Thoughts of an Eaten Sun

by Kyle Tolle

  THOUGHTS OF AN EATEN SUN

  KYLE TOLLE

  Edited by

  MEREDITH TENNANT

  BURNISHED LETTERS PRESS LTD.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Kyle Tolle

  Published by Burnished Letters Press Ltd.

  Edited by Meredith Tennant

  Cover design by Caleb Jacob

  Created with Vellum

  All rights reserved. Thank you for supporting the author’s rights and complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of this book in any form without permission.

  ISBN: 978-1-7325249-0-3 (paperback)

  ISBN: 978-1-7325249-1-0 (epub)

  ISBN: 978-1-7325249-2-7 (mobi)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018908019

  Printed in the United States of America.

  First Edition

  For Karla,

  without your encouragement and support,

  this book would never have come to be.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  FROM THE SHORELINE, Hantle raised a hand to the crew aboard the three-masted ship departing Founsel’s small port. The captain returned the gesture as the vessel—laden with its cargo of logs—unfurled its sails and moved into the deeper waters of Trasach Cove. Hantle lowered his arm to wipe away the sweat on his forehead. As the sunset faded in color, the heat of the day began to abate.

  His coworker and friend, Rounfil, shut a barn door close by. “I’ll lock up the crane tower, Hantle. You can head on home.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll see you in the morning.” He walked around a pile of freshly hewn logs and made for the village. Shipping days were exhausting: he coordinated the ship’s arrival, loading, and departure, while still being expected to fell trees for a majority of the day. When he factored in the temperature, the sweltering humidity had taken as much energy from him as had loading the ship. He exhaled—glad the day was done—and passed by a simple bronze post capped with an oil lamp; a finger brushed over the metal along a burnished line that recorded his habit.

  When he approached a group of children playing in a meadow that bordered the street, he called out, “Hultier, Dolcium, come on. Dinner time.” Beyond the meadow, the forest rustled and groaned. His sons sprinted to him and each tossed a handful of grass when within range. He feigned surprise and recoiled. “Ahh, please don’t hurt me.”

  The boys laughed and ran past, shouting, “We’ll beat you home, Dad.” How were they full of energy after playing the entire day? He had no inclination to give chase. Instead, he gave a resigned wave and trudged after them.

  He stepped through the house’s front door and the smell of potatoes wafted to him from the small table. The boys clambered into their chairs, but his wife called over her shoulder to them. “Hey now, you have not washed up. Don’t sit down until you do.”

  They slithered down from their seats and to the corner where a washbasin stood. Lorenca emptied a kettleful of warm water into the bowl and the boys worked at the dirt on their hands. Hantle removed his boots and, when the basin was free, contributed his own muck. It was a relief to be rid of the salt from his face and neck. He ran a damp hand through his loosely curled brown hair and looked to his wife. Beside the boiled potatoes, she placed an iron pan, the fish within it still sizzling. Hantle joined the table and served portions to each plate.

  He took a bite and savored the fish’s seasoning before addressing the boys. “Did you see the ship today?”

  Hultier, the oldest, rolled his eyes and stabbed at his potatoes. “Of course, Dad.”

  “Where do you think it was headed?”

  “Back to the Fist?”

  “That’s right. Long way from here. Did you see the captain?”

  His youngest, Dolcium, asked, “What did he look like?”

  “She, you mean. She wore a white hat trimmed with yellow thread. She was the one giving orders onboard.”

  “Hmm,” Hultier said. He chewed loudly for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I think I did see her.”

  Hantle took a pinch from the salt dish and sprinkled his potatoes. He said, “I spoke to her while we worked to load the ship. Know what she asked me?”

  “What?” Both boys spoke in unison.

  “If I could load up some sunshine for their trip back. She said the weather here on the Far Finger was much nicer than that on the Fist. They’ve had heavy rain for a week or two now.”

  Dolcium’s eyes widened as he looked up from the handful of fish he was about to bite. “You couldn’t really do that, could you? Put sunshine on the ship?”

  “No, sir, unfortunately not.” Hantle exaggerated his disappointed look for the boy. “But that would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Dolcium turned his attention to the fish.

  Lorenca reached out and gently lowered Dolcium’s hand to his plate. She pointed at his fork and smiled at him before reaching for the salt. “Maybe,” she said, “they will get a break from the rain soon.” She placed a pinch of salt on the boys’ plates and then her own. “I’m glad we’ve had heat instead of that kind of rain.”

  Hultier’s face squinched up with thought. “I like a rainy day, sometimes. Frogs are much easier to find.”

  “That’s true,” Lorenca said. “You’re very good at catching frogs.”

  A smile filled his face. “Rounfil said he has caught a lot of frogs. He told us the best time to catch them is at night.”

  The mention of amphibians piqued Dolcium’s attention. “I like catching frogs too. Can we go find some tonight?”

  Hantle picked up his glass of water. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. You’ve got to get ready for bed soon.”

  “Catching frogs at night,” Lorenca said, “is dangerous work. It’s only for when you’re older.”

  “Okay,” the littlest conceded. “When I’m older, I’m going to catch three frogs and teach them to hop fast.”

  Once the boys had cleaned the dishes and been put to bed, Hantle moved to the living space adjoining the kitchen and sat in his upholstered chair. He reached for a box under the chair and pulled out his knife and a block of wood. Shavings hit the floor as he began whittling a small figure from a tree branch.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HANTLE SAT ON THE GR
OUND, right at the base of a tree. He settled into a spot where the roots wrapped around him and supported his back nicely. A breeze carried through the area. It wicked away his sweat and he sighed at the relief. Could the humidity get any worse than this? That was a terrible thought. He unfurled the cloth bundle that held his lunch and spread it over his lap. Rounfil reclined in a nook to his side and tore off a piece of bread. Hantle picked up his favorite item of the meal and began peeling the hardboiled egg. Pieces of shell skittered across the pine needles as he flicked them off. After a moment, he broke the silence. “The boys last night mentioned how great you are at catching frogs.”

  Rounfil chuckled and replied through his mouthful. “Probably haven’t caught a frog in a decade or more, but they don’t need to know that.” He winked and popped another morsel in.

  “What exactly did you tell them? Do you even remember?” Hantle bit into the egg and a piece of yolk crumbled into his lap.

  Rounfil shrugged. “Might’ve been something about catching a basketful of them during the last drought, owing to my keen eye and superior bait.”

  “Ha. Now you’re spinning larger tales than a fisherman. Thanks to you, Dolcium has plans of teaching frogs to race.”

  “Boys got to have something to keep them out of trouble. I’m helping you, you see.”

  “Not sure I’ll be so grateful, sir, when I’m the one cleaning frog slime off his squirmy hands before dinner.”

  “Fair point.” Rounfil nodded his head. “Glad I’m not you, then.” He leaned over to pull something from his waist and made a point of carefully checking whether anyone was near. His voice dropped low and he gave a mischievous smile. “Care for a sip?” In his hands was a small leather flask. He popped off the cork and took a pull before passing it over.

  “Eh.” Hantle pulled away.

  “We’re not getting drunk, Hantle. That’s best done proper, at night. Just a small afternoon treat.” The flask waggled between his fingers.

  Hantle’s eyebrows rose and his face softened. “All right. Give it here.” A smoky burn flowed into his mouth, and he grimaced until the draught cleared his throat.

  “Good, eh?” Rounfil plucked the flask from his hand, downed another gulp, and replaced the cork.

  “Not bad. Not bad.”

  The wagon stopped and the horses stamped in place. Rounfil dropped the reins as he looked to the pile of equipment under a nearby shelter. “Ropes and blades, right?” Waves lapped at the cove’s shoreline a few yards away.

  “Right.” Hantle stepped down from the seat. “Do you mind,” he said, “if I go check on Wellif before we load up?”

  “Not at all. I’ll pass, though, and wait here.”

  “Still holding the grudge?” Hantle had been at the table during the poker game when Rounfil came to blows with Wellif.

  “Bastard’s a cheat, Hantle.”

  “Man losing a leg’s a matter altogether different.”

  “A gimp can still cheat you.”

  “Uh-huh.” Hantle waved off the insult. “I’ll be back.”

  Wellif’s house was on the south end of the village and Hantle arrived in a few minutes. He peeked in the window and saw Wellif lying on the bed, facing away from the front door, so he knocked. Wellif shouted, “Come in.”

  Hantle entered and extended a hand. “How’s it, sir?” The young woodcutter had accidentally swung an axe into his shin the day following his birthday, the one on which he had become a man.

  Wellif took the hand and shrugged. “Pain’s down, for now.”

  “Your color is a lot better. The infection come back?”

  “Doc thinks he got it with the amputation.” The surgery took the lower leg to just below the knee. Bandages, still looking clean, wrapped the wound.

  “That’s a relief. You’ve had a bad turn, but we’re all hoping you’re on the mend now.”

  “Staying still’s the worst part.” The house was tiny. His bed occupied most of the space, and the remainder contained a table, short stool, and a battered trunk for clothes.

  “I can imagine. He say how much longer you’re laid up?”

  “Till he says otherwise, I guess.”

  “Yeah, that’s rough. Anything I can do for you?”

  “Mind opening the door so I can watch the birds or something?”

  Hantle obliged him and propped the back door open with the stool. He was sure having the woods for a view would only be nice for so long. “You eating okay?”

  “Yeah, Liova’s been bringing by meals. She’s been great.”

  “Good to see you’re doing okay, Wellif. I’ve got to get back, but I’ll stop by again soon.”

  “That’ll be good. See ya, Hantle.” The young man settled back into his pillow and stared out the open door.

  Hantle stepped into the street just as the children, finished with their lessons for the day, came out of the teacher’s house. Hultier saw him, grabbed Dolcium, and they both ran his way.

  “How was school, boys?”

  “Dad!” Hultier completely ignored the question. “We were digging holes over by the creek. You know why?”

  “No, what are the holes for?”

  “For crawdads,” Dolcium said, a wide grin on his face.

  Hultier shouted, “Hey,” and smacked his brother on the back. “I wanted to tell him.”

  “Ow,” Dolcium growled and moved a step out of reach.

  “We plan,” Hultier continued, “to catch crawdads in the holes.”

  Hantle tried to keep a laugh off his face. “In a hole? How do you figure that?”

  “The ones that are tired and weak are going to find the holes and think they look like a real nice place to rest. That’s when we’ll get them.”

  “Sounds like an interesting plan. What will you catch them with?”

  From his back pocket, Dolcium pulled a contraption that lay flat until he expanded it. “We’re making cages.”

  “His won’t be as good as mine,” Hultier said smugly.

  “It will too,” Dolcium shouted. Hantle knew this was a capital offense in Dolcium’s eyes: he hated being reminded he was younger than Hultier. The boy lunged at his brother, fists swinging. “Stop saying that. Stop saying that!”

  Hultier initially ducked out of the way, but Dolcium grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him in. The two tussled and punched, swerving one way only to overcorrect and list the other. Hultier’s height gave him an advantage, but Dolcium was scrappy. Hantle waited to intervene. He preferred they settle the argument themselves, even if there was a bit of blood and bruising. Dolcium spun around and used his momentum to drag Hultier with him before flinging him away. The older brother rammed into a wooden fence, broke a few of the slats, and fell through it, where his landing squashed several flowers. Dolcium huffed and clenched his hands. Hultier extricated himself from the fence fragments, grumbling, “You’re dead. You’re dead.”

  Property damage was where Hantle drew the line and he placed a hand on Dolcium. “No, you’re done, boys.” He looked to the porch and saw Liova, the village elder, sitting there with her arms crossed. “You’ve gone and broken Liova’s fence.”

  “I didn’t break it,” Hultier objected. He stood and wiped dirt from his hands. “He threw me into it.” He jabbed a finger at Dolcium.

  “Well,” Dolcium shrugged, pretending to care little, “you shouldn’t be so—”

  Hantle interrupted. “I said, you’re done. That’s it.” He looked to Liova. “I’m sorry, ma’am. And so are they, even though they’re too angry to say it. I know they’d be happy to help you fix the fence and plant new flowers.” Both boys knew best to keep quiet.

  “I should say,” she replied. She shook her head and pushed herself out of her chair. “I won’t stand for people breaking my things, especially not my flowers.” Her lips pursed with unspoken annoyance and she walked to the flowerbed to inspect the damage. “Oh dear.” She gave a long sigh, in which Hantle felt her disappointment. “These balsams were my favorite.”
>
  Hantle felt Dolcium shift under his palm; Hultier glared off to the side. He spoke for them. “I’m awfully sorry, Liova, but I know these boys will make it right.” He patted Dolcium’s shoulder. “Isn’t that so?”

  Both boys answered a quiet “Yes.”

  Hantle stepped back. “They’re yours for as long as you need them.” He made eye contact with both sons to make sure they understood. In no way would he tolerate shirking a duty. “And please, Liova, put any supplies from the Mercantile on my tab.”

  Liova plucked a petal from a fold in Hultier’s shirt. “Either of you boys planted a flower before? Or do you only specialize in killing them?”

  A peal of thunder rolled overhead and Hantle ducked out of the rain onto his porch. The storm halted their work that afternoon and he had come straight home. He ran a hand through his hair and flung the water from his fingertips. Inside, Lorenca sat at the table with the boys, playing a card game. Hantle removed his mud-caked boots and left them by the door. “Did Liova send you home?”

  “Yes,” Hultier answered. “She said it was dangerous to be outside in the lightning.”

  Hantle joined them at the table. “She’s right. No one wants to get struck. I wanted to be sure you only left after she gave you permission.” He turned his attention to Dolcium. “Did you tell your mother what you did?”

  Dolcium laid a few cards down on the table and took one from the deck. “Yup. Said we got in a fight and broke Liova’s things.”

  “And I told them,” Lorenca said, rubbing Dolcium’s hair, “that’s what a respectful person does: makes up for their mistakes.”

  Hultier drew a card off the deck. “We aren’t even done.” He frowned and put his chin in his palm. “We have to go back tomorrow.”

  Thunder rattled the entire house. Hantle glanced out the window. “The storm cut my work short today too. We’ll have to make do.”

  Lorenca took her turn. “Remember how just last night I was saying I preferred the heat to the rain? Doesn’t it just figure that it’d rain today? Wonder how long this storm will stay.”