Thoughts of an Eaten Sun

by Kyle Tolle

  Hantle removed his jacket as the horses carried them into the foothills of the Knuckles. He knew he would not find the wolf out on the Fist, but he looked anyway. The forests stretched to the horizon and he imagined the wolf lying down, looking like a set of mountains breaking the flatness.

  The road wove east through barrows and cut north to avoid a ravine. As they rounded a bend, the mountains towered to their left. A large clearing left by a landslide ended in a talus littered with dead tree trunks jutting out in myriad ways.

  He noticed Dalence sitting upright, focused on the mountains, and said, “You look much better than you did this morning.”

  Her horse followed a curve and Hantle saw the determination in her face. Dalence said, “I am picturing the best location to place a grand weapon like you mentioned.”

  He had dismissed that idea as too outlandish and had spent much of the ride dwelling on his record of failure. But here was Dalence, plotting out action instead of ruminating on defeat. The wolf’s growing size did not limit her imagination.

  “Good. Ideas to propose to the governor will be necessary when we speak to her. After getting you back to Brust, of course.”

  The hills shrank as they neared Suu-manth. Tendrils of smoke rose from chimneys that spread out before them. No walls demarcated the city’s boundary, but they closed in on the outer reaches.

  Dalence shook her head and said, “Enlisting the governor’s forces will help put Brust out of harm’s way. I need to do that first. I owe that much to my parents.”

  He watched her sling her pack to her lap and feel around its interior. She drew out the crystal necklace and latched it around her neck. The clasp caught the sunlight and Hantle was encouraged to see the motivation she embodied.

  “Anyway,” she added, “we have to pass the Marketplace to reach my house.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  HANTLE DREW his horse even with Dalence’s and rode past a cluster of squat, fieldstone homes that seemed to lean against one another for support. How did the walls manage to stay upright? They passed several other homesteads standing in the same slouching fashion and he concluded it was a regional style.

  Shortly, they came by a small wooden guard hut sitting alongside the road. Dalence gave a brief wave to the guards who stayed seated and hardly seemed to notice the passersby. A fieldstone wall, only a foot tall, followed the road for a few hundred feet before grasses took its place. Their horses’ shoes sounded on a bridge, laden with mosses, that led them over a stream. Farther south, the stream fed into another before emptying into a lake.

  Hantle absorbed the city’s layout and hum of activity. “From here, you’d think the city never ends.”

  Dalence glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Some reckon there are ten times more fish than people. There’s certainly enough water for them all.”

  Lakes occupied most of the city’s area. Stone homes sat in the strips of land between adjacent bodies of water, which were filled with docks, piers, pylons, and boats. Many other homes were built over the water and stood on stilts. Due to the unfamiliar style, Hantle could not tell whether they looked to be of newer or older construction. He saw people scattered everywhere across the landscape: fishing from piers or boats, walking over bridges, tending to chores outside the home, or chatting with friends across the channels that connected most of the lakes.

  Hantle followed Dalence’s lead and soon lost track of where they were. He asked her, “How do you keep your bearings?”

  “When I first moved here, I got lost more times than I can count. Still happens on occasion. But you learn the main roads soon enough. While circuitous, the largest ones, like the one we’re on, run in to the Marketplace.”

  Hantle thanked her for the tip. “I’ll commit that to memory.”

  A group of clouds moved in from the north and broke the heat with their raindrops. Hantle offered his jacket to Dalence but she declined, so he draped it over his back and lowered his head to the drizzle. The many roads curved around lake edges and split into or joined with others at intersections seemingly every few feet. Standing puddles pocked the dirt roads and their horses splashed through as they continued.

  A stone slab rose ten feet into the air and had the word “Loamshoal” chiseled near the top, the letters painted white for visibility. “What does the stone mean?” Hantle said.

  “Those indicate districts,” Dalence replied. She pointed to a few vague places. “Other ones are scattered around different areas of the city. Loamshoal has many open-air food markets and pubs.”

  They passed a pub that blended in with its neighboring buildings. The only things to set it apart were the faded signage hanging from a metal rod that dripped rust down the sign, and two hitching rails in the street. Nearby was an alley where vendors occupied stalls, and individuals impervious to the rain browsed the selections of fruits and vegetables.

  Before long, they arrived in a sizable clearing that lay between lakes. The ground was mostly occupied by one sprawling building. Dalence pointed to a sign half-hidden under nets and oars that read “Marketplace.” She dismounted and Hantle followed her. A stone slab to the far left indicated “Mainlake.” Hantle removed his musket from its sling and hung its strap over his shoulder. She turned their horses in at a corral and they walked into the Marketplace.

  A door in the wall’s rough-hewn timbers led into stifling air and a cacophony of shouts, music, and sounds. The main passage splintered off into a labyrinthine bazaar that resembled the drunken layout of the streets they had just traveled. Hantle again followed Dalence as she wove her way through the passages. A low-hung roof covered large portions of the market, but breaks here and there allowed in light sufficient to navigate and transact business.

  An opening appeared among the stalls and the roof stood three times taller. He was thankful for the cooler air in this area. To his sides, the rain splattered on the lower, shingled, moss-patched roof. Dalence entered a line of people and, after catching Hantle’s eye, nodded her head to the wide stone nearby. “That’s the Bleedstone, and the governor’s seat on top.”

  Wooden stairs from either side led to the Bleedstone’s flat top. The frame of the governor’s seat was built from oars and the arms were draped with netting. Half a fishing boat stood upright as the seat’s back; its bow, a dozen feet up, curved over as an ornamental hood.

  “Does she actually use it?” Hantle asked.

  “Yes, when she holds daily audience.”

  When they reached the front of the line, Dalence gave her name to a man who added it to a list that already stretched to a second column on the paper. The man said, “Audience will begin shortly. Listen for your name to be called,” and simultaneously waved her to the side and the next person forward.

  The two of them walked under a break in the roof that dripped onto their shoulders, and they moved on into a thin passage. “Might as well eat as we wait,” Dalence said. She folded over the waistband on her pants and, with some effort, removed a few notes that were rolled up and pressed flat.

  “Never would have thought of that,” Hantle acknowledged.

  Dalence held up the stick of bills and smiled. “You never know when you’ll lose everything but your pants.”

  The funds were enough for them to procure soup, bread, and two pints of ale from a few vendors. They stood nearby, ate, and discussed what they would say to the governor. Dalence proposed that Hantle lead since he had the most experience with the creature. The more times Hantle repeated the story, the stranger it felt. With each recital, it felt less real than the last. It was now more like a fable that hoped to draw veracity from being spoken. He set those thoughts aside and focused on the meal. The food was an improvement over what he had found during his travel and it left him filled. Hantle became distracted watching the goings-on, enjoying the bustle after so much time spent in relative quiet.

  As he finished the last pull of ale, he gave a contented sigh. Suddenly, Hantle realized this was his first taste of
life after grief. His stomach twisted into a knot for so easily forgetting Lorenca and his boys. Yet he hoped they would not resent him. He took the ring out of his breast pocket and rolled its warped shape between his fingers. The reason he was in Suu-manth was to honor and avenge them. Eventually, he might forge a new life from the fragments he had left from Founsel. Once he laid the wolf to waste, he might find some semblance of a home here. He would make the ring round again, even if he could not give it back to Lorenca. With a simple chain, he could wear her memory around his neck.

  Hantle’s attention jerked back to the Marketplace as Dalence tapped his arm. “Governor’s called us.” She stood and walked to the Bleedstone. Hantle took a deep, tired breath and followed her. His musket was taken by one of the guards next to the Bleedstone. As he climbed the stairs, he felt how heavy his legs had become. Would he have enough stamina tonight to do what replayed in his mind again and again?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THE WOOD of the stairs groaned as Hantle stepped up them and onto the Bleedstone. The stone was wide enough to be a platform for the governor’s seat and those seeking audience. Ahead of Hantle, Dalence stopped and pivoted to stand at an angle that included both Hantle and the governor. With her stance and look, she deferred the introduction to Hantle. Hantle took a few steps past Dalence and was caught by surprise when the governor raised her hand. “Stop. That is close enough.”

  Hantle stopped and rotated to include Dalence in his view as well, to show they were united. The leader’s face was round but her expression was flat. She wore her hair pulled tight and fastened behind her head. Her eyes absorbed the dark of her wardrobe and surroundings such that Hantle could not be sure of their color. Freckles gathered around her eyes and hinted at her time spent in the sun.

  The governor spoke again. “What brings you here today?” To her right stood a woman with a fishing hook pinned to her shirt. Hantle took this to be the governor’s adviser, the Chancellor of the Catch. She had short-cropped, unkempt hair that fell across her face in several strands. Flushed cheeks called out her sharp cheekbones and small nose. A broad frame was enhanced by the way she stood with legs and elbows planted wide.

  Hantle said, “We bring news of a grave danger to Suu-manth. May we convene in private to discuss this delicate matter?”

  The chancellor replied. “It is customary for the governor to perform all her transactions in public.” With an outstretched arm, she indicated a position closer to the governor. “But you may step forward to be more discreet.”

  Hantle approached until within arm’s reach. Dalence drew up as well, to stand flush with him. Feeling the eyes in the Marketplace on him, Hantle stood straighter. “My entire family and village, Founsel, were destroyed before me. I raced to Harsenth and, while it survived, the city and inhabitants suffered great damage. From there, I came to Bansuth and found it decimated. Except for my companion, Dalence, none survived. All the cities on the Far Finger were brought low, and we fear the same will happen to Suu-manth next.”

  The governor’s brow furrowed and she leaned forward to clasp her hands. Beside her, the chancellor tilted her head back and raised an eyebrow. “What danger,” the governor asked, “do you speak of?”

  Hantle wanted to add additional context before he mentioned the wolf. “We spent the entire day making our way here from Bansuth.” He remembered the difficulty of talking to Harsenth’s mayor and wanted to show the reality of the danger prior to introducing the hard-to-believe cause. “Dalence is still getting over an illness. She has pushed herself to stand before you. I suffered injury in Founsel”—Hantle rolled up his sleeve and exposed the network of scabs, still pink and prominent—“but have ridden nonstop for several days in the hopes of heading it off.”

  “You beat around the bush,” the governor said. “Come to the point.” She leaned back a bit, and Hantle worried he would lose her interest.

  “The danger is a wolf that has killed thousands and eaten them all. With every soul it takes, it grows larger, then moves on to larger cities for more prey. The next city, we expect, is Suu-manth.” He temporarily omitted the aspect of the creature leaving the planet. “As far as was last known, it was the size of a mountain, although it will have grown since then from the people it consumed in Bansuth. Its size makes it capable of destroying Suu-manth in a single night.”

  The governor let out a laugh, for which Hantle was unprepared. She threw her arms and hands out wide and addressed the chancellor. “Did you put them up to this?”

  “Absolutely not,” the chancellor said. “Someone here must have though.” She cast a glance around the Marketplace. “Do you see anyone snickering?”

  The governor turned her eyes to Hantle. “Shall I run home and pull the blankets over my head. Is that what you’d like me to do?”

  “No.” Hantle had not considered being laughed at. What approach could he take next? “We hoped you would set the city’s army against the creature and use all your might to kill it.”

  The governor addressed the chancellor again but spoke just as much to Hantle and Dalence. “The problem with their ‘warning’ is that it’s too fantastical. Over the top.”

  The chancellor nodded and locked eyes with Hantle. “Agreed, Governor. An advancing military would be much more believable. Or a robbery in planning, some spreading sickness, even economic saboteurs.”

  The governor turned to Dalence and said, “Are you just his body guard? What would you add?”

  Dalence’s face hardened and her voice carried weight. “Do not mock us. Our families have died, and we are here to prevent you from such a death, if you’ll put back your small mind and step forward with a hint of courage.”

  The governor took an offensive tone to counter her. “Come from out of town, have you? Might have plied yourself with drugs that cause hallucinations and paranoid thoughts. There are enough concerns for me without listening to the nightmares of addled minds.”

  The chancellor stepped around the governor’s chair and motioned for Hantle and Dalence to move to the stairs they had walked up. “That’s enough. Let’s move along now.”

  Hantle leaned around the chancellor to see the governor. “Yes, it’s unbelievable, but Harsenth is still standing because they took swift action. Wouldn’t it be prudent to take precautions instead of ignoring a threat?”

  “Remove yourselves or you will be removed.” The chancellor snapped her fingers to beckon forward her guards.

  “We have proof!” Dalence shouted.

  The governor’s face scrunched with skepticism but she lifted a hand to pause the guards. “What proof?”

  “A group of astronomers saw the wolf last night,” Dalence said. Hantle saw the plea written on her face. “They can verify our claims.”

  “Bring them here,” the governor said, “and let them speak for themselves.”

  “They are still on Mount Vulteeb,” Hantle said. “But we could send word.”

  “How convenient,” the governor mocked, “that your only witnesses are hours away. This is a plot to waste my time.” She motioned again for the guards to move in. “A wolf has no more destroyed a city than an ant has built a mountain.”

  The guards gripped Hantle’s arms and dragged Dalence along with him. “You don’t understand how this wolf operates,” Hantle said, struggling to keep his footing.

  “Oh I understand enough. Goodbye.” The governor waved a condescending farewell. “And if I come to hear that you’re spouting this off to anyone else, you will be jailed.”

  The guards tossed them both out of the Marketplace. Hantle stumbled and fell to the ground as the rain pelted his back. His musket clattered down behind him. Their escorts disappeared once more into the building’s dim interior. Dalence had kept her balance; she gathered Hantle’s weapon and helped him to his feet. A group of people stood in the Marketplace’s entrance, murmuring and looking at the two.

  This was worse than he feared. “How did it go so wrong?”

  Dalence kept hi
s arm in hers and brought them to the corral where she spoke to the attendant. “Just my horse, please. The other belongs to a man named Darbor who will claim it tomorrow.” The attendant gathered and returned the horse before retreating wordlessly, as if afraid to get too near. Dalence mounted the steed and pulled Hantle up to sit behind her. “We can discuss it at my house,” she said.

  “Yes,” Hantle mumbled. “Okay. You’re right.” He gripped her shoulder as they rode away from the Marketplace and threaded their way between lakes.

  The interaction with the governor squelched his ability to think. He had expected the leader to set him to some task and to spend the rest of the day preparing the city. He had expected a repeat of Harsenth: having a difficult time convincing them of the danger but ultimately succeeding. Instead, he faced jailing for breaching the governor’s forbiddance.

  Hantle looked to the boats on the water and imagined the wolf impacting them like a meteorite. He saw it dredge the lakes to feed on a hundred thousand fish. Then it licked its lips and its eyes burned fear into his chest.

  The meaning sank in: The wolf was outside his reach. There were no soldiers to unite. The beast would come, unopposed, and find more than ten thousand people averting their eyes from the omen above. Would they believe only after its jaws clamped around them?

  Hantle’s remaining goal was to get Dalence back to her brother. At least he could accomplish that. She could get some rest, giving him time to figure out what the hell to do next.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  DALENCE TIGHTENED the reins on one side and directed her horse over a bridge. Hantle sat quietly behind her. The stonework included a high arch and wide-set pier columns. On the river, several people stood on a barge that drew closer to the bridge. They used long poles to maneuver the vessel under the arch. Stacked high on it were fish on their way to the Marketplace. Their oily scent was accentuated by the rain, which slowed to a drizzle. Because Brust came home each day redolent of the day’s variety of catch, Dalence now associated the smell with home.