Thoughts of an Eaten Sun

by Kyle Tolle

  Vurm raised an eyebrow. “That’s the size of my chest. It’s no wolf print.”

  “Except this wolf is larger now than any other, with all the flesh it has consumed.” Hantle pointed out the four pads and claws that sank a foot into the mud.

  Lieutenant Vurm stood quietly and considered the print’s shape and the size. “I wrote you off as demented, but there may be something to your story. If anything, it’s a hell of a report.” He called out again, “March.” The stretcher left grooves in the dirt road reminiscent of claw marks.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  HANTLE and the rest of the squad walked through a gate in the ten-foot-high wooden walls of Harsenth. They were a new sight for Hantle. He had grown up, worked, and lived entirely in Founsel, which had never been large enough to warrant a wall. Would one have made a difference in Founsel’s fate?

  Within the town bounds, scores of people filled the streets. Half-timbered buildings lined the roads. Each was thin, front-gabled, and three to four stories tall. The top story extended out over the face of the structures, and a beam projected from the roof ridge and ended with flags whose colors varied between buildings, looking like birds with beaks hanging over the street, colorful worms in mouth. Nearly all of them had patches of moss growing under the eaves. People leaned out from the gable windows and looked to the west, from where the squad had come. He turned back and, through the gate, saw smoke trailing in the distance. That would strengthen the rumor.

  A group thickened around the marching squad and a hundred questions filled the air. Lieutenant Vurm ignored the onslaught and raised his voice to be heard above the noise. “Stand back and stop asking. We have a report to take to the mayor.” Yet the questions kept on and the group followed closely.

  “But who’s the man you found?”

  “Is he the culprit?”

  “Why isn’t he in chains if he done it?”

  Hantle knew to keep his mouth shut. He was content to observe and keep moving.

  “What’s she dragging there?”

  The group turned its focus from Hantle to the stretcher.

  “Some sort of stone. What’s the big deal?”

  The year and text on the cornerstone was best visible from those hanging out of the gable windows. Someone shouted as they read it, “‘Village of Toupil.’ Is that a cornerstone?”

  The crowd’s excitement hit a new high and they pressed in further.

  “What could destroy a stone building like that?”

  “Could it have been raiders?”

  “Raiders that’d level a building? You’d need an army.”

  The lieutenant raised a pistol above his head and countered. “Fall back, I’ve said. Keep off the squad if you know what’s good for you.” Hantle watched a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck. The crowd obeyed his command and gave them space.

  The squad passed by a group of children dressed in outfits two sizes too large. They rattled wooden swords and shields and shouted. The leader of the pack piped up, “Let us go over and we’ll sort it out.”

  Hantle furrowed his brow as the crowd speculated about what happened. Rampant guesswork was common when the truth was unknown. Anything and everything seemed most likely then. Yet this time, reality was more far-fetched than what they imagined.

  Hantle’s group came to a low fieldstone wall that delineated a newer quarter of town, this section built of stone. The road passed through the wall and ran to the foot of a hill. Up the hill climbed a tall white staircase that gave rise to what Hantle guessed to be the town hall. No moss grew on its bright, pale facade. Around it and behind it sat other stone structures like homes and shops.

  The squad marched to the foot of the staircase, where Vurm called a halt. He waved over a second soldier to help the woman lug the cornerstone up the steps. He and Hantle followed. They entered through a set of double doors into a large foyer. Desks sat about the space and each was occupied. Workers and townspeople scurried about. Vurm took the lead, and they filed into a hallway that cut farther into the building. At the hallway’s end, it intersected with another that ran perpendicularly. A door stood before them, flanked by two guards. Vurm pointed to a spot beside the guard on the left. To Hantle he said, “Stand there and wait until summoned.” He disappeared through the doorway and his two stretcher-bearers followed.

  This hallway sat in quiet relief to the bustling foyer they had walked through: nothing moved. Hantle took in the scene as he waited. Hanging from the rafters of the ceiling were red tapestries embroidered with a bright silver thread. The thread formed an icon for Harsenth: a shield embossed with a tree flanked by axes.

  The doorway to the room beyond was still open, and Hantle could hear sounds. He shut his eyes and focused to understand what was said. The first voice he recognized was the lieutenant’s.

  “Mayor Rhet, we come bearing proof of Toupil’s destruction. This is the cornerstone of the town hall.”

  The next voice Hantle inferred to belong to the mayor. “Please tell me you covered it before you brought it through the streets.”

  “Well, uh”—Vurm cleared his throat—“no. I did not.”

  The mayor laughed. “Wonderful. Now everyone in town is sure to have seen it. Did you think of how the rumors would multiply?”

  “I am deeply sorry, sir. I did not consider that.”

  “Of course not. You’re only the lieutenant. Bet you figure that sort of thinking above your pay grade.”

  “Absolutely not, sir. I was merely in a hurry to bring news to you of what we found.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “The village ruined. Every building destroyed. We found no people, living or dead. Anything of wood was smoldering.”

  “Fine. Fine. We know now the rumors were true. Something destroyed it. Yet the cornerstone itself does not indicate what befell the place.”

  “We did recover something else of interest.”

  “Which is?”

  Vurm said, “Bring him in.”

  The two guards standing near Hantle motioned him through the doorway and escorted him down a carpeted aisle. The room was bright, the white stonework lit by torch and tall windows. Stone archways flanked them, containing wooden sculptures. The mayor sat on a stone dais. Behind him hung another tapestry embroidered with Harsenth’s icon. When Hantle stood before the mayor, the guards returned to their posts in the hallway.

  The mayor looked at Hantle and raised an eyebrow. “And who is this?”

  Vurm replied, “We found him in the ruins, walking through from the west.”

  The mayor rolled his eyes and said, “Let him answer. Who are you?”

  “Hantle Doolsun, sir. From the village of Founsel, on the Trasach Cove.”

  “Some timing to arrive in Toupil just as it’s destroyed. What do you know of it?”

  Hantle gave the mayor the same information he had earlier given to Lieutenant Vurm and added a summary of what Liova had shared of her studies.

  When Hantle finished, the mayor nodded, a distant look on his face. Then he came to and shook his head. “A wolf, you say?” He gave a chuckle. “I’m supposed to buy that tale of yours? It’s more like a story to tell children when they misbehave. ‘Behave, or the wolf will eat you.’ You are more likely to have been behind all this trouble. Where’s the evidence of this wolf?”

  Hantle stood straighter and replied, “Your soldiers themselves saw the print of a giant wolf.”

  The mayor turned to Vurm. “Is this true?”

  Vurm stood speechless for a moment. “Sir. We did happen to see a print on the outskirts of the village. Had the form of a wolf print, only many times larger than normal.”

  “And you didn’t mention this first off? Or bring back evidence of it?”

  Vurm cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not sure how we could bring back that kind of evidence.”

  The mayor shrugged him off. “I ought to have gone with you to be sure of things. The only competent person is oneself.” He resumed addressing
Hantle. “Even still, how does that prove a wolf destroyed Toupil?”

  Hantle wondered what else he could show to convince the mayor. A pain shot up his arm and reminded him of the evidence he bore on his body. He pulled back his sleeve and bandage to stick his arm out. “I have fang marks from that very beast.”

  The mayor leaned forward, motioned Hantle forward a few steps, and examined the wounds. Hantle was momentarily thankful for the inflammation and redness that surrounded each puncture mark. It looked much worse than it now felt.

  But the mayor sat back and asked, “If the wolf attacked you, but you claim it’s so dangerous, then how aren’t you dead?”

  Hantle replied, “I worked with a group of villagers and our numbers forced the wolf away after it bit me. Later, when it returned and destroyed the village, rubble fell on top of me. It knocked me out and hid me from sight.”

  The mayor waved a hand. “Pfah, you’re nothing but a distraction. Looking for a moment of fame.”

  Hantle pressed back. “That a wolf could rend a town is an absurd notion, I will grant you that.” He nodded in the direction of the stretcher. “But the cornerstone there didn’t work itself loose. And this building’s cornerstone won’t just work itself loose either. A treacherous foe is set against us.” Without quite realizing it, he added, “Don’t you have a duty to those living under your authority? A duty to protect them?”

  The mayor stood, towering above Hantle on his dais. “And who are you to walk into this room and spit in my face? I have been mayor of this town for fourteen years! The people here trust me. Love me. It is not the first time I’ve faced a threat to my town.”

  Hantle was glad to have struck a chord but took a step back, hoping to diffuse the tension. “Then return their love and save them once more. I urge you to deploy your army tonight against this creature. At worst, if I’m wrong, the morning will come calmly and you can put me behind bars.”

  The mayor sighed, shook his head again, and looked around in an attempt to find words.

  The woman who bore the stretcher gave a cough to gain attention and interjected. “Sir?”

  “What?”

  “Earlier this morning I heard a man say he escaped from Toupil last night. Said he saw the destruction.”

  “Are we all just hiding everything of interest?”

  “Of course not, no, sir. I didn’t think anything of it until now because the man’s a known drunk. I assumed he was running his mouth. But, after hearing him”—she nodded toward Hantle—“maybe there’s something to the drunk’s story?”

  “It sounds that way. You didn’t realize earlier I might care to know this? I would have known right away this was important.”

  Hantle wondered how the people of Harsenth could love such a leader, but he was curious to hear what the man had to say so he kept his mouth shut.

  The mayor sat down and looked to the soldier. “Go and find him. Bring him back here.”

  She exited the room and an awkward silence fell over the group.

  A few minutes passed and Hantle felt an exhaustion creeping in through his temples. He tried to shrug it off by adjusting his footing. Most of all, he was tired of dawdling when they should be preparing for the night.

  He lost track of the time until the soldier returned with the drunk in tow. Hantle caught a whiff of the man’s stench as he passed. When he reached the feet of the dais, the mayor asked, “You saw Toupil destroyed last night?”

  “Aye,” the man replied. “I was drinking in Toupil since yesterday evening. Spent most of the night into the bar, eh, in the bar.” He swayed as he stood. “Until I got kicked out for falling asleep. Coming home I fell into a ditch and fell asleep there. That musta been the first time that happened to me.”

  “Fine, fine”—the mayor moved his hand in forward circles—“keep on with it.”

  “Uh, okay. I fell asleep until I woke up for the ground shakin’. I sat right up and sees a wolf jumping at the buildings. Its head and shoulders was taller than the roofs.” The drunk raised a hand as far above his head as he could. “And all the roofs was on fire. I pissed myself from fright—not the drink, you know. It was eating the village! Pssh, then I got up and ran on back to Harsenth. I tried tellin’ people what I saw, but no one believed me. I tried tellin’ ’em.”

  The mayor shifted in his seat. “And has the drink never given you strange thoughts before?”

  The drunk caught himself leaning backward. “These wain’t thoughts! They’s visions. I saw it. No drink could make me see what I seen.” He burped and nodded his certainty.

  Hantle watched the mayor’s features soften as he considered the statements. He spoke again, hoping to bring the point home. “Sir, this man has independently confirmed what I spoke of. There can be no doubt now.”

  The mayor turned to Hantle. “What did your village do when it attacked?”

  Hantle spoke of the night watch and their attempts to first run it off and, later, kill it.

  “Who led this group?”

  “I helped organize things, but we had no professional soldiers like your fine town has.” He hoped to appeal to the mayor’s vanity. “With such a force, the wolf would be hard pressed to even enter Harsenth.”

  Mayor Rhet looked to the soldier who summoned the drunk and said, “Get him out of here. Through the back of the building, this time.” The soldier took the unstable man by the arm and escorted him from the room.

  Hantle spoke more loudly. “What are you plans for the coming night, Mayor, when the beast comes? For it will come. Something must be done, surely.”

  The mayor placed a hand to his chin and looked to the rafters. “Yes, we must do something.”

  Finally. “Say it so and begin preparation.”

  The mayor gave a knowing chuckle. “Were it only so simple.” He stood and made for a chamber off the back of the room. “Vurm, call in my council.”

  Hantle exhaled and shook his head. Was this man incapable of making a decision without the approval of others? The door to the mayor’s chamber shut and the sound echoed around the room. He glanced to the windows, wondering how much longer they had until nightfall.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HANTLE FOLLOWED Lieutenant Vurm back into the hall and took up his spot beside the guards. Vurm nodded toward Hantle and said, “Stay with him while I summon the Council members.” The guards nodded and the lieutenant walked down the hallway through which they had originally come.

  Hantle leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath to hold back his frustration. In Founsel, they took action immediately. There were no lengthy meetings to endure. No decisions to defer to a committee. But if this waiting meant that come nightfall he had more people, real soldiers, to join him in the stand against the wolf, it would be time well spent.

  Deep weariness seeped through him. He lowered himself to the ground, legs thankful for the rest. As he closed his eyes once more, he imagined the wolf’s current size. How many people had it consumed in the last night alone? Easily more than all previous nights combined. It would be larger and fiercer tonight. The largest and fiercest yet. How many enlisted soldiers were in Harsenth? Enough to make any difference?

  The first council member walked past Hantle. She was dressed in fine clothing and wore a pendant of Harsenth’s icon. Three others, outfitted just as nicely, arrived in the span of a few minutes. The mayor re-entered his hall and made small talk with the group. Hantle noticed most their lack of urgency. The fifth and final council member strode by, accompanied by Lieutenant Vurm. Her arrival spurred the group to retire to the mayor’s chamber for privacy and drinks. Vurm returned to the hallway to stand with his guards. Still sitting, Hantle brought his legs up to an angle so he could place his arms across the knees. Then he rested his head on his arms and, powerless, he waited.

  At high noon, Rounfil and Hantle walked through a forest. They had just felled their one hundredth tree and set to using axes to remove all its branches. Once the tree was debranched
, they hauled the log back to the village by means of a cart and oxen. The hundred logs lay in piles around Founsel. Both men set to shaving the tops of the trunks to points. The work passed in the blink of an eye. The sun was setting and they lifted the last of the pointed logs. Its blunt end the two buried in a hole. Now, the structure was encircled by enormous spikes. Hantle patted Rounfil on the back for a job well done. Each house in Founsel was like a porcupine. Hantle wanted to see the wolf contend with the spiked defenses.

  A howl filled the air.

  Hantle jerked awake to someone kicking his foot. The guard said, “Come on, get up. The mayor summoned you again.”

  He shook off the dream and stood. The guards escorted him to the mayor. Five council members flanked the stone dais in chairs of their own. The mayor rose and introduced each of the council, but Hantle paid no attention to the names. He clenched his jaw to stifle a yawn instead.

  With introductions finished, the mayor sat and a council member took over. She recapped their discussion of Hantle’s story. “We then discussed other options. Natural disaster. An attack by raiders. Plague. Hysteria. But none of them seem a realistic sequence of events.”

  Another council member interjected. “I still worry this man is on powerful drugs. Perhaps he’s colluding in the fabrication with the drunkard. Check his pupils, at least!”

  But the woman ignored the man’s comments. “The complete destruction of the villages hints to something unusual. And an unusual cause is what you propose.”

  She stood from her chair, took a few steps, and planted herself before Hantle. He straightened up, returning her look. He dared not break the stare. To his relief, her eyes softened and she gave him a faint smile.

  She glanced to her fellow council members. “The only thing I see in his eyes is weariness. His experience over the last week gives reason enough for that.”

  Next, she turned and walked an invisible line as she addressed him. “This council is comprised of Harsenth’s most prominent business- and land-owners. Lieutenant Vurm commands the town’s forces, but those forces belong to me. Any business owner is reluctant to put his or her livelihood at risk.” She indicated the one who accused Hantle of drug use. “Galbien will tell you how farming is largely mitigating risks. And unnecessary combat is a risk for a mercenary force. Yet yielding to complete destruction is a greater threat. None of us wish to give up our lives or enterprises.” She extended a hand, palm up, in Hantle’s direction. “Mayor Rhet has mentioned your recognition of risk. You’re willing to be put behind bars if you are incorrect?”