by Joni Sensel
Ariel grasped for an explanation that could offer some comfort. “Because it’s a copy?”
“No. Because it’s a hole. I can’t tell you much better than that.” She looked at the drawing. “Yes. You see? Round holes spilled across it. If I were to guess, I might say the drawing represented a well. But a dangerous one with no bottom.”
Ariel flinched, struck hard by a memory of the moon in the well at the abbey. “There’s not a well like that here, is there?”
Lamala grunted. “Heavens, no. We only dig wells during droughts.”
A babble of approaching voices signaled the children’s return.
“Thank you for your judging,” Ariel murmured. Scarl echoed her.
Lamala offered the map to the Finder. “I’d feel better if you carried this,” she told him. “She’s young for such a burden. In fact, I’d ask you to burn it, if I thought you would listen. But I can feel the pull it has on you both.”
Ariel reached for the cloth. “It’s mine,” she said softly. “I’ll bear it.” She tucked it away.
“How long can I keep you here, safe, then?” Lamala asked. “You’re more than welcome for as long as you like.”
Ariel closed her eyes and posed the question to her feet. Since she and Scarl had arrived, she’d been distracted by excitement and the hope that her quest for the sender might end here. Now, turning inward, she felt the urge to keep moving southeast. Skunk was a waypoint, not a goal. Her heart sank.
She opened her eyes and parted her lips to speak.
Not yet. Linger. Gather.
Ariel gasped and tipped her face toward the sky. She could not see through the cypress and vines, but the waning moon should not be visible at this time of day, anyway. Still, it had spoken, hidden or not.
“What’s wrong?” Scarl asked.
“Nothing,” Ariel said. “Just thinking. We’ll stay tonight…?” She couldn’t prevent her voice from rising in a question. “And maybe tomorrow?” But the sky did not comment.
“No longer,” she added, more comfortable obeying her feet than a lunatic voice. “And then we’ll continue southeast.”
She gritted her teeth when Lamala pleaded with them to stay for a week. Scarl cut short her pressure with a polite but no-nonsense refusal. Grateful, Ariel promised herself she would tell him that the moon had begun muttering again. Later. Or… maybe only if it happened again.
Lamala’s errand boys and girls hauled up armloads of rushes. One side of each rush was lined with cottony fluff. Piled with the soft sides turned up, they would make well-cushioned beds. While the Judge supervised their arrangement, Ariel climbed down from the platform with Scarl, who wanted to make sure Willow had forage. They discovered that a son of Lamala’s had already taken charge of the horse, leading him off to a rise where his hooves could dry out.
“I’m going to wander around,” Ariel said. “I’d like to find a big rock I can stomp on for Zeke.”
“Ariel, before you go …” Scarl scanned the vines around them and Ariel realized he was hunting for words. When he found them, he said, “I’m troubled by Lamala’s sense of your map. I’m not sure it’s wise to continue.”
“But …” The Judge’s words had frightened her, too, but she hadn’t considered turning aside from her path. “We have to.”
“No, we don’t. I’ll be honest. I’m concerned about the Vault and the threat of your work somehow coming undone, and I’d love to meet anyone, human or not, who could have sent out the darts. But I’m more worried I won’t be able to protect you from whatever lies ahead.”
“You can’t protect me forever,” she whispered.
“I can try. But does that mean you still want to keep going?”
“No.” Her voice hitched. “I just don’t have any choice. The cherry, Zeke’s stones—you heard what they said. Besides, if we go home, I’ll go crazy at night, like before. I… The moon just spoke again, Scarl. For the first time since we left. Like it’s creeping up on me the moment we stop.” She took a steadying breath and added more firmly, “My feet want to keep going, whether I do or not. And you always say I should listen to them.”
He ran his hand along his jaw, his face grim, but he nodded. “All right. I trust your farwalking sense. But I wanted to pose the option, at least.”
“I wish we had one.” A scary thought flared in her mind. “Thanks for sticking with me.”
“Don’t think you’ve grown so old as that. I wouldn’t allow you to do it alone. I’m not sure I should even let you out of my sight.”
“I’ll be okay,” she said. “Honest.”
Scarl studied her briefly. “Don’t go far. Watch out for snakes.”
Snakes were the least of Ariel’s worries. She hadn’t found a single answer here, only more questions. Many of her trips had stretched longer than this one, but none before had been driven by fear. She wished she knew for certain that Zeke was all right. She couldn’t forget the warning that his trade might be at risk.
She asked the first person she met if Skunk had any boulders. When the answer was no, she let her feet guide her. Perhaps they’d lead her instead to whatever the moon felt she ought to gather. Her first impulse was to splash away from the village in the same direction she’d been traveling before, but when she resisted, her feet only meandered below the platforms. She never found even a small rock, but eventually she passed a thicket where a young boy was picking bog-berries.
He waved shyly. She waved back.
A thought struck her. “Hey,” she called out to him. She stepped nearer. After learning his name, she lowered her voice and asked, “Do you know the story of Tattler?”
Connor glanced both directions before nodding quickly. A spike of guilt slid through Ariel.
“Never mind,” she said. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
He shook his blond tangles, beckoned, and whispered, “Come on.”
She followed him into the shelter of an overhung bough. He turned solemn eyes on her and said, “Everyone knows Tattler, and I’m too big for nightmares. I’ll tell you.”
“Don’t leave anything out.”
By the time Ariel left Connor, she’d heard all she thought she needed to know about Tattler.
CHAPTER 10
Moonless Night
The tangled branches and vines over Skunk sped the nightfall. In the darkness, Ariel could barely see the figures on the common platform. A candle in a clay bowl between them cast more shadows than light. She recognized Scarl by his shape, but only the voices told her Lamala was among those who sat talking with him.
“Ariel,” Scarl called. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“You wanted to hear about Tattler,” said Lamala. “I hope you won’t be disappointed. I probably made too big a fuss.” As Ariel joined them, she added, “Wyn can tell you the story. He’s got the best voice for spooking.”
Wyn, a grizzled Reaper hardly larger than Ariel, rubbed his hands together. He leaned forward over the candle to speak directly to her. Lit from below, his weathered face hung eerily in the dark.
“Time was,” he began in a low, raspy voice not much over a whisper, “a giant lived on the edge of the swamp. Tattler, folk called it, half live thing, half mountain. If you were foolish enough to go see for yourself, you’d meet a beast with four legs twice as tall as a tree, three bug-eyes that stare out over the swamp, two funnel ears sharp as those on a bat, and a sting like a whole swarm of bees.”
Ariel feigned interest in case he could make out her face. She’d heard stories of giants and monsters before. What she’d heard about this one sounded completely made up. The telling darts were real, and so was whatever had sent them—not any beast with three eyes.
“Time was,” Wyn repeated, “Tattler was friendly, and it used those big eyes and ears to watch over folks. It kept us all safe. But something went wrong. Some claim the moon burnt out Tattler’s eyes. Others say Tattler went blind in the war, just like everyone else. A few say it died of old age. That one�
�s not true. Tattler still listens, but now it’s gone mad, and it listens for the footsteps of children to eat. Any who wander too far in the swamp. It eats every part but their eyeballs and teeth. Those it sends home with a slingshot. Even if it can’t manage to catch you and eat you, it tattles. It whistles so loud we can hear it in Skunk, so we know some young scamp has been wandering. It likes to hear the sound of behinds being whupped.”
Despite her disappointment that this monster was fake, Ariel laughed. Connor hadn’t mentioned that part.
“It isn’t so funny when the backside is yours,” Wyn said sternly, but she did not miss his wink.
“Time was,” he continued, “before the earth grew so wet, Tattler sometimes came here. But Tattler doesn’t like water, so it never strays this deep into the swamp anymore. It stays on the edge of the world by itself. Make sure you stick close to where you belong, too. When the wind’s right, you might hear it whining, ’cause it’s hungry for someone to eat. And the last person from Skunk who went to meet it never showed up again.”
Wyn crossed his arms and leaned back, letting his warnings sink in.
“You see?” Lamala said. “It’s little more than a bugaboo tale to make children behave.”
Scarl pursed his lips, giving it more consideration than Ariel expected. “It contains a few interesting details, though.”
“You don’t really think the darts were sent with a slingshot, do you?” Ariel tried to keep the scorn from her voice.
The silence before he answered told her she hadn’t succeeded. “Of course not. But most stories hold kernels of truth.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt there’s something out there,” Lamala said. “Or there was. A hoodoo for the wind to sing through, most likely, maybe even one with a frightening face. Or a grand-daddy tree, though our Tree-Singer won’t hear of that. But the rest of the story is nonsense.”
Ariel couldn’t hold her tongue. Wyn had barely mentioned the most frightening part of what Connor had told her. She asked casually, “What about the crazy woman?”
The candle flickered in silence.
“Who told you that?” Lamala asked.
“She’s right,” someone said. “That part isn’t nonsense.”
Lamala fussed with her hands. “It doesn’t bear mentioning, either.”
“It might,” Scarl prompted.
“It’s shameful,” said Lamala. “It’s the reason we don’t have a Storian here. While I was a tot, we still did. Her name was Vi Storian, and she told the most wonderful tales about old times and the flood that created the swamp. But when disease took her husband and daughter at once, her mind broke. Sometimes she ranted and screamed at the moon. She scratched herself until she bled. Her apprentices got scared off and took up other trades. At last the Judge before me decided Vi had to go. They forced her out of the village. Some fool ran his mouth about sending her to Tattler so the two could be mad together, and in her confusion, she took up those words. She vowed she would go and be eaten so her ghost could take vengeance on Skunk. She’s the one in Wyn’s story who never came back.”
“She said if she wasn’t eaten, she’d tame it and send it to eat us instead,” Wynn added. “You can see we’re still here.”
“Vi should be, too,” said Lamala. “That’s no way to treat somebody crazy from grief.”
Ariel was glad no one from Skunk knew that she had heard the moon speak. Clearly not all were as kind as Lamala.
“What did Tattler do before it went mad?” Scarl asked. “Besides watch over people.”
“If you ask me,” huffed Lamala, “its name should have been Gossip. We’ve got a few of those taking Tattler’s job, and sometimes I’d like to send them away, too.”
Wyn chuckled. “That’s a righteous Judge talking. We don’t rightly know, but they say it sent messages telling folks what it saw, and it passed along secrets it heard from afar. That’s how it can tattle on wandering kids….”
Wyn went on, but Ariel’s ears had stopped working. She heard only the echo of one phrase: “It sent messages.” Connor had not mentioned that, either.
Scarl turned toward her. In the dark, she couldn’t see his expression, but softly he said, “That might be a slingshot worth seeing.”
The conversation moved on to other topics, other stories. Ariel stared at the candle, lost in thought, until Skunk’s Tree-Singer joined them to complete their earlier trade.
“You’ll still need to tell me all you can of the abbey,” said the soft-spoken woman, whose first name was Raven. “My chattiest cypress couldn’t say much about it except to assure me it stood in a grand forest of trees, far off on a mountain, and that nothing now troubled the Tree-Singers there.” Encouraged by that news, since surely it meant Zeke was untroubled, too, Ariel was unprepared for what Raven said next: “The trees are more interested in you. The cypress would not tell me why, but they’re definitely watching you pass and awaiting your actions—I suppose because a Farwalker’s so strange nowadays, don’t you think?”
Ariel doubted the trees’ interest was quite so mundane, but she ignored the self-consciousness that rushed over her and repaid Raven by describing the abbey in depth. When her voice tired and Scarl offered to add a few details, Ariel thanked them both, said good night, and crawled to the nearest bed. She stretched out to settle her whirling emotions. The day had been too full of mountains and valleys, surprises and letdowns, confusion and hope. She felt as exhausted as if she’d actually been climbing.
The hare’s ear was soft, though. Ariel’s turmoil ebbed. Growing sleepy, she curled toward the voices floating out of the dark, glad they all came from people and not from the sky. Now and then she caught a word about the Vault or a phrase from a story she knew—or one she had lived.
Something behind her in the dark touched her arm.
With a squeak, she brushed at her shoulder and spun. Rushes scattered as she scrambled away from whatever had touched her.
The nearby voices halted.
“Ariel? All well?” Scarl called.
Her eyes fought to identify the large shadow that had crept up behind her. She imagined Tattler, come to eat her, or at least a great snake. But when the shape coalesced out of the gloom, the green-eyed boy she’d seen earlier was crouching before her. She couldn’t imagine how he’d drawn so close without making a sound. His teeth flashed in a smile. Her heart resumed, thudding.
Footsteps approached, led by Scarl’s uneven gait.
“It’s all right,” she said as he dropped his hand on her shoulder.
“Oh, don’t be startled,” said Lamala, who had also come to investigate. “That’s only Nace, my youngest. The one taking care of your horse. He’s got a Kincaller’s heart, and he’s a bit of a wild creature himself.”
The boy thrust Ariel a shallow basket draped with a cloth. She lifted the fabric. Fat, hairless caterpillars squirmed beneath.
“Ugh!” She shoved it back toward the boy.
Dismayed, he shook his head and refused to take it. Instead he blew on the uncovered worms. At once, the basket glowed as though filled with coals. Ariel and Scarl both exclaimed.
“Fire worms?” Scarl asked. “I’ve heard tales.” He reached for the basket.
Lamala stepped in and took it instead. “Go on, Nace,” she said kindly. “Girls aren’t as fond of crawling things as you are.”
His face fell. Nace whirled and vanished into the dark.
“Wait,” Ariel said, too late.
“He meant to give you a night-light, I’m sure,” Lamala told her. “But he doesn’t understand other people very well sometimes.”
Ariel gazed after him. Kincallers understood animals best. Their instincts helped them tend goats or chickens or bees for their trade. She’d always found such skills impressive, and she wished she hadn’t recoiled from his gift. “Why won’t he say hello?”
“He can’t, I’m afraid, not like regular folk, and he’s been teased enough to be skittish.” Lamala smiled sadly. “I thought myself lucky to
have a baby who never cried until I realized, at last, that he couldn’t. Nace can’t speak. He’s a good lad, though. You needn’t fear him.”
Ariel felt a rush of sympathy. One of the Tree-Singers in the abbey chose not to speak except to the trees, but that wasn’t the same as being mute whether you liked it or not. Silence seemed a cruel prison. She determined that, before she left Skunk, she would press Nace’s hand in a silent hello.
“We can set this by the ladder to light your way if you need the privy before sunrise,” said Lamala. She stepped away with the basket.
Ariel jumped to catch her. “I’d like to keep it by me,” she said.
Lamala blinked. “You would?”
Ariel nodded. “I just never saw glowing caterpillars before. The glowworms in sea caves back home are as tiny as hairs, and they wink out if you make any sound.”
With a shrug, the woman returned the basket. “Don’t put ’em too close to your head,” she warned. “As soon as dawn breaks they’ll all crawl away, and you don’t want them squirming into your hair by mistake.”
Ariel stirred the worms with a fingertip. The touch inflamed them and left a trace of glow on her finger. She held it up in wonder and then looked back into the dark.
“Thank you, Nace,” she called, hoping he was still near enough to hear. “I do like them.” She hesitated. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She turned back toward her bed. The worms lit the amusement on Scarl’s face.
“What?” she asked. “I think they’re nice.”
His grin gave way to a chuckle, but he said only, “You’re right.” He peered into the basket again before rejoining the other adults.
Ariel mounded her bedding once more, but as she lay down, she remembered Zeke’s rocks. After failing earlier, she’d nearly forgotten.
She wiggled to retrieve a pebble from a small stash in her pack. She’d plucked them from a sandbar two days ago in case she had trouble finding more later. They were small, but she hoped Zeke would understand. Rocks were heavy.
