Box of Runes An Epic Fantasy Collection

by J. Thorn

  “Here, Mother,” the girl replied.

  “Where is Brinton?”

  “He’s coming, not more than three paces behind me.”

  Shella placed her hands on her hips. Her stare traveled from Rayna’s toes to her face. Shella drew the back of her hand across a cheek, clearing the grime from her skin. Rayna’s bare toes jutted out from under the worm-eaten cloak. Dark lines of blackness sat in the creases of her skin and under her nails. Rayna’s black hair laid flat on her back, and the grease secured strands to the side of her face. Her brilliant green eyes pulsed in the low firelight of the cave, the focal point of an otherwise bedraggled face.

  “There,” Rayna said as she pointed towards a shape moving through the darkness.

  Brinton’s lanky stride brought him next to his sister in three steps, just as she had claimed. He had his hood pulled over his head, the brown cloak covering his entire body. Shella recognized the boots from their previous owner, a gentleman called to serve the Ways on a different plane.

  “What have I told you about going into the cave by yourself? We don’t know what’s hidden in those parts. I will not bury another one of my children in this godless place.”

  Rayna looked at Brinton and tried her best not to laugh.

  “Yes, Mother,” they said in unison.

  “Rayna, go to the center and fetch us some water. If the well is dry, gather snow in the pail and hang it over the fire.”

  “I’ll go with her,” said Brinton.

  “No, you’ll stay here, young man. You and I need to talk.”

  Brinton kicked at a small stone on the floor and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Git going, now.”

  Rayna skipped past her brother and grabbed a pail from an iron hook forced into a crack in the cave wall. Her silhouette danced towards the white opening of the cave and disappeared in it.

  “What is it, Mama?”

  Shella put her arm around Brinton and guided him down to a bear skin next to the fire. Brinton dropped down, knocking the edge of the skin into the fire.

  “Careful!” Shella screamed as she yanked the fur from the edge of the flame. She pulled Brinton back and creased her eyebrows.

  “Sorry, Mama.”

  “Sorry won’t bring another hide, now, will it?”

  “No, I suppose it won’t.”

  A rumbling, congested cough erupted from one of the two children on the bedrolls and reverberated off the stone walls. Shella and Brinton paused and waited. The coughing subsided, followed by low moaning.

  “Are they gonna be alright?”

  “If we keep the Ways, Brinton, He will provide and grant us the Kingdom when we pass.”

  Brinton nodded absently, as if he tired of the canned response.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Yes, Mother, I gather that. What do we need to talk about?”

  “Your father.”

  Brinton jumped to his feet and threw the hood from his head. “He’s returned?”

  “No. Nor has Kelsun. Now sit down.”

  Brinton let his bottom drop to the floor, kicking up dust mites but careful not to drag the edge of the skin back into the fire. “I’m listenin’.”

  Shella sighed and looked at the endless ceiling, feeling as if the cave went straight up to Him. “The men have been gone for many days.”

  Brinton sat, facing his mother, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. Shella shifted her legs and started to open her mouth, then closed it again.

  “Just say it,” Brinton said.

  “I fear the expedition may be lost. I fear that your father, Kelsun, and the other men may not return.” Shella followed the sentence with deep breathing and a hitch in her throat.

  “I don’t think so, Mother. Kelsun and Father are good men. Strong men. They’ll fare well out there. Whether against beast or Natural, they’ll fare well.”

  “I hope you’re right, son. But we need to talk about what happens next, in case He calls our good men to serve a higher Commonwealth.”

  Brinton put a hand to his face and wiped his eyes. “The smoke is making my eyes water.”

  Shella reached over and hugged her son, burying his sobs in her bosom. She pushed him back by the shoulders and looked into his face, the young echo of the man she loved. “You’re right. They can handle anything this strange world has to offer.”

  Brinton smiled at his mother through bloodshot eyes. “I should check on Rayna. She’s probably off collecting crow feathers, or something silly like that.”

  “You should keep her on task.”

  Brinton stood and ran for the cave opening, leaving Shella with her thoughts and two children lingering between life and death.

  ***

  “How long?”

  “Three, maybe four months.”

  “We’ll be dead by then. All of us.”

  Abbot stared at Bourne. She lifted the clay mug to her lips, sipping the lukewarm water. The lone peppermint leaf floating on top did little to mask the bitter minerals in the water. “I know Anas is alive. I can feel him in my heart.”

  Bourne rolled her eyes and poked the coals with an iron rod as she had done a thousand times before. They hissed at her like an agitated serpent. “Spare me the romantic fantasy.”

  “How long do you think you can hide your lack of faith?”

  Bourne chuckled and shook her head. “It’s gotten me this far, hasn’t it?”

  Abbot straightened her apron and secured the tie of her head covering. Her fingers felt for the medallion hanging from her neck and sitting on top of her overcoat. She closed her eyes, her lips mumbling in silence.

  “Knock it off. Jaithe ain’t here.”

  Abbot ignored the command and continued.

  “You’re a fool, like the rest of them.”

  Abbot finished, put her head to her chest, and opened her eyes. “You can’t stop me from asking for His help. He’ll provide, whether you believe or not.”

  Bourne rubbed her forehead and yawned. “I can’t. Go right ahead and mumble whatever you want. When the Dark Time ends, I will be off to start anew in the Season of Life. You and Anas, and Jaithe, and all the rest are free to stay here, pissing on the floor of your own caves.”

  Abbot shot to her feet and fastened the tie on her apron. “It’s time for me to tend to the goats.”

  Bourne waved her away with a lazy twirl of her hand. Before Abbot had made it to the mouth of the cave, Bourne stood. “What if you’re wrong?”

  Abbot stopped, her back to Bourne.

  “What if Jaithe is wrong?”

  Abbot turned to face Bourne, her fingers laced together.

  “The Naturals. They been here a long time. They know this land, these creatures. They have their own way of looking at things, their own reasons for doing what they do. We come here, banished from our home, seeking our spiritual salvation. Do we really know what that is? Maybe we oughta be bringing gifts to Okine, painting our bodies red and black, that sorta thing.”

  Abbot stepped towards Bourne, her nose nearly touching Bourne’s chin. “If you have the faith, those are not things to be thinking of.” She turned and walked towards the village center, leaving Bourne smirking at the entrance of the cave.

  Chapter 7

  The guards dragged the princess into the longhouse and placed her at the foot of the throne. The werowance looked down at his daughter, his eyes narrow and tight. The princess stared at his feet, not daring to make eye contact.

  “Speak.”

  “Father, I am so sorry. I throw myself at your feet and beg for your mercy.”

  The werowance sighed and dismissed the guards from the room. “You embarrassed me.”

  The princess stood and climbed the three steps to stand next to her father. “I had no choice. My dida showed me the significance of the one they call Jaithe. I could not let him die.”

  The werowance shook his head and held his arms out, palms outstretched.

  “Please, Father. What can I do to demonst
rate my obedience amongst your people?”

  The werowance rubbed his chin and opened his eyes wide. “One of the others must be delivered to Okine. That is the only way my subjects will respect my power and understand that insolent children do not run the kingdom.”

  The princess shrank, her shoulders caving into her chest. “But which one? How do I know which one to save?”

  “That is not my concern. You acted without thought to save Jaithe from our ceremony. I will deal with him when the time comes. As for the rest, I have no concern. You put a knife to a neck and now you must pull the blade across the throat.”

  The princess frowned and stomped down the steps of the platform. She collapsed to the floor, pounding it with both fists.

  “Young one, that may have been effective when your mother was alive and you were of a tender age. However, you will be taking a man soon, and that behavior will not bode well for your future.”

  The princess looked up at her father through tears. “May I consult the dida on my decision?”

  “You may speak to Okine himself, for all I care. However, on the next visit of the Sun God, one of the pales will be delivered to Okine for the sake of the kingdom.”

  “I am truly sorry, Father.”

  “I hope you are, Princess. Another outburst of youthful foolishness will put you in great jeopardy. Even I am bound to the natural law of the land.”

  The princess nodded, and kissed both feet of the werowance.

  “Guards,” he called out. Men with readied spears came into the longhouse and lifted the princess by her arms. “Gently. She is the heir.”

  The guards nodded and allowed the young girl to swat at them as she stood.

  “I know the way to my tent,” she replied.

  The guards stepped to the side and allowed her to exit. They closed ranks behind her and faced the werowance. The howling wind of the Dark Time shook the longhouse, whistling through cracks in the clapboards to do battle with the heat generated by the fire. The werowance put his head in his hand and motioned the guards closer. The flames in the fire pit swayed back and forth with each bluster of the wind.

  “I want her watched at all times. Stand spears at the cells of the prisoners. Any attempt to free them, by anyone but me, will be met with the blade. Should any of the pales disappear before the next visit of the Sun God, it will be you sent to Okine in their place.”

  The guards nodded and spun to exit the longhouse.

  “Wait,” said the werowance as the guards turned to face him. “If either of you place your eyes on my daughter in that manner again, I will feed them to the sows.”

  ***

  “What do they say?” Aiden asked.

  Jaithe held up one finger, his eyes forming slits and his mouth in an oval shape. The two guards looked at the men in the cell and turned their backs. They lowered their voices and hunched over an unseen item.

  “Well?”

  Jaithe exhaled and spit on the floor. “What little of their tongue I can detect is now hidden from our ears.”

  Kelsun looked at Aiden, his mouth in a full grimace.

  “Do you think she’ll return for us?” Anas asked.

  “Time will show its hand.”

  The men sat in a circle, their wrists and ankles bound with rawhide. The captors left a cup of water in one corner and a shallow bowl in another, covered by flies and the stench of excrement. The three earthen walls insulated the prisoners from conversations, weather, and daylight. The single open side looked out into the plaza through teeth of woven fibers. Although flexible and pliant, the green bars prevented escape without a hatchet or axe, neither of which could be found in the cell.

  “Why, after serving us as masters, do they throw us in this wretched hole?”

  Jaithe shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

  Kelsun arched his back and groaned as he moved his arms. The cramp subsided and he slid back into position, leaning against the far wall of the cell. He stared at Jaithe, waiting for the leader to deliver a proclamation that would set them free. Jaithe stared at the floor, his scraggly hair obscuring his face.

  “I will not die here,” Kelsun said. Anas and Aiden looked up, first at each other, and then at Jaithe.

  “None here desire that,” replied Jaithe.

  “Then we must devise a plan to gain our freedom.”

  Jaithe raised a shoulder to his nose, satisfying an itch. His hat tilted down to cover his forehead. “We are bound, in an earthen cell, guarded by two men with long spears.”

  Anas and Aiden paused, waiting for Kelsun’s response.

  “You know their tongue. Get them in here where we can pummel them and escape.”

  “With what? Our kind words? We are bound at the wrists and ankles, lest you forget.”

  “Is that what He wants? You sit there defeated, ready to burn for their profane Okine.”

  “I wait for nothing but an opportunity to follow the Ways. He will provide it. Your youthful exuberance is becoming a hindrance to our escape.”

  “Your lack of spirit will bring our death,” Kelsun spat through clenched teeth.

  Jaithe glared at him. The boy shrunk back and placed his head on his chest.

  “I apologize, sir. My painful cramps and desire to be back in the Commonwealth are clouding my judgment.”

  One of the guards stepped to the bars and motioned for Jaithe to approach. The man spoke with guttural barks and pitched whistles. He did not wait for a response and walked away. The men stared at Jaithe, none moving.

  “If I understand him correctly, the werowance is on his way. One of us is about to be sacrificed to Okine.”

  ***

  The four men stood around an ancient oak, fastened to their own trees with rawhide straps. The Naturals arrived, two and three at a time. The men wore nothing but black paint on their bodies. The women came naked save red paint on theirs. They formed a circle around the bound men, leaving the oak tree in its solitude within the ring. Squalls of blustery snow whistled through, swooping and diving like angry doves. The lingering scent of sandalwood cut through the dry, bitter air while steamy puffs emanated from the mouths of men.

  The werowance arrived carried by a litter of six. He wore the ceremonial headdress and white paint. Silence filled his wake as villagers crowded around the captives, careful not to cross the invisible boundary around the oak tree.

  Jaithe opened his eyes, blinking through the ice crystals that had formed on his lashes. He looked at the oak and the meandering wounds cut in the bark. The deep, bruised stain of blood discolored the tree from its base to a height of six feet. He looked at the other three, secured to their own trees and transfixed by the visual spectacle.

  The litter stopped at the edge of the path and lowered the werowance to the ground. From the east, the princess arrived on foot, surrounded on all sides by maidens. The escorts dropped rose petals on the ground behind the princess, appearing as voluminous drops of blood on the pristine snowpack.

  From the west, the sound of a lone drum penetrated the chill. The reverberation of the skin bounced through the barren trees, growing closer with each strike. Jaithe made eye contact with the princess and watched a glistening tear drop from her cheek, pulling a flesh-toned streak down her otherwise white face. She wore flowing robes of bright red cloth that pulsed with the winter wind. Black hair sat atop her head with wild wisps dancing on bare shoulders like snakes. Her eyes sat behind black outlines that met at the corners and finished with an arrow above each ear. Jaithe held his breath.

  “Do something, Uncle.”

  The voice snapped Jaithe’s head to the side and yanked him from the visual grip of the princess. The other two men lifted their heads but could not hear the words spoken by Kelsun.

  “His Ways reveal themselves through the most dire situations.”

  Kelsun huffed and struggled against binds that would not loosen. “One of us will die,” he said.

  “So be it,” replied Jaithe.

  The princes
s took her place to the right of the werowance, looking up into his face. The chief held her gaze for a moment and then turned to address his people. He spoke in their tongue, too fast for Jaithe to understand.

  Three men stepped through the crowd and took their places next to the massive oak in the center of the circle. Their black bodies appeared as shadows from a nightmare. After another command from the werowance, each man removed a white object from his hair and held it towards the sky.

  “What are those?” whispered Kelsun.

  Jaithe squinted through the whipping snow, but had no answer.

  The three men stood like ghostly statues on a pedestal of snow. The werowance motioned for the princess to step forward. The women hid their eyes from her, and the men fell victim to her sway. The first curves of womanhood held the robes loosely on her hips, and her eyes glittered with youth, determination, and rebellion. She placed a hand next to her mouth, delivering a message to the werowance. He replied by shaking his head, denying whatever request she had made.

  A maiden handed the princess a necklace. Strung together with sinewy strands of pink laces, the necklace consisted of white bone. A steady hand had carved each bone in the shape of a skull, hollowing out the eyes. The mouth of each piece sat ajar in an eternal scream. The villagers averted their eyes from the necklace and wailed in sadness at its sight.

  The princess held the hideous artifact with a slender hand of pearly white skin and refined fingers, the contrast striking in its frame. She appeared to glide across the snow and stopped in front of the four men bound to the trees. She looked at Jaithe, Kelsun, Aiden, and then Anas. Her gaze held the last the longest. The drumming ceased, as did all noise save the whistling wind of the Dark Time. The princess raised the necklace, her lips sealed and tight. She placed it over Anas’ head, and it came to rest on his chest. When the princess stepped back, shouts and laments erupted from the villagers. Mothers swaddled their children, hiding their eyes from the spectacle. The werowance nodded, and the princess came back to his side. Her head dropped and the black snakes of hair dangled about.

  Jaithe and Kelsun looked at each other as Anas realized his fate. He began to cry, wail, and plead for his life.