched the ground.
Dead eyes blinked. Bloodless lips parted.
“Stirk.”
The big man threw both arms in front of his face and screamed.
IX Ailyssa—On The Road
The horse’s gait lifted Ailyssa’s backside up and set it down over and over, each jarring thump inflaming the bruises she’d incurred during her days as a Sister of Jubha Kyna. Each flare of pain reminded her of the men she’d endured and made her appreciate the one sitting on the horse in front of her.
It turned out Juddah was a large man; Ailyssa found herself unable to encircle his waist with both of her arms as she sat behind him. Instead, she hooked her fingers into his overalls, grabbing on so she didn’t lose her seat on their steed as they traveled to Juddah’s home somewhere near the shore.
Her rescuer stank of grease and sweat, an unpleasant mix wafted over her by the breeze of the horse’s movement. She tried inhaling through her mouth instead, but doing so merely set the cloying tang upon her tongue rather than the redolence clinging inside her nose. His stink caused her to breathe short, gulping breaths, and direct her face away in search of fresh night air. With her head cocked to the side, she also used the opportunity to listen for sounds of pursuit from behind them.
She heard nothing but the clip clop of their own horse’s hooves.
They’d been riding for a good while, Juddah managing the horse’s pace to keep the beast from tiring. The blurred white of Ailyssa’s vision remained dim, meaning night still ruled the sky, but she judged sunrise must not be far off. How long before they reached her rescuer’s house?
Juddah had spoken little since she released her grip on the window sill and fell into his arms. He’d caught her as promised and kept her safe from harm but, other than the occasional instruction to hold on or to give warning of low-hanging branches or a tight bend in the road, he’d not let her in on his plan. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be worse than her last few days.
Could it?
She leaned away, putting space between herself and Juddah’s wide back, his peculiar aroma. The night breeze touched her cheek and she closed her unseeing eyes, allowing it to envelop her, calm her. She inhaled through her nose and scented trees beneath Juddah’s greasy sweat, but nothing else. Ailyssa had never been to the sea, where he claimed to live, and didn’t know what to expect its smell to resemble or how the ocean might feel on her naked flesh. Warm like a bath? Cold as a river? She wondered how it might look but the thought put an ache in her heart.
I’ll never see the ocean. I’ll never see anything again.
The horse’s gait slowed, its choppy steps bouncing Ailyssa harder against its back and flanks. She gritted her teeth against the pain and gripped tighter to Juddah’s overalls, waiting for the horse’s pace to smooth out again. The steed halted. Still holding on, Ailyssa leaned away, stretched her neck as if she might see over his shoulder.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Shh,” Juddah hissed. “There’s a wagon in the road.”
Bandits!
Ailyssa’s stomach jumped. Every time she thought she’d been rescued from a horrible fate, another one blocked her path. From rapists to brigands. Did the Goddess despise her this much?
Juddah shifted in the saddle, body stiffening with tension. She didn’t know if he carried any weapons—she’d detected none at his belt, but his voluminous overalls were baggy enough to hide things beneath. He stood in the stirrups and leaned forward.
“Hmph,” he grunted as he sat again. “Stay here.”
The big man slid out of his seat, almost pulling Ailyssa along with him. She released her grip and shifted her hands to grab the bottom edge of the hard leather saddle. His boots crunched on the dirt road and a bell jingled mutely, then he whispered to the horse too quietly for her to discern his words. The animal snorted and the scuff of footsteps carrying him away reached her ears.
Footsteps carrying him away and leaving her alone. Again.
***
“I’ll be right back,” Juddah whispered in the horse’s ear, intending the words for the woman, Ailyssa. But the courage to speak directly to her eluded him; despite his intentions, he had difficulty considering her just another addition to his collection.
He put the thoughts from his mind and strode a few paces along the road toward the wagon sitting in a tree’s shadow cast by the half-moon. The horse hitched to it caught wind of him and whinnied, but the driver’s seat behind it appeared empty. Juddah slowed, moving with care while cursing himself for not bringing a blade from his collection in the barn. Fifteen paces from the wagon, he halted.
“Who’s there?” he called. Wind rustled an answer through the trees.
Juddah took another tentative step, stuck his hand in the front of his overalls. His fingers found nothing but the handle of the small, silver bell he’d collected from the bedside table in Ailyssa’s room at Jubha Kyna, but he hoped it gave him a threatening enough appearance to throw a scare into whoever might lay in wait in the deep shadows. A second pace forward and he stopped again, squinted. Was that the shape of a man standing behind the wagon?
“What do you want?” Juddah called, raising his voice.
This time, his question prompted a response. The figure hidden in shadow strode to the front, into the moonlight, and stroked the horse’s snout. Juddah’s thick brows dipped toward the bridge of his nose, meeting in the middle.
“Birk? Is that you, Birk?”
“Hello, Juddah.”
He took a step away from the horse, the toe of his boot contacting a rock lying in the road and sending it skittering across the dirt to settle a few paces in front of Juddah. The stocky man watched it come to a stop, then raised his gaze to Birk again, piquant anger flooding his tongue.
“What are you doing here? I told you to stay the fuck away from me.”
“No, you told me to keep off your land.” He spread his arms and Juddah saw a flash of a white bandage wrapped around one. “This isn’t your land, is it?”
Juddah growled in the back of his throat and wished he had a bow or a sling to put an end to this fellow who made it a habit of hanging around his collection. So far as he knew, Birk’d taken nothing—not even the cow Juddah himself liberated from inside the man’s own fence—but he sure showed up frequently. Juddah didn’t much like that.
A shame Kooj didn’t eat him.
“It ain’t my land, but here you are anyway, ain’t you?”
“Here I am.” He took another step.
“Come no closer.” Juddah jammed his hand deeper into his overalls, intending a threatening gesture, but the bell hidden within jingled. He cursed himself for his clumsiness.
“Who’s your friend?” Birk asked, nodding past him toward Ailyssa.
“Ain’t none of your business.”
“You’re right and, truthfully, I don’t care what harlot you’ve picked up to add t
o your collection.”
“She ain’t a harlot.”
“Yes, of course. She likes you.” Birk rubbed the bandage on his arm as though the bite it hid pained him. Juddah smiled to himself. “It’s the man I saw digging in your yard I want to talk about.”
“Ain’t none of your business, either.”
“Where did you find him?”
“Birk—”
“Where is he from?”
Juddah’s hands balled into fists at his sides and he took a half-step toward the other man. Birk didn’t flinch.
“Stay the fuck away from my collection,” Juddah grated between clenched teeth. Or you’ll end up part of it.
“Was he near the shore?” Birk asked, ignoring the stocky man. “Did he come out of the water?”
Juddah set his shoulders, leaned forward, and walked toward the other man again, his pace slow and threatening. Finally, whatever’d given Birk courage let go; he threw up his hands, palms facing outward, and skittered back.
“No need to get angry.”
“Leave me and my collection alone.”
The space between them lessened and Birk scrambled into the driver’s seat, retrieved the reins from the floorboards. The horse nickered and shook its head. Juddah halted short of the wagon, realizing Birk might have a weapon and not wanting to chance getting knifed and losing his latest—and what he figured to be his most prized—addition. Birk yanked the reins and the horse pranced.
“You should be careful what you collect. You never know who else might come searching for it.”
He snapped the reins, prompting the horse along the dirt track, the wagon’s wheels rumbling in the well-worn ruts. Juddah watched him go for the space of four breaths, wondering what he meant. He released his fists, a frown remaining on his face as he headed back to his horse.
“Juddah?” Ailyssa said as he grabbed the horse’s bridle, intending to walk for a while and let Birk put distance between them. He detected a tremor in her voice.
“Hmm?” he grunted.
“What did he mean, ‘your collection’?”
