Thoughts of an Eaten Sun

by Kyle Tolle

  After the bridge, she continued along a strip of land that curved between several lakes. With each step, she drew nearer to the conversation with Brust. One she knew she must have, but she felt clueless as to how to begin it. All that came to mind were the terrible lines that might feature in a short story. “Hi, Brust. Yes, our parents have died and I was wondering what we might want for dinner.”

  She took a different branch at each of the next several intersections and knew Hantle would be turned around again. Two hunting dogs barked through a window in a home whose facade was completely covered in half-dead vines. The affordable residences were never easy to navigate to, especially in Suu-manth. The variations in the homes, landscape, and area grew on you though. She might never love the barking dogs, but they signaled she had nearly arrived. They were as predictable as the rising of the sun.

  The horse carried them between two boulders and through the small basin between that always contained some amount of standing water. Her home then appeared from behind another it neighbored. Sheer curtains drawn across the windows highlighted the candles perched atop their stands. The slight lean of the front door was probably only noticeable to her. Patches of flowers stuck out of clay planters, which hung under the windowsills. The lavender of the irises was her favorite because it reminded her of her mother’s necklace. The very same that she now wore.

  Dalence stopped the horse just before the path that led from the road to their door. She looked back and smiled to Hantle. “Welcome to my home.”

  Hantle stepped to the ground and looked it over. “It’s a lovely place,” he said. “Your brother, er, Brust, will he be home?”

  Dalence dismounted and looked to the curtains. “I am not certain, but it’s likely he is.”

  She faced Hantle only to find his gaze had moved to the ground. He seemed fascinated with a particular rock as he went on. “Maybe you, uh, would like some privacy when you speak with him?”

  Until Hantle mentioned it, she had not even thought about Hantle’s presence as she broke the news to Brust. “That is a good idea. If you don’t mind waiting. Much less awkward for you.”

  “Please, take all the time you need.” Hantle brought his eyes to hers with a sheepish look. “Family is important. I’m fine to wait here.” He adjusted the musket strap on his shoulder.

  Dalence reached for the reins and started toward the house. “I will just take the horse around back and put him up. The back is more likely to be open, anyway.” Without a backward glance, she said, “Thank you, Hantle.”

  Tending to the horse was her way of delaying the inevitable. She hoped the few extra moments would give her some idea of what to say. Behind the house was a small yard that contained Brust’s mount. Hers had been lost in Bansuth. The gate squeaked open and Dalence threw the reins over the horse’s neck then let him loose. She turned and grabbed an armful of hay before she closed the gate with her foot. Brust’s stood under a small shelter and ate from its hay net. Dalence gathered an empty one, added the hay in her arms, and tied it to a post for the new steed to eat from.

  Finally, she felt as ready as possible. Delaying would not do a thing for her except let her build the moment into a more impossible task. With a heavy exhalation, she opened the rear door and stepped inside.

  Brust sat in his chair near the unlit fireplace. “Hey, hey. She’s back!” He looked up from the net he was repairing and gave her a large smile. His auburn hair was a mess and fell past his ears. The thick beard was the same color and was even longer than when Dalence had left last week. A woad shirt clung to his large frame.

  She walked straight to him, leaned over, and gave him a hug. “I love you, Brust.”

  Brust dropped the netting from one hand to reach up and return part of her hug. “You too, short stack.” His hand felt like a stone on her back.

  Dalence let him go and moved so she did not have to look at him. Instead, she drew the curtain back from the rear window, removed her backpack, and sat it under the windowsill.

  “How was your trip?” Brust asked. “How did Mom and Dad look?”

  Dalence, still facing the window, placed her hands over her face and broke into a sob.

  “Whoa,” Brust said. He put the net down and stood. “What did I say?”

  She turned, tears running down her cheeks as she finally faced her brother. “Brust . . . They died.”

  Brust’s face screwed up and he staggered back two steps, as if Dalence had punched him in the chest. “What? I . . . How?”

  She wiped a hand across her nose and sniffled. “You’re going to think I’m mad. But something awful happened in Bansuth. Mom and Dad were killed. The entire city was destroyed.”

  “So you found the city in ruins and Mom and Dad weren’t there? Maybe they escaped before it happened.”

  “No, Brust. They had no chance to escape.”

  The chair broke Brust’s fall and tears welled in his eyes. Dalence sat beside him and gathered her composure enough to relate the story. She spoke first of what time she spent with them, celebrating their mother’s birthday. Then of her sweats and illness and how they moved her to the cellar to keep her cool. How their childhood home was knocked from its foundation and she saw a creature she thought was a hallucination. How it destroyed the city around them, eating all it found. How she passed out only to come to and find a silent wasteland surrounding her. The eerie walk through the rubble where she found a stranger, Hantle. How he chased the beast. That this man gave her aid and led her over the Knuckles. How they met Darbor in the Splitskin and learned the creature had grown so large it leapt off the planet and disappeared into the night sky. The ride to Suu-manth so she could get back to her brother. Dalence paused and both she and Brust cried together.

  When he could speak without his voice breaking, Brust said, “All this since yesterday? They were there two days ago and now we will never see them again?” He shook his head and stared through the ground.

  Dalence cleared the phlegm from her throat with a cough. “I felt so guilty that I survived when Mom and Dad did not. When we came into the city, Hantle and I went to speak to the governor. I couldn’t see you until after I made it up to them. Made it up to you. For getting sick and not standing right there with our parents. Or keeping them down in the cellar with me. We told the governor of the wolf and how Hantle thinks it will come to Suu-manth next. But she laughed us out of the Marketplace and I couldn’t even do that right. So I had to come back to you empty-handed, to say it was my fault. They went and I didn’t do anything.”

  Brust dried his eyes with a sleeve. “Dalence, look at me.” He took her arms in his hands and found her eyes. “You should not feel you did that to them. This . . . That thing, if it’s a wolf or a monster or a demon, I don’t know. But it killed them. Not you. Do you understand how fortunate I am that you escaped and made it back here?” He pulled her into a hug. The netting was still draped across his feet, and, when Brust let go of her, he bent over to gather it and throw it in a corner to be out of the way.

  Dalence stood, sniffled, and walked to the rear window. “I managed to get a couple things of theirs before we left.” She picked up the pack and opened its drawstrings.

  Brust moved to the edge of his chair and looked expectantly. “What do you mean? From the house?”

  Instead of answering, she handed him their father’s lorebook. “Remember when you and I would sit outside at night and Dad would read us the same story as many times as we wanted to hear it?” Brust took the book with a delicate touch and his fingers immediately darkened with soot. He flipped open the cover and thumbed through several of the pages. As he did, Dalence removed the necklace and laid it across an open page.

  Brust picked up the necklace and held the jewel to the light from the window. “I remember,” he said, “when Dad came home with this. He made Mom close her eyes and he set a box on the table in front of her. On each side he laid a few irises, like the ones you planted outside. The look on Mom’s face when she saw it. You’d
never seen a more surprised woman. He saved up money for a year to be able to get that.”

  Brust choked up once more and set the book, still opened, on a table beside him. He handed her the necklace and walked to the kitchen, his steps heavy on the floor. Glasses clinked as he pulled a tumbler from a cabinet, along with a dark brown bottle. The cork squeaked out of the bottle’s mouth. “Do you want one?” he said.

  “No. Not right now,” Dalence replied. She fixed the necklace around her neck.

  He filled the glass completely and spilled a few drops lifting it from the table to his lips. The grimace on his face made her wonder how he could drink liquor like that. But he took several deep gulps before returning to the chair.

  “This Hantle,” he said. “Where did he go after you spoke to the governor?”

  “Came here with me.” Dalence pointed out the front door. “He’s just outside. I didn’t figure it’d be right to tell you with a stranger here.”

  “Well, hell, bring him in. Is it still raining?”

  “It was barely spitting by the time we got here.” Dalence unlocked the front door and motioned for Hantle to come in. Brust left his chair and joined Dalence at the door. She felt comforted by his size and the six inches he stood over her.

  Hantle stepped inside and took Brust’s hand in a firm shake. “Hello, I’m Hantle.” He then covered the shake with his other hand and said, “I am sorry for your loss.”

  “Brust,” her brother said. “And I can’t thank you enough for helping Dalence get back on her feet.” He stepped back into the room as Hantle leaned his musket against the wall. “Take a seat too. Dalence didn’t mention she left you in the rain.” He pulled a chair from the kitchen into the sitting room. Hantle accepted it with a nod and ran a hand through his wet hair, which made it stand out at odd angles.

  Dalence and Brust resumed their seats and Brust took another pull from his glass. “Dalence told me you found her in Bansuth and that you were chasing the wolf. But she didn’t say how you also survived the night.”

  Hantle shared his story with Brust, nearly the same one he gave to the governor. Brust asked a few questions of clarification, eager to hear the details.

  After Hantle finished, Brust sat quietly for a moment before speaking up. “In a way, I can’t imagine how this is true,” he said. “But I’m not calling you a liar. Boggles the mind, is all.”

  Hantle nodded. “Understood. I was floored when some of what Dalence saw was backed up by the astronomers on Mount Vulteeb.”

  Brust finished the liquor in his glass and stood. Dalence couldn’t tell whether he was feeling the alcohol yet or not. The mood on his face had darkened, though. He returned to the kitchen, poured himself another full glass from the open bottle, and capped it. “You’ll have to excuse me.” He walked through the sitting room, toward the small hall that led to their bedrooms. “I gotta be by myself for a while.”

  A pensive silence fell across the house and Dalence relaxed her body now that the dreaded revelation was complete. Hantle stuck his legs out, settled deeper into the chair, and leaned his head back on the padded top rail. She saw him close his eyes and did the same. How he had lasted this long was a mystery to her. A yawn escaped her. They would only relax for a few minutes. The governor had forbidden them from talking to other denizens about the wolf, but that would not stop her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  A NOISE STARTLED Hantle awake and he looked to the kitchen. Brust rummaged through cabinets, slamming them shut again.

  “I don’t see a damn thing to eat,” Brust said.

  Dalence’s eyes crept open and she looked behind her, toward her brother. Brust opened one more cabinet. From within, he drew a different liquor bottle, set it on the table, and picked up his empty glass. “Guess another drink will do.” The pour sloshed over the side of the tumbler and Brust ran a finger through it. He licked the liquid from his finger and used his other hand to fit the cork back in, nearly spilling the bottle in the process.

  Brust shakily walked from the kitchen to his room. The door slammed shut and Hantle heard something topple over. He pushed himself up straight in the chair and rubbed his eyes. He asked, “Feeling better after some rest?”

  Dalence yawned and stood. “Let’s see if this grogginess wears off first.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and felt his stomach rumble. It was yet another reminder that he could not press himself indefinitely and ignore basic needs. It seemed his entire journey was one of discovering unavoidable limitations.

  Dalence said, “Your stomach’s grumbling too? Guess I ought to make something then.” She walked to the kitchen.

  “Can I help?” Hantle offered. He started toward the kitchen.

  She waved him off. “No, thanks. You helped enough on the way back here. Just rest.”

  “Okay.” Hantle smiled and walked to the window. The sun was at an angle now for its light to spill into the house. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth crawl over him.

  Metal scraped against metal as Dalence searched her cooking wares. She said, “Brust seemed a bit unsteady on his feet, didn’t he?”

  “That he did,” Hantle replied. Through the window, he saw a large lake with boats pulling in nets full of fish.

  “How about something hearty, then?” A thud came from the counter as Dalence set down an enamel pan. “A good casserole will help Brust soak up the liquor.” She pulled a sack of potatoes from a corner and reached for a knife to slice them.

  “Brust,” she yelled to be heard through the door. A grunt answered. “Go grab us some fish.”

  Brust burst out of the bedroom, flung open the front door, and, still barefoot, headed out.

  “Actually”—Dalence caught Hantle’s attention and jerked her head to the fireplace—“you can get that fire going. And put some water on.”

  Hantle gathered the flint, steel, and kindling from the mantle and crouched down. He arranged kindling in a small pyramid in the existing ashes. He could hear Dalence’s knife slicing through the potatoes behind him.

  She asked, “Do you know what the most terrifying thing I’ve realized so far is?” Hantle shook his head as he set steel to flint. She went on. “That all the opportunities to spend time with my parents are passed. I always considered time to be in endless supply. There was always a chance to get to it later on. But I come to find that time is scarce and unpredictable.”

  A spark caught and the kindling smoked. Hantle blew gently on the flame and it leapt up. He said, “It’s cruel that the promises of the future don’t come to be.”

  Dalence’s knife kept slicing. “Now that I’ve realized it,” she said, “I want to be with my brother. But he seems intent on drinking himself to death.”

  Hantle added a few smaller logs to the kindling. He sat back and spun to face Dalence. “Everyone copes. How does he normally handle grief?”

  “Like he is.” Dalence picked up the bottle and mimed taking a swig from it. “At least the errand got him away from the booze.” She set the bottle down and placed pieces of potato in the pan. To it she added other vegetables, cheese, and a creamy stock.

  Hantle looked back to the fire and found it well established. To the growing blaze, he added larger logs. Dalence handed him a kettle to hang from a bar stretching across the fireplace, and then the dish with the casserole. The food, he sat on a grate that folded down from the side.

  “Once the water’s warm,” Dalence said, “I planned to wash up. You’re welcome to it first.”

  Hantle gave a small laugh. “I’ll take the hint. Thank you.”

  “There’s a wash basin right behind that screen.” On the other side of the room, next to Brust’s bedroom door, was a folding screen decorated with a variety of stylized fish.

  He splashed a handful of warm water over his neck. “You know,” he said, “I did not expect to be drug out of the Marketplace. Completely changes what we can accomplish tonight.” Soot and dirt clouded the basin. He dunked his scalp into the water
and scrubbed.

  He heard Dalence fill the kettle with more water and place it back over the fire. She said, “But now we understand that fighting this wolf is up to us alone. No aid will come unless we bring it.”

  Hantle washed his face and used a damp cloth to wipe down his chest and arms before he grabbed a towel to dry his head. Cleaning up lifted his mood, like he had washed off a layer of mental crust too. He tossed his shirt back on and walked out from behind the screen to take his seat. Brust opened the front door and carried in three fish fillets. Dalence set them on a wooden plank, coated them with herbs, and placed the plank on the fire grate. Brust sat at the kitchen table and picked at some bread and oil Dalence had set out. With the food cooking, Dalence took the kettle and disappeared behind the screen to wash. The house filled with the delightful scent of the food.

  Brust spoke to Hantle through a mouthful. “I am sorry you lost your family but glad you can be here with us.”

  Hantle said, “I’m fortunate you and your sister are so kind as to invite me in.”

  Dalence returned from behind the screen, drying hair that, now untangled, fell straight and well below her shoulders. She smiled to Hantle. “You have to work for it though. Go ahead and take the food off the fire.”

  Hantle complied and Brust spread the wood around to break the fire into smoldering coals. Each served themselves a plate of the fish, casserole, and bread. Hantle took a chair at the kitchen table and tucked into his food with his companions. The fish melted on his tongue and the potatoes hit the spot.

  Hantle tipped his head toward Dalence. “Fantastic meal here.”

  She accepted the compliment with a nod but kept her head down in her food.

  After a moment, Brust said, “Hantle, how have you coped with it?” The slur in his voice was unmistakable. “With your . . . loss. And, I’m sorry to say it, the future looking bleak?” Hantle could feel the pain that creased his face.