Thoughts of an Eaten Sun

by Kyle Tolle

  Hantle laid a hand on her arm. “That is why I want to help you return.”

  They walked the rest of the way to the ruins of her parents’ home. A field of coals gave a faint light to outline the cellar pit. Tears fell from her face to mix with the ash at her feet. Hantle pushed the torch ahead and looked for anything recognizable but noticed nothing at first.

  “Here, Dalence. You’ll need some light.”

  She sniffled, took the torch, and stepped into the rubble. “Thank you.”

  Dalence turned over pieces of wood, stone, cloth, and shattered plates. The torch allowed her to see, but made sifting more difficult. Slowly, she searched. Few things survived intact, but she gathered a few armfuls and looked through them. With only a fraction of her normal strength, and not wanting to burden Hantle with her trinkets, she could take very little. What of these surviving items best reminded her of her mother and father? She mulled it over as Hantle sat above, along a few remaining pieces of foundation.

  For her father, she decided on his favorite lorebook. Its edges were darkened with soot but it had escaped the flames. Seeing it made her feel like a young girl again, sitting in her father’s lap as he read her a tale before bed. She clasped it to her chest and closed her eyes to see his face, smiling as he turned a page.

  As she opened her eyes, something glimmered in the corner of her vision. She turned in its direction but the glint disappeared. She crawled to the general area, char staining her knees and hands. Beneath a pile of fractured crates, she found a necklace just peeking out. The silver setting of a long lilac crystal caught the light another time. It was a piece her mother had owned as long as Dalence could recall. This, she would prize the most. Setting aside the torch, she fastened the chain around her neck. The crystal was warm, as if from her mother’s chest.

  With the book secured in a small bag, she found her way back to the street where she rejoined Hantle and handed him the torch. She fastened the bag around her waist.

  Hantle said, “When you are ready to move on, I can gather my horse. It’s just outside the city walls.”

  “May I wait here?” Dalence said. “To spend a few more minutes with my childhood home before we leave it behind?”

  “Of course.” Hantle stepped into a small clearing in the rubble. “I will be quick.”

  Dalence took in the scene. The sun was nearly above the mountaintops. She pictured her parents before her, standing just outside their home. The inviting scent of pies wafted from the kitchen, through the front door, and greeted her on the street. At least she had the fortune of spending the last few days with her parents. Maybe those memories would stay fresh in her mind for a while yet. Another wave of nausea passed over her. When Hantle and she arrived in Suu-manth, she would have to break the news to her brother, Brust. It still did not feel real. Each time she considered never seeing her mother or father again, she wanted to retch out her entire gut. Instead, she thought of the trip to Suu-manth and rejoining Brust. Deciding what to tell him was something she could worry about later. She still wanted to see him. Hantle had the goal of stopping the creature she had assumed was a hallucination. Was he brave or insane? Either way, he was her partner for a time.

  “I collected a few provisions,” Hantle said as he returned to Dalence on the horse. He dismounted and offered her a hand up. “How about you ride until you’re feeling better?”

  After she was seated, Hantle adjusted the musket sling so it would not rub against her leg. He then led the horse by the bridle, walking alongside it. They picked their way through the remains of a bustling city of thousands. The two approached Bansuth’s eastern gate. Just inside the walls was a courtyard. Clothes and other items were scattered around, most of them charred. A flock of crows occupied the cobblestone yard and Hantle thought they fed in the debris. As the horse approached, the birds cawed and flapped into the sky. From their mouths fell small, grey, waxy things. He walked over one of the pieces to realize they were parts of the dead. Toes and fingertips. Teeth and tufts of hair lay nearby. The crows circled, as if to land once they had passed. He shouted at the birds, “Go, get out, you damn scavengers. Go!” which forced them to wheel away over the city walls. Their awful racket faded as the flock receded.

  He noticed Dalence’s look and said, “They were desecrating the dead. Give them at least a day.”

  Hantle turned his eyes from the human remains to the gate. The doors were broken and fallen from their hinges. The archway was cast down and its stones choked the opening. Two stone bowls flanked this gate, like those he had seen at the other, but these were overturned and their coals spread wide.

  Dalence must have noticed his gaze because she said, “Those fires once welcomed all to the city and wished well those who left it.”

  “Maybe those braziers will burn again one day,” he said. A building shifted behind them and the noise of its collapse spooked another flock of crows to flight. Although no day soon, he thought.

  Morning spread as the sun climbed into the air. The road ran flat for a while. Once the wind faded, sunlight warmed their bodies. Hantle could see the road snaking its way up the mountainside.

  “How long,” he said, “does it take to reach the top of the pass?”

  “About five hours to the Splitskin. Give or take a little.”

  When the cobblestone paving ended, the slope started. Upward they went. Long grasses spread out next to them and ran along until small, gnarled bushes sprang up. The road led through the dense scrub. Hantle’s body felt heavy as he changed his gait to match the incline. Shortly, the path began a series of switchbacks through deep forest. He pulled out the pack of jursant and placed a pinch under his tongue. Dalence leaned forward against the horse and rested.

  “How many people live in Suu-manth?” he asked.

  “Somewhere between ten and fifteen thousand.” Dalence kept her eyes closed.

  “Wow. Far more than the number living on the entire Far Finger.” Yes, he was pushing his limits again, but ten thousand lives was good reason.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  HANTLE WALKED JUST AHEAD of the horse with its reins in his hand. He looked back to Dalence, whose head rested on the horse’s neck. Her hair was slick with sweat and fell over her face. Not wanting to disturb her, he watched the road for a time.

  When Dalence shifted, she spoke so softly Hantle had to lean closer to hear her.

  “I can’t rest with my eyes open,” she said. “But the horse sways too much to keep my eyes closed.”

  “Are you going to be sick?”

  “No,” she said. “I just can’t stay still for more than a minute.”

  Hantle gave her an understanding nod.

  Ground cover grew so thick, Hantle was unable to see beyond the road’s edge. He brought out his waterskin, drank from it, then offered it to Dalence. She took it but refused any food. Hantle ate half an apple and gave the other half to the horse.

  He said, “Let me know when you get hungry. My odd sleep schedule has me eating at all hours of the day.”

  She nodded and they continued in quiet for a ways.

  When the road wound along the top of a steep ravine, Hantle broke the silence. “Is your strength any better? Does your stomach still pain you?”

  Dalence sat up and replied, “Yes, I do feel stronger now. The stomach doesn’t hurt as much, but I feel nauseous thinking about my parents.”

  “Ah,” Hantle said. “Grief and sickness do feel the same.”

  Dalence shrugged and said nothing further.

  Hantle thought aloud. “Loss is a part of every person’s life, but that makes it no easier to accept or bear. If I think of Lorenca or my sons for more than a moment, I—” His voice broke and they both left the conversation at that.

  Hantle sat on a fallen log and gave a long sigh. “I’ll just take a minute or two to rest.”

  “You look like you’re going to fall asleep.” Dalence dismounted and sat beside him.

  “Me? I’m doing fine.” He yawned. �
��Got two hours yesterday.” A wry smile passed over his face. “A person can’t need much more than that, right? Anyway, you mentioned living in Suu-manth with your brother.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Brust and I have a small place we share to help make ends meet.”

  “What took you to Suu-manth?”

  “Better job prospects. Work pays better and is more abundant in Suu-manth. He moved there a month before I did. Got his job and living quarters sorted out before I came over.”

  Hantle straightened his legs and bent forward to stretch his muscles. “And what do you each do?”

  “He’s a fisher and I work in a textile shop. That sort of job would never have existed for me in Bansuth because of how much larger the Fist’s population is.”

  Hantle stood and moved his arms in large circles. When Dalence gave him a strange look, he said, “Helps get the blood moving. Don’t mind the windmilling.”

  Dalence stood and imitated him. She said, “Now you’re rested enough for another day, huh?”

  “Or at least another twenty minutes,” he replied. “You ready to press on?”

  Dalence had a foot in one stirrup, but before she threw her other leg over, she pointed to the horse. “You should ride for a while.”

  “Eh.” Hantle shook his head. “My legs still feel raw from riding for so long yesterday. I’ll walk for now.”

  After rounding a few more switchbacks, a clearing in the forest allowed them to look westward. A layer of fog lay over the ground below that made it impossible to make out any features. Hantle wondered if the wolf lay enshrouded in the mists. Toward the horizon, a few stray peaks broke through the fog and jutted skyward. The tree cover remained sparse for a while as they traveled. He took frequent glances down the mountainside, half expecting the wolf to dash out of the fog and take them. Over the next few minutes, he noticed the Knuckles seemed to erode the fog. All the better, since his nerves would settle when it was gone.

  Hantle noticed Dalence sitting up for longer periods of time and took this to mean she was feeling better. “How did you spend your time with your parents?”

  “It was my mother’s birthday and we spent most of a day making pies.” Dalence looked down to the fog that covered Bansuth. “Every birthday, she makes more than enough for our family, as well my aunts and uncles, to enjoy. Always the giver.”

  Hantle smiled at her. “That sounds like a lovely time together.”

  “It is a memory to cherish. Though I keep coming back to the question of how long it had been since I last saw them.” She paused and Hantle let the silence sit until she continued.

  “I have always felt guilty for moving away from my family. At first, I visited often. But it’s quite a distance to cover and that regularity is difficult to maintain over time.” She took the reins in her hand and mindlessly fumbled with the straps. “The time apart also gave me opportunity to think. Could I have made a life for myself there, near Mom and Dad? If so, what would it have been like? I felt this guilt, yet it didn’t bring me to move back. So what was its purpose? To just gnaw away? Other times I wonder whether I missed them or simply felt like I should miss them.”

  He hoped these were rhetorical questions since he felt unable to comment. Before his parents had died, he had lived just a few houses away.

  After a moment, she said, “Tell me of your family.”

  She listened to stories of Hantle’s boys, their love of playing in the meadow and getting muddy in the creek. His wife was a loving mother as well as a painter of local renown. They had both lost family, Dalence realized, but different kinds of family. What type of pain did he hold within his heart?

  The pair passed over a shallow creek lined with thin trees. Feeling well enough now to recognize a bit of hunger, she asked Hantle for a handful of fruit. She ate the dried dates as they traveled through a corridor where sun dappled the road around them. The food gave her mood an immediate lift.

  A mile later, they rounded a bend where the trees gave way to a steep cliff and they got their first good look at the Far Finger cleared of fog.

  As she bounced with the horse, she saw the darkened patches of far-off Bansuth, which stood in odd relief to the surrounding forest greenery.

  Hantle spoke and drew her from thoughts of her parents. “I wondered whether we would see the wolf after the fog had passed. Yet I see no trace of it. Would it still be capable of hiding somewhere during the day?”

  “If I didn’t hallucinate the size,” Dalence said, “it was truly gigantic. Perhaps it already passed over the Knuckles?”

  Hantle’s eyes grew wide. “I had not considered that. The thought alone creates a pit in my stomach.”

  They had climbed a long way and the trees dwindled to bushes. The slope of the mountain steepened and scree dominated the landscape. A massive clearing spread before them. Dalence thought the depression looked out of place and, a moment later, the shape registered with her. “Hantle, do you see that crater?”

  “The one straight ahead? Yes.”

  “Do you recognize its shape?”

  Hantle stopped walking, which brought the horse to a standstill. “A . . . wolf print.”

  Dalence swallowed hard. “That’s what I thought. As if it were going over the mountains.” The print cleared a huge swath of land of the typical boulders. She noticed Hantle’s long look over the range, from north to south. “What is it?” she said.

  “When I found my boys, all that was left was their heads and spines.” His voice became thick. “Just now, I feel as if we are walking over a great spine protruding out of the world. Crossing this backbone will take me farther away from their graves, but no further from the memory of what happened to them.”

  Dalence was glad to have momentarily paused. Pain sat heavy in her gut, and she couldn’t bear any movement.

  Hantle started the horse forward again, now at a quicker pace. “If the beast did cross the Knuckles, Suu-manth might have already been attacked.”

  Not Brust too. Her mind raced at the thought. “When we reach the Splitskin,” Dalence said, “we will have a view of the city.” She looked up the mountainside. “Not much farther to go.” Brust, stay safe, she thought, at least until I return.

  Hantle looked over his shoulder at her. “What can you tell me of Suu-manth? All I know is that they take their lumber fast. What is its history? Who is in charge?”

  “The people of Suu-manth are proud of their heritage and are eager to share it. Such is how I came to learn it.” The horse stepped up a natural staircase and Dalence jerked with each step. “The countless lakes of the area supported many people. Fishing tribes originally competed and grew in size. Several generations ago, the tribes pooled together their resources and opened a central marketplace. It brought consistency, fair prices, and allowed fish to be transported to a wider area, because it handled distribution.

  “A governor was introduced some years back, and the position serves as head of the fishing industry and settler of disputes. The role is currently filled by a woman nearing the end of her term. She has an adviser that rotates each year.”

  “How is the adviser chosen?”

  “The title of Chancellor of the Catch is, I guess you can say, earned. Each spring, on First Fish, a race is had to catch a fish and behead it on the Bleedstone, a special spot at the Marketplace. The winner is the Chancellor of the Catch until the next First Fish. They say that fisher has luck in the catch and will impart their luck on the governor.”

  “I imagine the entire city gets excited by that competition.”

  “Oh, yes.” Dalence nodded in agreement. “All the shops close for the day and the streets are packed. It’s entertaining.”

  “What is the governor like?”

  “I have seen her a handful of times at events, like First Fish, but never met her personally, so I am not sure what she’s like.”

  Hantle held up his hand and crossed his fingers. “I hope she is at least a person of reason.”

  Dalence watche
d Hantle walk and wondered what drove him. She had lost family, as he had, but her first reaction was to collapse. His seemed to be to press on. Hantle had helped her up and was leading her back to her brother. She admired his persistence, his focus, and that he did not give in to paralyzing pain as would be so easy to do. Were it not for his singular purpose, she would still be in Bansuth, wandering through the ruins. As she had seen briefly, he felt a deep pain, though it did not overwhelm him. His quest for revenge lent urgency to his actions. Might she be able to ease her guilt for surviving when her parents did not if she espoused even a modicum of that revenge?

  Near the top of the pass, a channel of water runoff cut down the center of the road. Patches of snow and ice sheltered in north-facing pockets had so far withstood summer’s temperatures. But they still fed the stream, little by little. Hantle’s shoes had muddied from the path and he stopped to clop them along a rock.

  From horseback, Dalence called to him. “Hantle, look.”

  Ahead of them was a sight he did not expect: a makeshift stable that held several horses.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  HANTLE LET the horse’s bridle go and stepped closer to the stable to investigate. Behind, he heard Dalence dismount and follow him on foot. A breeze came toward him through the pass and he noticed it carried a sound. As Hantle walked, a man initially hidden behind a boulder became visible. He was chopping firewood, facing away from them, and did not notice their approach.

  The man’s strokes stopped as he reached for another log to split. His head was shaved and he had a form that spoke to familiarity with his weighty maul. Hantle took advantage of the break in the man’s chopping and coughed, then cleared his throat. He hoped to get his attention without scaring him. The sound drew the man’s gaze and he turned, setting the maul down beside him. Dark eyes hid beneath thick eyebrows. A look of confusion crossed his face and he said, “Dalence?”