Box of Runes An Epic Fantasy Collection

by J. Thorn

  Kelsun nodded but did not reply, and a ferocious crack echoed across the peak, yanking Jaithe from the conversation.

  Chapter 4

  “Send in the conjurer.”

  The man ran from the rawhide tent and through the village, the deserted path providing no resistance.

  The werowance held a steady gaze on the priest to his right. His bloodshot eyes flickered, narrowing as the smoke from the fire wound upwards and into the early morning. The black paint on one side of his face smeared into the red paint on the other, and a trickle of blood dried and darkened on his forearm. “The conjurer will reveal all.”

  The priest remained silent, holding his arms still. The man returned in a flurry of movement, launching through the flap and avoiding the fire by mere inches. “He comes.”

  The werowance nodded once and pointed at the flap, and the man followed, passing the conjurer on his way out.

  “They are coming. You must divine my path,” the werowance pleaded.

  The conjurer removed his hood. His gray, dead eye lolled in the socket while the piercing blue iris of his good eye focused on the werowance. A collection of dirty bones rested around his neck, and the skull of the great bear sat atop his head, its long teeth frozen in an eternal roar. The conjurer opened a satchel from his side and removed a handful of pungent herb.

  “Last night’s has not left me. Must I?” asked the werowance. The conjurer nodded in affirmation. “Then pack the pipe and bless the herb.”

  The conjurer molded the dried leaves in his palm with bony and arthritic fingers. He paused to dribble saliva into the mixture, coughing and chuckling as he did. The conjurer placed the paste into a clay pipe and thrust it at the werowance.

  “Now?”

  The conjurer nodded. The werowance placed the pipe to his lips and inhaled, the burning fragrance masking the scent of brimstone. He put the pipe down and reached for the conjurer’s wrist, but the old man gripped the werowance by the forearm, clutching the flesh like a young warrior.

  “You have summoned me. Finish the ritual.”

  The werowance struggled, attempting to free his arm. The conjurer’s dead eye stopped. He blinked and then released the werowance.

  “Okine will punish your soul,” the werowance said.

  “Smoke.”

  The werowance dragged more of the profane smoke into his lungs. His heart raced in his chest and he felt as though he were floating in the air above the early morning fire. He watched as the rawhide tent wall dissolved into the blinding white of the snow-covered landscape. Great swirls of snow blew through the scene while the Dark Time’s fury covered all. Huddled, dark shapes appeared far below. The werowance counted one, then two, up to seven or eight figures.

  “Jaithe and his expedition?” he asked.

  The conjurer nodded, and the scene dissipated as if buried in smoke. This time, the blinding white appeared in the sky. The werowance soared high above the earth, his vision blocked by the clouds. He looked down into a village, one that the parasites called “the Commonwealth.” He watched as a fire burned in the center. Huddled shapes moved about, shuffling from the animal pens, to the well, and to the caves. The caves.

  “Their settlement?”

  The conjurer nodded.

  “They take refuge in the caves, the lair of the beasts.”

  The conjurer no longer nodded, but sat in affirmation of all the werowance saw.

  He flew into the entrance of the largest cave, immediately overwhelmed by the stench of human waste and rotten food. The werowance gagged and placed a hand over his nose. Inside the cave, cold moisture dripped down the walls onto the gray dirt of the floor. Two children lay in filthy rags, coughing and moaning as if in the grip of Okine. The carcass of a rabbit hung by its feet, dropping the occasional nest of maggots to the ground below.

  “They are dying, and they come to ask for our help.”

  The conjurer waived a hand at the smoke. The werowance blinked, bringing his dark tent back into focus. He rubbed his eyes, further smearing the ceremonial paint of the night before, and he yawned and made a circle with his hand, prompting a reply from the conjurer.

  “They subsist on nothing but what they scavenge from the dead earth. The leader comes to you, hoping you’ll have pity on his wretched folk and help them through the Dark Time, providing enough seed for them to plant when the Season of Life returns. Jaithe is not sure if the plea will be accepted, but he has justified a violent response as a better way to perish than at the hands of the gods.”

  The werowance listened to the conjurer, shaking his head at the blurred vision. “Old man, this is quite a gamble. One that shall not favor you well should things not turn to our favor.”

  “I deliver the message. I do not create it,” replied the conjurer.

  “And I will deliver your death by the sword, but not wield it.”

  “What does your warrior soul tell you, Werowance?”

  The man slumped against the hide, feeling the smooth skin on his and sensing the bitter cold on the other side. “To keep an eye on those in league with Okine.”

  ***

  Jaithe ran towards the edge. He watched as one of the men disappeared into the white abyss, his final screams swallowed by the avalanche.

  “Get me rope,” he yelled at Kelsun.

  Aiden drove the head of his axe into the snow pack five feet from the edge. He yanked the coarse rope from Kelsun’s hand and wrapped it around the handle. Aiden shook his head, remembering how many long hours he had spent weaving the rope, hoping his amateur craftsmanship would pay off.

  The other men in the party scampered in all directions. The initial release of the slide had echoed through the valley like a cannon shot, the subsequent rumblings filling the air as if the earth had opened its yawning maw to devour all.

  Jaithe rushed forward, swinging the end of the rope towards the two men dangling from the edge. He looked over his shoulder and saw Aiden nod, and he wrapped the rope around the wrist of the man to his left. The blinding snow and utter panic hid the man’s identity. Aiden grabbed Kelsun’s arm, and the two dug their heels into the icy surface. They backpedaled at an even pace, careful not to slip.

  “Hold it with all you’ve got,” said Jaithe to the man in front.

  A piercing shriek split the air as the man to Jaithe’s right let go. He watched the unfortunate soul tumble through the churning whiteness until he could no longer see or hear him. Jaithe blew the snow off his lip and turned back towards another clinging to the edge.

  Aiden and Kelsun pulled the man back onto firm ground until he was left on his back, gasping and crying. Jaithe stood over the survivor and pulled him up by his shoulders.

  “Your wife will look forward to nagging you again, Anas.”

  The man’s crimson face flared as he dropped his eyes to the ground. “Thank you, Jaithe.”

  Kelsun pulled the sled of supplies back towards the trail and away from the delicate and unstable edge. He looked at Jaithe and shook his head.

  “Losses?” asked Jaithe.

  “Three men and one sled. The sled with most of our rations.”

  Jaithe looked at Anas, Kelsun, and Aiden and chuckled. “At least we won’t need as much food.”

  Kelsun grimaced and took a step towards Jaithe. “Are we turning back?”

  Jaithe raised his right hand and delivered a blow to the side of Kelsun’s head. The boy staggered to the right and then collapsed into the snow. Aiden appeared at Jaithe’s side, his hands firmly resting on Jaithe’s arm.

  “If you want to die, sleep where you fell. The snow of the Dark Time will cover you with death’s blanket,” Jaithe said.

  Kelsun sat and rubbed the hand-shaped mark on his cheek. A single tear burned a trail down his frozen face. He stood and gathered tools and supplies left scattered by the ordeal.

  “How many days’ travel?” asked Anas.

  Jaithe looked to the sky blurred by thousands of swirling snowflakes. “Three, possibly four.”
>
  “Do we have enough rations to make it?”

  “It’s our souls if we don’t, my friend.”

  Anas nodded and helped Kelsun gather the items to be secured on the sled. Aiden walked to a fallen tree and sat down with a sigh, fishing a rolled cigarette from his layered skins.

  “It is my last. I saved one from our trades with the Naturals. I would be honored to share it with you.”

  Jaithe smiled and put an arm around Aiden’s shoulder. “Do you remember sitting on the pier, two young fools with an ocean to conquer?”

  Aiden smiled and nodded while exhaling the smoke from his stale herb. He handed it to Jaithe. “You said we’d be free to find our way, ‘free of crown or consequence.’ I’ll never forget that.”

  Jaithe coughed and handed the cigarette back to Aiden. “I will not let us perish here. He has anointed us and will not let us fall short of His plan.”

  “I hope my faith remains as strong as yours. I see my children dying in front of my own eyes. I see my wife’s pain eating her like a disease from the inside out. Is this part of His plan? Why must we suffer so, Jaithe?”

  “We are the chosen ones. Like those before us, we must bear the burdens before understanding the Ways.”

  Kelsun walked up to the two men, licking his lips as they smoked the last of the precious herb. “We have secured everything and are ready to continue.”

  Jaithe stood and put his hand on Kelsun’s shoulder. “You have acted bravely today, young one. Do not let your thoughts cloud your actions. Tell Anas we are packing out and heading back to the trail. The sooner we get to the werowance, the better.”

  Chapter 5

  The Journal of Edward Jaithe, 22 December

  We arrived in their village a day later than anticipated, through the driving snow, heading towards the werowance and the unknown. We had run short of most victuals and consumed melting snow, our only source of fresh water. The spectacle was not lost on our tired minds. A sense of fear and uncertainty pervaded, and Aiden and Kelsun spoke in hushed tones, surely questioning the future of the Commonwealth.

  My men sat with open eyes and dropped jaws as the Naturals paraded through the house, singing and dancing. The werowance never left our presence and did not engage us in conversation. My heart dropped, fearful that the ceremony was the beginnings of our execution. Before my fears could become realized, the focus of the celebration shifted to the werowance. His courtiers placed him upon a throne. With gentle nudgings of long spears, we were escorted to sit at his feet.

  The werowance kindly welcomed us and spoke to his people. Having a rudimentary understanding of the Natural’s tongue, I did my best to translate and memorize those words.

  "My fellow warriors, today we welcome the pales from across the Great Sea. They arrive supplicating themselves before Okine and his fearful wrath. Their stores dwindle and their children die, and so they come to the werowance to seek salvation. You may smell the fear on their loathsome bodies or see it in their troubled eyes. That fear generates respect."

  The rest of the speech slipped past my ears as I watched the Naturals bound Aiden, Kelsun, and Anas. In order to displace the terror of my men, I held my hands out to their guards, allowing them to secure my wrists with hemp. I hoped they understood that our initial supplication in this ceremony might be our only chance at survival.

  The conjurers and wicked women of the village danced around, bringing the singing hellfire with them. They secured my men to the wall, their wrists bound and hung high above their heads. They maintained a clear view to the werowance who stood over me.

  The chief priest, painted entirely in black, floated across the floor and past the fire. He chanted and blew a powder into the flame, causing it to cycle through all of the colors of the rainbow. The scent infiltrated the noise and scarred the tongue with a painless numbing. The words lilted on the smoky air like the call of a songbird. The werowance retreated back to his throne, watching the scene and enjoying the caressing hands of the girls of his court. The priest stepped to each of my men, bringing his face to theirs. He opened his vile mouth, devoid of natural teeth, and bellowed what could have only been a curse. The stench of the man’s breath and stinging saliva forced Aiden and Anas to vomit, but Kelsun kept his eyes closed and managed to hold the contents of his stomach in place.

  I looked at my men, projecting a steadfast resolve, although my inner thoughts betrayed the appearance of such. When the priest came to me, all the chanting in the house stopped. He removed a bone from his cloak and dipped it into a vial of the blackest ink, and drew shapes on my face with the lightest touch, even though his hand trembled with age. I closed my eyes and took gasping breaths through my mouth to prevent the wretched stench of the ink from entering my nostrils. I later discovered that the Naturals mixed the ink from insects and the organs of the dead, neither of which resonate with a healthy aroma.

  The werowance shouted at the conjurer. The old man put the bone back inside his cloak and stepped away. He leered at me, making whatever fate the werowance had in mind preferable to the ritualistic pain the conjurer had planned.

  The two held a long consultation concluding with the appearance of colossal stones brought before the werowance. Then they dragged me to him. I gazed into the eyes of the werowance and saw murder as he reached down and grasped a stone in each hand. His body shook as he spewed a litany of noise known only to the Naturals. I looked at Kelsun and saw a dark stain forming at his lower half as he pissed himself with fear.

  The warriors in the room and those painted in devilish shades of red and black came forwards and created a circle of flesh with the werowance, with myself in the middle. I surmised that the werowance needed to establish his absolute authority on the territory and that the law of the Commonwealth meant nothing to this beast. I began to make right with my maker, regardless of what empty pledge the Naturals forced me to speak. The piety of Okine meant nothing to me.

  The werowance bent down and looked into my eyes. His fists of stone hung above his head, ready to beat out my brains. The conjurer stood still, and only the crackling fire spoke. I closed my eyes, preparing for the bludgeoning, when a strange sensation pulled at me. A gentle touch danced on my forehead, tracing its way down my cheek to my lips. I opened my eyes to a most glorious sight. A young girl, probably not yet seeing her first moon, straddled my chest. She took my head in her arms and pulled me to her girlish bosom. I could smell the sandalwood in her hair and the first bodily scents of womanhood on her dress. Her black hair covered my face and restricted my vision, and I heard mumblings followed by two muffled thumps that resonated near each ear.

  The young girl stood, her face struggling to reach the chest of the werowance. The two entered into a heated discussion, but one kept private. The conversation continued for several minutes, which felt like hours as my eyes traveled from the two stones next to my head to my men bound against the wall. The werowance spread his arms and enveloped the young girl in an embrace. She stepped to the side, smiling at me and wiping a tear from her eye. The werowance spoke for a long while, but through my surprise and adrenaline, I managed to commit one portion of his speech to memory.

  "The Princess demands the lives of the pales. She assures me that they possess a destiny linked to our own, reverent to Okine. No man shall harm a hair on their heads, and no maiden shall deny an advance on her womanhood. These pales are to be treated as our own, brothers of the wind and sisters of the earth. An insult to them is an insult to me."

  Although I cannot claim to infer the intentions of the Naturals, my instinct told me that the werowance did not truly succumb to the words he spoke.

  The young girl sat next to me, crossing her hairless legs. With a gesture to the guards, my bonds were cut, as were those of Aiden, Kelsun, and Anas. She held a steaming bowl to my lips. I sipped the hot liquid and let it scald my throat. The herbal tea tasted of exotic licorice, and its minty flavor brought me back to my senses. I began to speak when the girl placed a finger over my li
ps, a sign not lost on any human, regardless of origin.

  The men of the expedition sat in place while other maidens brought them bubbling bowls of tea and other victuals. The werowance, the conjurer, the priests, and the painted she-devils left, taking the intent of Okine with them.

  When sufficient time had passed and the men tired of the fawning maidens, I dispersed the girls with another universal gesture. The men looked at each other, still uncertain as to what might happen to their tongues if they spoke.

  “I do not know of the girl’s intentions, and I am uncertain as to how long our reprieve shall last. However, I do know that we have found refuge during the Dark Time in the most unusual of places. Whether or not He is in alignment with Okine no longer matters. We have been given an extension on the preservation of the Ways, and hence an opportunity to save our Commonwealth and our families. From this point on, we align with the young girl first, as it appears she holds sway with the werowance. I shall request his presence on the morrow, when the full light of day outshines the hideous avatars of hell that danced around us.”

  None of the men spoke, but all nodded in confirmation.

  —Edward Jaithe

  Chapter 6

  Shella swatted at the black smoke with a tattered cloth, pushing it towards the back of the cave. The wet hides tainted the fire, burning low and dark. She tilted the iron kettle forwards and looked at her wavering reflection. Not enough in there to keep me from seeing myself, she thought.

  The two youngest children moaned in their bedrolls. The hair of her little girl fanned across the dirt floor like a lion’s mane.

  “Come in here, Rayna.”

  Shadows crept across the pitted walls, stepping between the ancient stalactites. The damp air chilled Shella to the bone, and the meager light straining to reach the back of the cave cast a dismal pall over the place.

  Shella glanced at the drawings on the wall, the black stickmen chasing a beast, and turned to face her oldest daughter coming from the depths of the cave.