Box of Runes An Epic Fantasy Collection
Page 55
“Close your eyes, Kelsun. See the vision and listen to my voice.”
Kelsun followed the instructions. He felt nothing but the chilling, wet air rotting his bones from the inside out. He saw nothing but the black vortex of despair that greeted him when his body could no longer sustain consciousness. He heard nothing but the constant, belligerent drip of water in the cavern and its ominous reverberations.
“What is about to be revealed cannot be purged from your mind.”
Kelsun nodded, eyes still closed.
A blinding flash filled his vision. He squinted, as if his closed eyelids were still open. When the soundless burst subsided, he floated down from the treetops, high above the forest. A cramped cottage sat below, a spiraling thread of smoke twirling up from the chimney.
Kelsun recognized his father in the distance. The man checked traps and removed game that would serve as the nightly meal. From his vantage point, he thought his father stood a half-day’s hike from the cottage.
The force brought him low, eyes level with the single window at the back of the cottage. He heard muffled moanings and thrashings, like those during the birth of an animal. He smelled cooking onions and wet hay. The oily, black glass cleared as if wiped by an unseen hand. Two people sat on the floor facing each other. Without seeing her face, Kelsun recognized his long-dead mother. His head turned to face the other, a man of virile age and build. The beard had not yet reached his chest or turned the color of thunderheads, but Kelsun knew him to be Jaithe. His mother’s hand came up and then pulled his mouth to hers. Kelsun watched as the kiss turned into an embrace while the motion of the two became unified.
“Enough,” said Kelsun. “I’ve seen the truth, what you intended for me to see.”
The blinding flash returned, followed by darkness. When Kelsun opened his eyes, he was back in the cavern. It took him several moments before he realized that the chains no longer chilled his flesh or rubbed it raw. The bindings no longer held him to the dripping wall of sorrow.
“He is my father.”
“There is more.”
Kelsun closed his eyes. He dropped his arms into his lap, bringing a heavenly comfort he had not felt for a very long time. The blinding flash returned to deliver him to the other revelation.
Dark red blood congealed on the floorboards, the spaces between not wide enough to let it pass through. His father’s boot twitched two, three times before falling silent. Kelsun’s mother lay face down, her body untouched from the neck down, her head gone entirely. He whimpered, seeing the scene through the eyes of his younger self, no longer provided the comfort of observation from the outside. The door burst open with the silhouette of a man. Jaithe’s boots marched across the floor and faced the bed under which Kelsun hid. He held his breath, waiting for Jaithe to pull him from his hiding spot and protect him from further attack. Instead, the boots remained, unmoving and silent. Droplets bounced off the toes of the black leather and dribbled down the sides to mix with the blood.
A scream broke the silence, followed by an exchange.
“You cannot, Jaithe.”
“It is the most honorable, and should set things to be as they should.”
“One dishonorable act does not cleanse the previous one.” Kelsun recognized Shella’s voice behind the wavering wall of emotion.
“We cannot take the bastard as ours,” Jaithe said.
“He is ours.”
“No. He belongs to the evil passion of a moment’s weakness.”
“Your weakness.” The crack of a hand on skin preceded the stifled cry from Shella’s lips. “If you kill him, you must kill me also,” she said.
The boots turned and faced the door. Kelsun watched them walk through the blood and out of the cottage. The blinding light flashed, bringing Kelsun back to the cave. The pinpoint of light left, taking the evil eye with it.
“There is no more,” said the voice.
“What use is there in the revelation if I am kept in this cage, like a beast waiting to pounce on its owner?”
“Jaithe is not your enemy. He has raised you like a son.”
“A father often puts the blade to his son’s neck?”
“It was not the work of Jaithe, but of something much greater.”
Kelsun paused and scratched his face. He relished the sharp fingernails on his skin. “Something evil,” he replied.
“One might say.”
The voice came from nowhere, and yet it came from everywhere. It fluctuated between the low rumble of a man’s vocal cords and the high flutter of a woman’s. Kelsun felt the weight of the revelation upon his chest, forcing an uncomfortable pressure like the confinement of a coffin on the living. He tried three times to say the words, but they would not leave his lips.
“You must speak it to be released. You must speak the truth.”
Kelsun cried and shook his head like a child reprimanded. He gurgled the word “no” over and over. It spilled from his lips with pain and regret. “I cannot.”
“The truth cannot be suppressed. You will speak it or die with the words on your tongue.”
Kelsun fought for his emotions, holding his hitching chest silent until the next violent spasm racked his body. He flailed his arms and beat the walls with his fists. They bounced off the slick surface with the oozing moisture of the cave.
“The Ways,” he said, pushing the words out with all his power.
“Yes?” asked the voice. It urged him forward, to speak what had to be spoken.
“Jaithe would’ve killed me to protect the Ways. A power like His would not have let my parents die, would not have put me in this living hell.”
Kelsun felt the ethereal nod of the voice.
“The Ways are my enemy. I must reveal His fallacies, the myth of faith, and keep it from leaving the Commonwealth.”
***
Kelsun stumbled through the darkness, scraping his arms against the sharp cut of rock. He kept moving upward, away from the center of the mountain that threatened to keep him buried forever. The exertion pulled sweat from his pores that chilled his skin in the frigid air. His feet ached, and the dirt rubbed the wounds like salt.
He stopped and leaned against a stalagmite jutting from the floor like a crooked arm. Kelsun hugged the feature and wiped his face, sending sweat into his eyes like acid. The faint echo of the voice faded the farther he moved from the cavern. It had sung a haunting song that threatened to break his spirit. The chanting had repeated and pulsed until he moved far enough into the tunnel to outdistance it.
The iron bands remained on his ankles and wrists, but the links of rusted iron chaffed his skin like a nagging cough. Tattered britches dangled above his shins, and his shirt had disappeared at some point during the ordeal.
Kelsun stumbled through the water-carved passages, pushed forwards by an unseen force and a desire to live. He stopped and placed his face against a wall, where cold water ran in streams down the algae-covered rock. His tongue thrust out and licked at the droplets that stung his cracked lips before squeezing them down a swollen throat. The liquid brought a shock as Kelsun felt it travel into his stomach.
The ground came up fast and collided with Kelsun’s head as he lost consciousness. The impact caused a brief moment of pain and flash of light before total darkness surrounded the young man.
A light tapping on Kelsun’s shoulder shook him from the hazy sleep. He smiled, as if his mother had come to his straw bed to rouse him for the morning duties.
“Yeah, Mama,” he said, slurred and slow.
“Drink.”
A brown hand placed a bowl to Kelsun’s lips. He turned his head sideways and felt the presence of another, but could not see it.
“Who are you?” Kelsun asked.
“Later, later,” was all it said.
***
The fur felt foreign on his face, musky and comforting over the rest of his body. A lazy fire burned to his right, and a figure sat hunched on a rock, its back to him and the flames. He rubbed an eyebr
ow and looked at the greasy salve on his hand, put there to stop the flow of blood from a wound. Kelsun attempted to swallow with a throat full of cotton. The iron bands remained on his wrists, but the chain links did not.
A long, braided band of hair swayed on the back of the figure by the fire. The black twist fell on dark skins, mottled and stained by unknown substances. The head turned, and Kelsun saw the profile of a young man, a Natural.
“Where are we?” Kelsun asked.
“The heart of the mountain, the den of Okine.”
Kelsun sat, and the fire bobbed up and down in front of his eyes. The cave swirled and dipped, forcing him to place his hands on his temples and attempt to stop the perceived motion.
“The result of the fall. The motion may stay for many passes of the Moon Goddess.”
“You speak with a clear tongue.”
“You’d expect me to grunt, perhaps holler.” The boy let out a whooping chant that echoed off the cavern walls and nearly split Kelsun’s skull.
He jammed both hands over his ears and shook his head. “Insulting you was not my intention.”
“Nor bringing you pain mine.”
“Can I ask where you learned the word of the Commonwealth?”
“No.”
Kelsun sighed as the cave stopped swerving. He held his head as tightly as possible to prevent it from happening again. He saw a satchel at his feet and a fire with a black pot on it. Smoke left in a lazy line up and out into the tunnel. The alcove buffeted them against the foul breath of the mountain as it exhaled upwards towards the surface.
“I imagine you have reasons for not splitting my skull.”
“Imagine anything you like.”
Kelsun threw the fur from his body and stumbled as he attempted to climb to his feet. The flame of the fire rushed to meet his face before the brown hands pushed him to the side. He fell into the wall of the alcove and felt a sharp rock in his ribs like a well-delivered punch.
“Lay down and get your rest. Next time you want to stand, I’ll let you broil yourself.”
Kelsun winced and nodded. He saw the boy’s face clearly for the first time. His black eyes sat under two sloping eyebrows. They blazed with the determination and complexity of the crow. His black hair shone in the firelight, glancing beams turning silver in the reflection. The boy wore a piercing through his bottom lip, protruding with a tiny arrowhead on the end. Discs of silver sat within his earlobes, and a black fabric covered most of his forehead. The boy stared at Kelsun like one rescuing a stray, repulsed and yet empathetic.
“I am Kelsun.”
“I know who you are, son of Jaithe. He is master of the council, werowance of the Commonwealth.”
“Then our acquaintance is one sided, it appears.”
The Natural sighed and shoved the blade of his dagger into the ground. He set the piece of wood on a rock with a promise to finish his whittling when the interruptions subsided.
“Samada.”
Kelsun shoved a hand out to Samada from under the hide and held it in the air, quivering with the last of his energy. The Natural looked at it and remained stoic, still.
“My uncle says you learn a lot about a man by his grip.”
“My people say you get to know a man by observing his actions and ignoring his words.”
“Why don’t you plunge your knife into my chest?”
Samada stared, his black eyes squinting in the dim light of the fire. “I pulled you from the grip of Okine as the obligation our kind demands. We have laws.”
“I know not of the laws you speak, unless they belong to the Commonwealth.”
“There is much the pales know not.”
“Can we start with the path out of the bowels of the mountain?”
Samada roared and grabbed the hilt of the dagger. He placed it on Kelsun’s throat in one fluid motion. The cold blade pressed against his flesh. “We can start with thanks to the mountain, for the safety it brings in times of the invasion.”
Kelsun nodded and raised his palms to Samada. “Fair enough. No more slander of the caverns.”
“When you have risen on your own, and with purpose, my obligation ends. Sleep and pray to your god that Okine does not thirst for your blood before you wake.”
“Will you lead me out, back to the Commonwealth?”
Samada’s face twisted as if tortured by unseen hands. He threw his dagger to the dirt and cursed with breathy, punctuated syllables. “My obligation binds me to such, should you so desire it.”
Kelsun smiled and leaned back. He placed his hands under his head and then winced where they touched the open wound. “I would very much like to see the Sun God again as it rises over the Commonwealth.”
Samada had already turned, his knife fluttering over the chunk of wood in artistic fury.
***
“She ain’t said nuthin’ ‘bout hawkin’ Shella.”
“Now ain’t the time to be wastin’ on talk of ethics.”
“She’s a good woman, and ya know it.”
“She’s his wife, makin’ her as guilty as him, in my book.”
“Maybe yer book ain’t worth the parchment it’s printed on.”
Bourne slapped Abbot across the face, leaving a red welt on her cheek and a tear dripping from one eye.
“You think Patience will be deliverin’ the blows, ya keep on barbin’ me with yer words and see how many teeth they be findin’ when we’re done.”
Abbot shook her head and rubbed the side of her face. “Fine. Where she at?”
“Gittin’ the day’s water. Follow me.”
The women flitted through the growing throng in the village center. As the cycle of the Dark Time passed through the Phase of Janus, the Sun God reappeared. Golden, glowing swaths of light reflected off the melting snow with an orange hue. The clouds deserted a powder-blue sky. While the Season of Life remained on the distant horizon, the light gave hope to the cave-dwellers and scabble alike. Women conversed on the avenue as children chased each other for scraps of corn, now molded and infested with worms. The pungent tang of human waste concealed in the snow hid from the eyes but not from the nostrils.
Bourne saw Shella at the well first and stopped to wait for Abbot. She hurried her with an arm like a bride fetching a preacher.
“We’s gonna greet her. That’s all. Need to make sure another ‘riginal or one of the scabbleheads sees us doin’ as much. Understood?”
Abbot nodded, and the women walked towards the well. Their dresses dragged about the ankles, becoming caked with the mud and slush of the village commons.
“Greetin’s of the day,” said Bourne.
“And to you,” Shella replied. She made eye contact with the women but kept her head and hands on the crank as the frayed rope drew the pail closer to the surface.
“Mable sayin’ that the well ain’t got no chance of freezin’ anymore, least till next year.”
“That should comfort us all.”
Abbot giggled and placed her hand over her mouth as if her tongue had come loose. Bourne glared at Abbot with slits for eyes. Two other women stood behind Shella, waiting to draw water for their families.
“Comfortin’ be what we all needin’ at this time. Wouldn’t ya say?” Bourne asked.
“I wouldn’t say anything that does not need to be said,” replied Shella.
Bourne smiled and threw her chin towards the women behind Shella. “Well, I mustn’t be keepin’ yer attention off the pail. Don’t want thirsty scabble runnin’ around, fetchin’ ale instead.”
The women behind Shella laughed. Shella looked over her shoulder and smiled at Bourne. Abbot followed Bourne’s lead away from the well and behind a copse of trees at the base of the trail to the caves.
“What be the reason for that exchange?” Abbot asked.
“I don’t got the King’s time nor the company’s gold to ‘splain everything in words that’ll sink through yer thick head.”
“Ain’t too thick to recognize my one of ten.”
“Don’t see it callin’ for nuthin’ it don’t need callin’ for.”
Bourne nodded and let Abbot go. Both women straightened their head-coverings and aprons.
“Go on,” said Abbot.
“Had to have us seen with Shella whilst another be dealin’.”
“Patience?”
Bourne nodded with a grin, like a cat with the mouse’s tail dangling from her lips.
“You trustin’ her with yer take?”
“Our take,” said Bourne, stretching the first word like wet clay.
“How you reckon’ she won’t skim ours?”
“Cause we just been seen talkin’ to Shella.” Bourne tapped the side of her head with a finger.
***
Patience whistled in the cave, enjoying the return on the melody like the songbirds of the new season. She paused to pick up an item, examine it, and return it to its place. She’s a tidy homemaker, if nuthin’ else, she thought.
Patience sat on a rickety chair and leaned against the cave wall. The wood creaked and scratched under the weight. She could not believe how easy it had been. She would have to pay off the two wenches, but there was still time to take the weaker one out and keep her share. For now, the task at hand was simple and direct.
She stood and walked towards a bedroll against the wall. Patience drew a nugget of stone from under her dress. It glistened and dazzled in the bright rays of the afternoon sun, throwing points of light on the dreary gray walls of the cave. She bent down low, forced to bend at the knees to get close enough to the ground. Patience pulled the corner of the bedroll back and smelled the musky scent of man, of Jaithe. She moved to the next roll, one with a ribbon fixed to the top.
Gotta be hers, she thought.
Patience slipped the nugget of gold into the bed roll and stood. She skipped through the cave like a happy rhino. Pots and pans clanged as her skirt knocked them to the ground. She stopped at the entrance to the cave and looked at the scabble running about the commons like ants. Patience narrowed her eyes and identified Abbot and Bourne at the well. The third figure had to be Shella. She decided she would let Toman have his way with her tonight as a celebratory gesture. She might even let him put it in her other hole.