by J. Thorn
“Why, of course, Captain. Would be a rape of lady justice should Deale be corruptin’.”
“I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout Deale, Toman.”
“No, Captain, neither was I. I doubt any corruptin’ will come to light and believe that justice will prevail through the dark night.”
The captain stood and walked out of the pub, leaving Toman coughing through ragged breaths.
***
“They gonna find out, bitch.”
Abbot stirred the cauldron and placed her head above the simmering surface. The soup looked black in the iron pot, with two potatoes surfacing like the tips of icebergs in the north sea. She closed her eyes and inhaled. “Can’t wait till the Season of Life be bringin’ the green back to the meals.”
Bourne stalked towards Abbot and pushed her from the fire, knocking her back into the wall of the cave. “I can’t believe I let that whore talk us into that. Someone woulda seen us.”
Abbot and Bourne stopped as the sound of swishing garments filled the cave. Patience walked in, smiling and turning her head sideways in the darkness.
“Evening,” she said.
“What you want?” asked Bourne.
Patience slapped her across the face and brought up her other hand when she noticed the glint off of the polished steel.
“If the hogs that call themselves men in this Commonwealth can speak without blows, surely the more comely forms can do the same,” Abbot said.
Patience laughed and spat, waiting for Abbot to drop the dagger. She did not. “Surely they can,” said Patience.
Abbot slid the dagger under her dress, sheathed in a concealed position and out of sight. Bourne rubbed her face and leered at Patience, baring her teeth like a hungry wolf.
“There’s concern over the Justice.”
“They be usin’ the laws of the old books, Patience. Ain’t no worry on that.”
“No, you stupid slit, I’m talkin’ ‘bout the Justice, the man presidin’.”
Patience rolled her eyes at Bourne as if another slap might increase her intelligence, or would at least be worth the experiment.
“Who is it?” asked Abbot. She glanced at the cauldron, where shiny bubbles of liquid shot over the side and sizzled on the low fire.
“Man named Deale. Newcomer, but not scabble. The man’s worked the bench before comin’ ‘cross the Great Sea.”
“Of corruption?”
“First indicators are no, but that ain’t been coupled with the tantalizin’ prospect of the furry valley.”
Abbot placed a hand over her mouth, disgusted with Patience’s description as one might be offended by an untimely discharge of gas.
“Not mine, you sorry, lonely widow. I’m talkin’ you, with yer pouty lips that can make a man forget yer hands are in his pocket while they be wrapped around his dirry.”
Abbot’s face contorted. She grimaced, and her eyes opened as if she was trying to keep the contents of her stomach from surfacing.
Bourne giggled and shook her head. “And don’t we all know how much she be needin’ the split.”
Patience and Bourne giggled, their hatred for each other quelled by the common target of derision.
“I’ll hear of no more libel of my man’s name,” Abbot said.
“Yer man be dead and gone.”
Abbot stood and tended to the chore. She turned her back to Bourne and Patience, watching tears fall into the soup, forever consumed and hidden by the cauldron.
Patience swatted at the air and turned to face Bourne. “I’ll let ya talk ’er into spreadin’ ’em for Deale, should that chance arise. With his wife back across the sea, I can’t see him turnin’ down anything, even a cold, dead fish like that one.” She thumbed at Abbot.
“Supposin’ the creek bed done all dried up on her. Supposin’ she can’t manage to git his dirry in ’er mouth. Then what?” Bourne asked.
Patience stood and shrugged, feigning no answer while the card remained tucked up her sleeve. “Then we let Lady Justice follow her course in the trial, lettin’ the members of the Commonwealth deliver a guilty verdict to the wife of their head of council. Certain that one piece of rock discovered durin’ the search’ll be ‘nough to do that. Aren’t you?”
Patience left Bourne on the chair with her mouth agape, while Abbot continued stirring the cauldron, knocking the potatoes around with the blunt edge of the ladle.
***
Sicklemore opened his eyes and looked at a sideways version of the world. The view shook as the mule pulled the sled down the trail and through the melting snow. He felt the bonds on his wrists digging into the flesh, burning skin that was otherwise cold and white from the rain. The gusts came through the valley sideways like a gray invader erasing the memory of the white powder.
He became aware of his hunger, his thirst. Michael laughed and coughed to make sure he was alive and not dreaming or, worse off, bound to a rickety sled in the afterlife and being pulled to his judgment.
The sled stopped, and he heard two feet approach as they crunched through the icy remains of a snowdrift. He laughed again when the boots that came into his vision were his own.
“Couldn’t even wait to kill me ‘fore slidin’ my boots on, eh?”
“Who says I’m lookin’ fer blood on my hands?”
“That’s exactly what yer lookin’ for when you take a man’s boots off his feet in the middle of the Dark Time.”
Aiden crouched low, his knees jutting out above Sicklemore’s head. He rubbed his chin with one hand like a man trying to coax a beard from his skin. “You and I gotta talk.”
“Ain’t that what we’re doin’?”
Aiden stood and walked out of Sicklemore’s vision. He yanked the rope tied to the sled and continued down the path that ran along the river.
Sicklemore closed his eyes as the motion worked to unravel the calmness in his stomach. He could not remember much but wisps of scenes that would float before his face and then dissolve before he could place them into context.
Aiden struggled against the melting snow and mud along the bank of the river. A strong, warm current brought southerly air across the Commonwealth. The warmer temperatures ate away at the snow on the ground and revealed dark brown swaths of mud on the trail. The reprieve would not last, as the Dark Time would rise up and blast the region with more snow, but it proved to be a brief respite. The trees held still, reaching into the sky with twisted limbs. Aiden stopped on the crest of the trail as it overlooked a turn in the river.
“Being tied sideways gonna hinder my circulation. Not good for a man.”
“Neither is lashing another with unnecessary words.”
Sicklemore laughed in spite of the bonds on his wrists that drew bright red lines across his skin. A flash of silver came from his left.
“I got your dagger and firing iron. You do anything but piss in the river, I’ll use ’em on you.”
Sicklemore nodded and lifted his wrists as high as he could. He felt the chill of the steel on his skin as Aiden slid the blade down and through the binds. Sicklemore grabbed at the raw skin and rubbed them, bringing more pain than he intended.
“Hold out your hands.”
Sicklemore did as he was told. Aiden dipped two fingers into a wooden box and drew a mound of clear, greasy gel. He daubed the substance on Sicklemore’s chaffed wrists and motioned a hand in circles, instructing Sicklemore to work the salve into the skin.
“They know more about this place than you can imagine.”
“The ‘riginals?”
Aiden laughed and then coughed as if Sicklemore were a child. “The Naturals.”
Sicklemore looked up. They sat on the high bank of the river before the trail dropped low to the surface. He saw the rolling mountains and shook his head.
“I’m not going to leave ya here, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I was thinkin’ about how I was gonna git back to the boat after I slice yer throat.” Sicklemore smiled at Aiden like an old friend telli
ng an older joke. “The captain?” he asked.
“On his own,” replied Aiden.
“Then what of my abduction?”
Aiden stared at Sicklemore and shook his head. He held a handful of kindling that he began stacking inside a ring of stones.
“How decent is your mapmaking, apprentice?”
“Good enough to chart the Commonwealth, the lands around it, and anything else I happen to come across.”
Aiden nodded and continued with the kindling.
“At some point, yer gonna have to show yer cards, else I’m gonna be forced to start plannin’ my escape startin’ with a blade on yer throat.” Sicklemore said the words without the light-hearted playfulness of his earlier ones. Aiden stopped and shoved the rest of the twigs inside the fire ring. He reached underneath the sled and removed a moist, leather bag from it, opening the four corners to reveal a leaf. Thin tendrils of smoke rose, which he unfolded to expose a glowing ember. With a handful of dried grass, Aiden used the ember to ignite the fire and placed the burning grass under the kindling. He bent low and breathed a steady delivery of air to the new fire. Within moments, the puny flame licked the dry twigs. He folded the leaf and the leather with the hands of a surgeon, careful to replace them back underneath the sled.
“I don’t get the Ways, Mr. Sicklemore. I serve Master Jaithe, and I do his bidding. I make sure the men of the council and Commonwealth fulfill their duties, true enough. But my loyalty is to the man who saved me, Jaithe, not to his deity.”
“I’d be more interested in the huntin’ grounds ya stole from the Naturals, should ya wish to engage me in conversatin’.”
Aiden ignored Sicklemore’s feigned interest and continued. “You and your captain are right. Jaithe struck a deal with the Naturals.”
Sicklemore sat up, turned his head to the side, and raised his eyebrows. He gestured for Aiden to continue.
“The Naturals believe in Okine, their supreme god. He delivers good and evil and don’t necessarily favor the Naturals. He works like the Great Sea, sometimes delivering people to far-off lands and sometimes drownin’ them without a proper burial.”
The wood hissed and popped as the trapped air escaped along with sizzling pockets of moisture. Sicklemore waited, pretending not to be interested in what Aiden had to say.
“Jaithe wanted a place to wait for Him, a place where the trials and differences of men wouldn’t block the Ways. He doesn’t care nothing for the yellow rock or the wealth it promises. I don’t expect a lying, grubby scabble like yourself to understand that, but it’s the truth.”
Sicklemore bristled at the insult. “I’m sure yer little trip here is gonna really be fun and all. I ain’t interested in gittin’ yer dally up me rear, if that’s what ya got planned.”
“No way I was going be able to talk to you without the captain getting in the way, unless I took you like the Naturals might. I don’t have deviant plans, no pain that you don’t call upon yourself.”
Sicklemore stretched his arms and saw the last gray blankets of light fall behind the mountains. “If we be talkin’ into the night, I could use a primer to keep me throat goin’.”
Aiden turned and dug into his pack. He pulled out two flasks and tossed one to Sicklemore, who caught it and cracked off the cap in one motion. The liquid burned his throat and made his eyes water.
“Ya got me as yer sole audience, away from the captain. Go ahead and git on with it. Don’t need no more history lessons or heathen fables.”
Aiden gave up the notion that Sicklemore possessed intellectual curiosity and plunged into his proposal. “We need a skilled surveyor to draw us up the locations beyond the Commonwealth that will provide Jaithe and His followers the place to pursue the Ways.”
“Seems like the previous owners oughta be able to provide that service.”
“Not anymore. The werowance and his daughter are dead. The tribes have scattered and reformed beyond the reach of the Commonwealth. Any treaties agreed upon prior to the arrival of the scabble are no more.”
“You sayin’ the scabble brought yer predicament?”
“I’m saying we can’t rely on the deals we made before. Are you interested in the proposition or not, Mr. Sicklemore?”
Sicklemore chuckled and suffocated it with another swig from the flask. “Ya got some herb on yer person?”
Aiden looked at Sicklemore and shook his head with a tired groan. “Yeah, I got herb,” he replied. He dug through his pack and tossed a satchel at Sicklemore.
“I’m sure ya got compensation prepared for this duty.”
“How about I let you walk out of this valley alive?”
Sicklemore grinned and shook his head. “You know I’m the only one in the Commonwealth that can git the job done or you wouldn’t have taken the risk to snatch me up from the captain. Don’t play like you’re gonna coerce me into nuthin’.”
“We don’t got the gold you think we do. But, we got a bit that the werowance stashed before a rival tribe raided. Might be enough to get you home, set you up with a nice life back across the Great Sea.”
“And I’m just gonna walk through the scabble draggin’ the gold, git on a vessel, kiss the captain goodbye, and start me new life? Maybe you oughta toss me the rest of yer flask, Aiden.”
“If you can chart the territory and git us to a new domain, we will provide the means to get the gold to your home, ‘cross the sea, without the knowledge of the company, King, or Commonwealth.”
“Just like that, you have ‘the means’?”
“Yeah, like that.”
Sicklemore shrugged and laughed. The sound echoed over the bubbling river and up the sides of the mountains bathed in the blackness of the night. He rolled back on his side, allowing the spirits and herb to ease the burden on his mind. “And if I say no?” he asked between fits of laughing and coughing.
Aiden sighed and turned around. He removed a torch from his pack and shoved it into the fire. The tip roared to life and forced both men to squint. Aiden stood and waved the flame in the air. Within seconds, the mountain behind the camp glistened with flares, tens followed by dozens.
***
“I hunger.”
“I’m not your mother. Feast on what your own hands can hold.”
Kelsun grunted and sat up. Samada glanced at the boy’s ribs, which had begun to disappear underneath the flesh that lost its gray tint of the days prior. Samada tossed Kelsun a brown rock masquerading as a loaf of bread. He caught the object and sniffed it.
“There are more?”
“No,” replied Samada.
“But I can see them in your satchel.”
“I said, no.”
Kelsun shoved the loaf into his mouth, tearing away the brown skin to the bland, tough inside. Specks of crumbs flew from his lips and showered the floor of the cave. The dough tasted sour on his lips but filled his stomach. Samada grunted and winced, watching the spectacle unfold.
“Have you honored your raisers?” he asked Kelsun.
“Haveawhuff?” came the response.
“Your raisers, your parents. Have you not learned the rituals of the meal?”
Kelsun shrugged as he swallowed the bread like a bear gulping salmon. He tossed his head back and shook. Samada turned, unable to continue watching.
“As your strength returns, I must bring you out.”
“I need to go home.”
“I didn’t say that. I said out.” Samada turned his dark eyes towards the tunnel, staring at the black hole as if it were a brilliant sunset.
“Do you know her?”
The questions snapped Samada from his introspection.
“Who?” he asked.
“The woman who spoke to me in the cave. She was shackled with me.”
“There was no one else.”
Kelsun glared at Samada. “You’re lying,” he said.
Samada stood and grabbed Kelsun by the collar. He lifted the boy off the ground and slammed him into the wall of the cave. Kelsun’s head s
lammed off the rock, and his eyes glazed over before coming back around.
“It is not of our honor.”
“Fine. Set me down and take your hands off of me.” Kelsun dropped from Samada’s grip into the dirt of the cavern floor. He kicked at Samada with a half-hearted attempt at hitting him. “Maybe she was freed before you found me,” he said.
Samada looked as if the kick had reached his shin. His face recoiled and he shut his eyes. Kelsun waited for him to reply.
“My people have legends.”
Kelsun felt insignificant, as if the conversation about to take place would happen with or without his presence. He sat next to the fire, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. Samada took a deep breath.
“Okine climbed from the swirling mass of decay left by the Old Ones. He shook the ooze from his skin and crawled into the bowels of the mountain, from the place below, the place no man can see. His journey was one of peril, fraught with danger.
“At first the darkness befriended Okine, lying on his shoulders like a cape and protecting him from the evil on his heels. He trudged through the tunnels, swam through brackish tides, and continued to climb to the surface like a shoot reaching for the Sun God in the Season of Life.
“He met his first challenge in the darkness, a disembodied voice that rang out.
“‘If you ever wish to feel the warmth on your face, you must defeat me.’
“The power struck, knocking Okine to his knees. But the god did not falter and did not wither under the duress. He rose up and swung his fists towards the voice. He felt them connect with something menacing and cold. Okine jumped without fear into the midst of the battle, subduing the force without sight.
“‘You fight with the blood of the warrior, and I grant you the greatest weapon.’
“From that point, Okine saw. His eyes showed him the path and granted him the ability to maneuver through many tunnels. Next he faced a most fearsome creature. The beast pointed sharpened tusks at him and exhaled death. It stood covered in black fur, with broken spears protruding from its side, a physical record of those who had fallen to its wrath. Okine shivered from its rancid breath and looked at his hands, the only weapons he possessed. Once again, the voice spoke to Okine.
