Box of Runes An Epic Fantasy Collection

by J. Thorn

  “Who are you?”

  Laughter echoed through the air and across the dead landscape of open sea. “Come now, cousin.”

  “I cannot see you.” Kelsun spun on his heels, still unable to place the words to a face.

  “You have paid no recompense to the Naturals, and the amulet will provide no quarter from Okine.”

  Kelsun shivered and shook his head. When he scampered back into the middle of the raft, he saw her at the end. Rayna sat cross-legged with a white skirt over her knees and spread out on the deck. Her pale skin reflected that of the Moon Goddess, except where a silver fabric covered her breasts. Kelsun’s eyes fixated on her dark nipples before looking away.

  “You do not recognize me?” she asked.

  “I cannot endorse the lack of decency you demonstrate,” he replied.

  Rayna laughed, and her long hair fell about her head. Her eyes lit and pulsed between a deep emerald green and pale quartz. Kelsun could detect the aroma of womanhood on her and felt his own manly stirrings.

  “Those customs do not apply here,” she said.

  “Send me back.”

  “Back where?”

  “To the cave.”

  “You’ve not departed, young Kelsun. Your form sits there this very moment.”

  Kelsun reached his hand over the side of the raft and dipped it into the calm, warm waters below. His arm rose with a handful of wet soil from the floor of the cave. He shook his head and tossed the dirt into the lolling waves, where it fanned out and caressed the surface with a hiss. He shoved his hand down again and surfaced with another handful.

  “Does that mean you are there as well?” he asked.

  “On a level,” she replied.

  Kelsun reached for the amulet sitting on his chest. The warmth of it made his skin itch.

  “Leave it for a spell,” Rayna said.

  Kelsun grasped the amulet, which began to vibrate in his palm. He looked Rayna in the eyes before nodding to her.

  “You must slay him,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “Master.”

  “Jaithe? Your father?”

  Rayna’s mouth closed as she nodded in affirmation.

  “Why would I slay my uncle, the man who has carried the burden of raising me like one of his own?”

  Engrossed in the conversation, Kelsun did not notice the swelling size of the Moon Goddess. She dipped down and surrounded Rayna, bathing her in white light and masking her features into a black silhouette. A soundless flash froze Kelsun and forced his eyes shut. When they opened, he sat on the floor of the cave with the torch extinguished and the amulet clutched in his sweaty palm.

  ***

  “Grab ’er another bottle,” said Captain Russell, slapping the creamy thigh of the woman to his right. She twirled a strand of hair on her finger before sliding her other hand towards his crotch.

  “The stores run light, Captain,” said Sicklemore.

  “Then you best find a Natural to brew the mead.”

  The soldiers and young women cackled, knocking their steins together in tearful laughter. Sicklemore shook his head and tossed the Captain a green glass bottle. The floorboards, soaked with the ale of past gatherings, filled the air with a musty scent.

  “A syrupy molasses of the islands. Should knock the rest of the sense out of your head.”

  “Are ya worried you’ll pass without so much as a rubbin’?” the captain asked.

  “I don’t need ya looking after me, dolly,” replied Sicklemore.

  He spread a map on the table, pushing the edges down with his palms. The slurred speech of one of the she-devils sprayed into the air, and Sicklemore brought a hand to her face with a quick slap.

  “If you put another mark on my work I’ll knock your teeth down your throat.”

  The woman rubbed the red spot on her face and stuck her tongue out at Sicklemore.

  “What is it, mapmaker? What nugget of discovery must you bring to me now, in the midst of these fine ladies?”

  “I believe the caves travel through the mountain and reappear on the other side.”

  The captain stared at Sicklemore with bloodshot eyes. He froze except for a line of drool hanging from his chin. Without provocation, he threw his head back in galloping laughter.

  “Fuck all,” he said between fits of ragged coughs.

  “The Naturals?” Sicklemore raised his tone and his eyebrows with the two words.

  “Yeah?”

  “What if they come through the caves and fall on us at the darkest hour? Should we not navigate, draw, and impede any progress through the mountain?”

  The captain swatted the air with one hand while the other dipped low, spilling more of the dark liquor from his mug. Sicklemore rolled his map and shoved it into a satchel before he stood, placed both hands under the table, and flipped it into the air. Coins, mugs, and arches of various ales vaulted up and returned crashing onto the deck of the captain’s quarters. The women shrieked and dropped out of their wet coverings, while the captain’s guards facilitated their movements. A flush of red filled Russell’s face, and he clenched his fists at his sides. Sicklemore stood in place, his chest heaving.

  “Gonna give ya a start before I knock the cobwebs from yer noggin.”

  Sicklemore straightened his back and looked at the floor. He pushed a chair from between them and stepped in front of the captain, inhaling his rotten breath tainted with the aroma of sweet brew. He forced a belch back into his throat.

  “I suspect that the Commonwealth may be securing more than they’re reporting to the company. That, or they may be selling such goods to the Naturals through those tunnels.”

  The captain straightened and cocked his head to one side. He dropped his stein to the floor, his nose a hair from Sicklemore’s.

  “What evidence have you with regard to such behavior?” he asked.

  “I’d rather reveal it to your naked eyes,” replied Sicklemore.

  Chapter 17

  Jaithe placed his arm around Shella. It felt like a monolithic hug, but she held fast, keeping her eyes focused on the kettle. Turnips bobbed in the rusty water that masqueraded as soup.

  “We must,” he said.

  Shella looked at the red stains on the earth where the twins had once slept. She fixed her head-covering and nodded to Brinton.

  “Fetch as much water as you can from the well.”

  “But, Mother, the ice prevents us from hauling the pail.”

  Shella glared at Brinton until he grabbed the bucket from her hand and trudged towards the opening of the cave.

  “You would abandon her, like a dog?”

  Jaithe bristled and stepped back. “She is my daughter, too,” he replied.

  Shella shrugged and fought the hitch rising in her chest. With the edge of her apron, she dabbed the corner of each eye with the precision of a watchmaker.

  “Have you scouted the region? I can’t say the people of the Commonwealth would be in good standing with the Naturals.”

  “No. No, they are not. But I believe I can reach those closest to the werowance. I think they would help us.”

  Shella screamed and threw the wooden spoon at the wall. It bounced off the cave and fell in the gray dirt.

  “Those creatures took the souls of our children and could be doing vile things to our eldest child. But you think they would help us because you happened to smoke with their leader.”

  Shella shook her head and fell into Jaithe’s arms. She reached up, slapped his face, and then buried her head in his chest.

  “I can take Kelsun over the range and inland, up the river. We can see what it has to offer and then come back and discuss it. We can’t keep living like animals in caves, and I’m wary of the newcomers.”

  Shella lifted her swollen face and looked Jaithe in the eye. “Speak to me.”

  He paused and guided her down to a chair with both arms, then grabbed another chair and sat facing her. “I have spoken with the captain. He keeps his motives hidden, bu
t he is not wise enough to conceal them entirely.”

  Shella gasped as she snapped to face the entrance to the cave. She quivered and moaned before running towards the black hole leading into the mountain. Jaithe grabbed her arm and kept her from fleeing.

  “It is not the Naturals,” he said.

  “Good day.” The voice emanating from the middle of the dark silhouette cut through the haze in the cave.

  “Welcome,” said Jaithe, standing in front of Shella.

  The man stepped into the cave and out of the blinding light of the snow-covered land. He brushed piles of the powder from his shoulders and the brim of his hat. A chain dangled from his hip, connected to a copper watch. He pulled black gloves up at the wrist and appeared to shiver in the process. His facial hair remained in place even through the howling wind. Jaithe noticed the silver tips on his boots and absence of a sheathe on his hip.

  “Pardon my rude introduction, but I am not trained in the etiquette of such a circumstance as this.”

  Burton Ford extended his right hand towards Jaithe while his left tipped the brim of his hat to Shella. Jaithe reached out, his hand streaked with dirt and nails encrusted with dried blood.

  “Master Edward Jaithe, head of the council of the Commonwealth.”

  “Sir Burton Ford, of Hevonshire.”

  Jaithe cocked his head as if straining to hear Ford before a smile lit his face. “Why, yes. I say I’ve met fellows from there before. They tend to be quite fond of life’s delicacies.”

  Ford bowed slightly with one eyebrow raised.

  “And I am his wife, Shella.” She extended her arm. Ford turned his palm up and allowed her to place her hand in his. He applied a slight pressure with his thumb and forefinger, bringing her hand to his lips. Shella felt Ford’s warm breath as he kissed the back of her hand before turning back to Jaithe.

  “What brings a gentleman from Hevonshire to my meager domicile?”

  “May I?” asked Ford. He gestured towards a chair leaning against the wall of the cave.

  Shella sprang into action, shaken from Ford’s charm. She leapt at the chair and slid it near him. With another spin she pulled two chairs to face his, near the paltry warmth of the dying embers. “The manners of the civilized tarnish in this new place, much like the shine on our copper pots,” she said.

  Ford smiled at Jaithe, one corner of his mouth sliding lower as his eyes narrowed. Jaithe stared at the man, struggling to find a scar or imperfection on his complexion.

  “You speak like a man of the Word, one who has spent time caressing the meaning from it,” Ford said.

  Jaithe smiled back. “I have,” was all he said.

  Shella stood again, first facing the entrance to the cave and then turning back to the fire. “I must offer my most deepest apologies, Sir Ford—”

  “Burton. Call me Burton.”

  “Ah, yes, alright. As I mentioned, Master Ford, we’ve been taken with downturned sorrows over the events of the past few days and have yet to properly mourn our losses.”

  Burton stood and pushed the chair back. “How rude of me to have imposed on you and your family in such times of dire circumstance. I shall return to the vessel and await a more proper invitation.”

  Jaithe shook his head and waved at the chair. “This is as proper as folk can be in the Commonwealth. Please stay, Burton. May I offer you an herb?”

  Burton crouched over the chair and peered at Shella. “I suppose if I am following local customs, then I should be persuaded to indulge you.”

  Shella fled deeper into the cave amidst the sound of clanging pots. Burton chuckled and sat, accepting the pipe from Jaithe. The burning herb blanketed the dank cave with a heady aroma and pleasant atmosphere.

  “She has not yet gained hold of her heart.”

  “My deepest,” whispered Burton, bowing forwards as far as he could in the chair.

  “Our twins. Both young, but sickly. The Naturals spared not the infirm. They dragged my eldest daughter from here and we have not heard of her predicament.” Jaithe looked over his shoulder towards where he thought Shella had sat, no doubt suffocating her sorrowful sounds.

  “Will she see through it?” Burton asked, following Jaithe’s eyes.

  Jaithe shrugged and shook his head, running a hand over his curly beard. “You did not see seek me out to inquire of the state of my wife, I can assume?”

  “Sir, I meant not to attack your tattered family at its lowest point. I shall take my leave.”

  Jaithe slapped his hand on Burton’s shoulders, digging his fingers into the tightly woven wool overcoat. He pushed Burton back down into the chair. Burton whimpered as the rickety seat bit into his flesh. He looked at Jaithe like a scolded dog.

  “I am a man searching for the Ways, here in the Commonwealth, to do right by Him. But do not mistake that nature for one of compliance, ignorance, or inexperience. I need not share my exploits with you, Sir Burton Ford.”

  “No, I suppose you need not,” Burton stammered.

  “There is no question that I suspect the vile captain’s eyes light at the sight of the golden coin. I suspect yours do as well, but that you are not as foolish to hide your desire from those who can see through it.”

  Burton opened his mouth to reply before choking off the words. His eyes drifted up to the inky blackness of the cave before he responded to Jaithe. “I mean you no ill will. While it is true that I did not seek you out to harm your already broken family, it is also true that I am a man who has done well through the management of risky ventures, this happening to be just such an experiment.”

  “I’m seeking the Ways.”

  “With the funding of the company.”

  Jaithe paused and emptied his pipe over the fire. “My son and I must leave again soon in hopes of finding my daughter. If you came here to say something, Sir Ford, say it.”

  Burton sighed and took a final drag of smoke. He handed the pipe back to Jaithe and brushed the gray ash from his dark wool coat. He straightened his hat and pulled his gloves taught on his fingers. “Perhaps we can speak again, Master Jaithe, at a time and place that is more appropriate to your situation.”

  Jaithe waited.

  “Maybe you’ll be more disposed to discuss the captain’s motives to remove you from the council and his plans on using the Commonwealth to subvert the Ways for the religion of commerce. I can see that you are much too fatigued to speak on this now.”

  Jaithe watched Burton walk out of the cave. He shook his head and packed another pipe of herb.

  ***

  “We be whipped for tryin’ this foolishness.”

  “I ain’t about to stick in that stinkin’ hold another minute. The captain says we’re staying and they cleared out all the heathens. Won’t be but a proclamation away from chasing down our own plot.”

  “We ain’t nuthin’ but servant maids, owning nuthin’ but our own misery.”

  Patience smiled as her eyebrows dropped to a V. She licked her lips and snickered. “The men won’t waste no time waiting to get up these here knickers.” She grabbed the bottom of her filthy skirt and flashed Vera a glimpse of her undergarments.

  “If they don’t stone us first for gettin’ off the vessel without thems sayin’ so.”

  “I’ll take care of us. Won’t be doing no harm when I fix ’em with a whiff of me pewter.”

  Vera hitched her skirt up past the ankles in order to step over the frozen bundle of logs at her feet. She glanced over a shoulder at the vessel sitting on the beachhead, a dark stain on the otherwise white canvas. Patience took three steps ahead and turned to wait for her.

  “You know where you’re heading?” Vera asked.

  “Got me a sneaky at the workings of the weasel, apprentice to the map man.”

  “Sicklemore?”

  “That’s him. Little man and his spectacles, shifting eyes like a rat.”

  Patience reached the summit of the first hill and placed her hands on her hips. She drew in the dry air, burning her lungs like
daggers of ice. Her heart raced in her chest and thumped in her ears. She waited for Vera before turning to face the unknown lands.

  “The filthy bastards look like ants from here,” said Vera.

  “Look what we got the other way,” replied Patience.

  The gray sky met the barren mountaintop in a mix of brown fingers clawing their way out of the frozen earth. The trees kicked up several crows that flirted with the horizon before settling back to the ground. The hills rumbled back as far as they could see with the river valley cutting through the ancient mountains. The women hugged each other.

  “Land, as far as His hand can reach,” said Vera.

  “Or as much as the company can license,” replied Patience.

  The women skipped through the snow, not bothering to feel the effects on their frozen extremities. They followed the gurgling of the river as it passed under sheets of thin ice. At the edge, Vera paused to scoop the frigid liquid into her hand. The coldness numbed her lips as it burned her throat.

  “No more worms in the drinkin’ pail,” said Patience as she watched Vera slop three more handfuls into her mouth. Patience placed a hand over her eyes and looked skyward. “Could be mid-afternoon, could be mid-morning. Hard to tell in the Dark Time.”

  “They gonna string our hides if we turn up gone from the boat.”

  “We already past the beatin’s. Best we stay our course.”

  Vera shrieked. “You filthy liar! I knew we was gonna pay for slippin’ past the capem.”

  Patience giggled and blew kisses at Vera. “Ain’t like you was comin’ if I said otherwise, now would ya?”

  The sound of a snapping branch punctuated the air and forced Patience and Vera to inhale. Vera stepped next to Patience and looked up into her face.

  “Reckon the trees make all kinds of noises when the ice be layin’ on ‘em,” Patience said. She placed her hand over Vera’s mouth, muffling the next string of syllables pouring over her lips. She saw the blur of grayscale before Vera could. The fur towards the back of the wolf’s neck stood up in angry spikes. His yellow eyes punctuated the whiteness of the barren forest. A growl rumbled from his snout and grew in volume as his feet silently padded the snow pack. The feral scent of territorial markings hung on the air.