Thoughts of an Eaten Sun

by Kyle Tolle

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  HANTLE WOKE before dawn and enjoyed the warmth of his blanket for a final moment. Outside, the sky began to lighten. He rose to shake out and fold the blanket, which caused Goseth to stir. Hantle said, “I best head out early, sir, since it’s a decent ride.”

  The two shared a quick breakfast during which neither spoke. As Hantle unlocked the lighthouse door, Goseth handed him a pouch and said, “Jursant—for the ride.”

  Hantle shook his hand with a solemnity that gave way to a smile. “Have any for yourself?”

  “Aye, I do. Plenty.” Goseth’s face remained stern. “The lighthouse will shine to the stars in two nights. You have my word, Hantle.”

  “Two nights.” Hantle nodded. Then he was out the door.

  The horse carried Hantle away from the lighthouse, through the city, and up the terrace steps. He shivered in the chill air. In the east, the sun crested the plains and lit the top of Dusath’s forest-edge. His gambit to make Goseth reconsider his initial declination had paid off. Finally, something had gone the right way. He placed a pinch of jursant under his tongue. Although, considering the wolf ate the goddamn moon, could he actually say that? Through the tree trunks to the west, the Knuckles glowed red.

  Hantle knocked on Dalence’s door. When no one answered, he tried again. Louder, this time. The door opened to reveal Dalence wiping sleep from her eyes.

  “Sorry to wake you,” he said.

  Dalence opened the door wider. “Come in.”

  Hantle entered, unable to tell if her eyes were open. “I looked at the site first, but they said you’d gone home.”

  “Yes.” Dalence nodded. “We worked through the night and early morning. Had to get some sleep though.”

  He sat down at the kitchen table and Dalence joined him. Light filtered in through the sheer curtains and threw a dim light about the house. He saw Brust’s door was shut. Either he had not woken up or he had dismissed the door knocking.

  “The progress on the weaponry is fantastic,” Hantle said.

  Dalence rubbed her eyes. “It’s encouraging to see the result before your very eyes. Each day we get more people to help. The energy in the city is palpable. How was Dusath?”

  “Took some doing. The lighthouse keeper was reluctant to help but I stayed with him over the night and showed him the wolf. We watched it . . . devour the moon.”

  Dalence shook her head. “The entire damn moon.”

  “That’s what changed his mind. He’s promised to look into the details and modify the lighthouse to be ready in two nights.”

  “That’s a relief.” Dalence moved to the fireplace and started a fire. “Would you like tea? It’ll be the strongest we have.” Hantle accepted. Next she added water to the kettle and set it over the growing flames. “We had a complication yesterday with the governor.”

  “What was that?”

  “First, she arrested me,” Dalence said. “Held me in the jail near the Marketplace. Brust gathered people to break me out last night. Then she showed up again at the killworks. We outnumbered her, so she left promising to return with a larger group.” She shrugged. “We have that to look forward to.”

  The kettle whistled and Dalence poured the steaming water into mugs. She tied three bags of loose leaves and placed them in the water. Hantle got up to take his mug while Dalence walked to Brust’s door and knocked.

  “Afternoon, Brust. Let’s get back out there.”

  As the three of them rode back to the site of the weaponry, Hantle noticed the frenzy of the city. It paired well with the day’s heat. Wagons loaded with provisions rumbled through the streets and joined streams of people fleeing the city. In the lakes, others pushed boats that contained provisions to sell or hoard. The differing reactions reminded Hantle of Founsel.

  The construction site was relatively quiet, yet bustling. Hantle smiled. The project was a good way to contain anxiety and direct focus. There were more than twice as many volunteers as when he left the day prior.

  “Suu-manth is riled up,” Brust said, “and these people are eager to do something productive.”

  “It appears so,” Hantle said. “Care to show me the progress?”

  Dalence led them through a clearing where workers rested and ate. The nearest structure was the crossbow. “This is the closest to completion. They’re working on the ratchet and winch system to cock the bow.”

  “What about ammunition?”

  “The blacksmith shall soon have a bolt for us to test. A portion of the metal has come from a meteorite.”

  Hantle laughed. “Apropos.”

  Dalence continued through a path that cut between stacks of materials. “The trebuchet is still getting going. Design issues set us back a bit. But we think those are fleshed out.”

  “Design issues?”

  “The initial framing was not rigid enough. Its tendency to twist would only have been amplified when counterweights and a projectile were used.” Dalence showed a clearing where a group was working to assemble multiple pieces of timber into a single leg for the frame. “Speaking of the projectile. Do you remember the landslide we passed on our way down from the Splitskin?”

  “Yes,” Hantle said.

  “Stone workers from a quarry on the Knuckles have offered their expertise to refine boulders from that landslide. They are devising a way to make them function as grenades and explode into fragments on impact.”

  “Incredible work, Dalence. I am impressed.” Hantle patted her on the back. “These are the kinds of artillery I wished we’d had every other night.”

  “These skilled individuals are the heroes. Without them, none of this would be possible.”

  “Indeed. Brust, I hear you rescued Dalence from the jail. Equally impressive.”

  Brust winked to Dalence. “What choice does a brother have when his sister goes and gets herself locked up?”

  Hantle held up his hands to encompass their surroundings. “Now, where can I make best use of myself?”

  Hantle helped Dalence and Brust distribute additional weapons, ammunition, and gunpowder to new builders. The arms were precautions against the governor’s potential return. Dalence was unsure of the size and training of her force but felt the hundred or so volunteers they now had would be as good a deterrent as any. They would hand out the remaining weapons to those who joined the crew throughout the day. With the group outfitted, the three turned their focus to the trebuchet. Each leg piece took more than a dozen people to lift and maneuver into place. Several hours passed and the trebuchet’s frame stood solid.

  Efforts had turned toward the leveraging arm’s construction when Hantle recognized Darbor riding through the work site. Dalence called out, “What brings you through, Darbor?”

  He looked over to Dalence and waved. A woman wearing a porter’s garb followed behind him. From a seat, she drove a mule that pulled the cart and wooden box with which it was laden.

  “On my way down the Knuckles this morning,” Darbor said, “I saw this large gathering and wondered what it was. Decided to pass through on my way back up.” He gave a short laugh. “Figures that you’re involved though.”

  Dalence replied, “The governor would do nothing about the wolf, so we took matters into our own hands. How go your observations?”

  “Very well. The nights have been clear and there’s no shortage of events to chronicle.” He held up a leather notebook and tapped the cover. “And tonight we shall have some additional help.” He indicated the box on the cart behind him. “We just received a telescope even more powerful than the one on Mount Vulteeb. We were fortunate enough to obtain its exclusive use for the next week.”

  “With such an historic event,” Hantle said, “it’s no wonder. Mount Vulteeb is a prime location.” He walked over to the crate. Its side was branded with an insignia foreign to him. He rapped the crate. “How much difference does the elevation make in viewing?”

  Darbor thought for a moment. “The higher you go, the less atmosphere there is
to distort the image. And you can avoid low cloud cover.”

  “Is the difference like night and day?”

  “Nothing that drastic. But it is noticeable.”

  Hantle walked closer to Darbor’s steed. “The reason I ask is, I hoped you would consider keeping the telescope here tonight.”

  Darbor’s face scrunched up. “For what purpose?”

  “We aim to complete these weapons in two nights. That goal is in no way guaranteed, but the wolf is the real wild card. The telescope would help us better track what the wolf does.”

  “I see,” Darbor said. “I can understand the usefulness of that, but Bellice is the one to approve such a decision.”

  Hantle nodded and thought.

  Dalence spoke up in his stead. “Your research would come first, of course. And, here, you would have sole use of the telescope to study to your heart’s content.”

  A smile spread across Darbor’s face. Hantle gave Dalence an approving glance. She was quick on her feet.

  She went on. “Every piece of information you can glean would help us be better prepared. Yes, the mountain might provide better clarity, but on the ground we would have immediacy to act on your observations.”

  Hantle followed her logic. “Knowledge for its own sake is a worthwhile ambition, but would you agree that knowledge put to action is even more powerful? You can be the one to effect that change.”

  Darbor mulled it over, eventually nodding. “Okay, I will stay. As long as we can send a message to Bellice. If she disagrees, however, I must leave.”

  “That’s no problem,” Dalence said. “Let’s find a messenger.”

  Soon, a messenger was off and Darbor, with the porter’s help, unloaded the crate in an opening located some distance from the main construction activity. He would not risk damaging the equipment by placing it near the crowds. He flipped the crate’s latches and opened the lid. The metallic tube sat in a straw bed. A cloth-wrapped bundle contained a tripod, and at its top was a mount to which he affixed the telescope itself. The eyepiece was the last component to be added before he calibrated its focus.

  Evening neared and lanterns shone throughout the worksite. In the darkening east, Hantle saw the pinpoint light of a planet. He turned back to the trebuchet’s arm and ran a length of rope through a pulley. They would raise the arm and attach it to the pivot. A noise caught his attention. He set down the rope and turned. A line of people moved backward and spread out so an opening formed in the middle, through which the governor walked. She carried a torch and marched to within a dozen feet of Dalence. Behind her came the Chancellor of the Catch. As she came to a stop, the governor’s trailing soldiers deployed in a line and awaited orders. The volunteers nearby rearranged themselves in a circle that included the governor and her troopers.

  “Cute,” the governor began. “Formed your own militia now, have you?”

  Footsteps sounded and the circle temporarily broke as two more columns of soldiers marched in from either side of the governor. They stopped a handful of yards away and spread out in lines perpendicular to that behind the governor. Hantle, Dalence, and Brust were surrounded on three sides by these forces.

  The governor wore a smirk. “You’ve been able to recruit people for your cause, but so have I. Each of my troopers feels that the weapons you’re building would best be controlled by the city. I am elected by the residents of Suu-manth to represent their interests. That does not include abdicating our defenses to a ragamuffin outfit fueled by delusions. The time of your defiance has come to an end.”

  She motioned to the captain behind her. He called out, “At arms.”

  The soldiers raised their weapons to their shoulders and aimed at the builders.

  “Can we talk in private?” Dalence asked. She turned her palms up to show she was unarmed.

  “There is nothing to discuss,” the governor sneered. “You are not in a position to negotiate.”

  Hantle raised his musket to the governor. It was bullshit. She was more likely afraid to admit how much power they really had. The volunteers followed his lead and took up their arms to hold the soldiers and the governor in the crosshairs.

  The governor’s face blushed. She lowered her voice and addressed Dalence. “Are you prepared to be responsible for the death of these people?”

  “It seems you are,” Dalence said.

  The governor let out an angry breath and walked forward. She tossed the torch in her hands onto a stack of beams meant for use in the trebuchet then gripped Dalence’s neck with both hands. Dalence grimaced and struggled to breathe.

  Hantle moved his sight to follow the governor but did not have the clearance for a shot. The governor growled, “Give up, little girl. You do not have the power here!” Spittle hit Dalence’s face.

  Dalence staggered to her knees as the governor forced her down. Brust leapt in and pried her from the governor’s grasp. “Get your damn hands off her.” Dalence collapsed to the ground, coughing. A shot roared and Hantle braced but felt nothing hit him. The governor staggered back, though, lifting a hand to a spot on her chest that bloomed red. Brust held the smoking pistol and aimed another at the chancellor. The governor tried to speak, but blood leaked from her mouth instead to run down her jaw. She slumped to the ground and let out a sickening gurgle.

  “Call them off,” Brust ordered the chancellor. Hantle would never have guessed from the tone of his voice that the man had just shot someone. “I am not afraid to die here, but you’ll die first.” Brust looked to the captain. “We are working to save this city.” He nodded with a certain finality.

  Silence hovered over the scene as soldiers and volunteers held each other at gunpoint. Flames jumped into the air as the lumber caught. The stalemate was broken when the captain called for his soldiers to fire. Brust forgot his threat and dove to cover Dalence with his body. Hantle aimed at the captain and fired. Other shots rang out from civilian weapons as Hantle crouched and reached for his powder horn. His aim had been true and the captain toppled backward, grasping his stomach.

  People fell on both sides, screaming or dead. Individuals moved to reload their weapons. The chancellor, during this brief lull, shouted above the screams. “Stand down, soldiers! Stand down.” She rushed to the governor’s side and cradled her in her lap. Hantle finished reloading and cautiously placed the chancellor under aim, in case she reversed her order. Builders nearby pulled materials away from the spreading blaze. Brust sat on the ground next to Dalence and held his bicep. He looked to have been struck by a musket ball. Dalence’s mouth gaped in shock.

  The chancellor shook her head and gently let the governor’s head lower to the ground. She stood and spoke to all. “The governor is dead. I will not watch the groups here trade shots until everyone has joined her.” The captain squirmed on the ground and placed pressure on his gut wound. He offered no disagreement. The troopers lowered their weapons. She pointed to a handful of soldiers and motioned them to her. They carried away the injured captain and the deceased governor. To the rest, she shouted, “About, face. Route step, march.”

  Dalence tore a strip from her shirt and bound Brust’s arm. The chancellor walked to Dalence’s side. “I do not support you, but neither did I support the governor’s plans to take your weapons by force. Do for this city what she could not. Protect us.” She spun and left the volunteers to nurse their wounded and tend to their dead.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  THE DEPARTURE of the soldiers gave the volunteer crew a chance to recover. Dalence crouched beside her brother. She untied the wrap she had placed around Brust’s bicep and looked at the damage.

  “There are two holes,” she said, “so the musket ball looks to have exited.”

  Brust gulped down the pain and spoke through gritted teeth. “Won’t need a surgeon to remove it, at least.”

  She retied the bandage. “Keep pressure on both sides until I can get gauze. Can you move the arm?”

  “No, it just flops there.”

  “Must ha
ve shredded the muscle. We can rig up a sling.” Beside, Hantle stood, watching them. Dalence reached out and stuck a finger into a hole in Hantle’s shirt. “You were nearly hit as well.”

  Hantle looked down and pinched fabric to align the entry and exit marks. “Others weren’t so lucky.”

  No, they weren’t, but Dalence had Brust to focus on first. She reached for her pack and emptied it of contents. The fabric would be ideal for a sling. Cries, screams, and shouts overwhelmed her senses. Turning her focus to the sling helped stay the anxiety that clenched her stomach. She folded the pack’s fabric to contain Brust’s arm. Its straps she ran over his head to cradle and support. She fiddled with adjustments until Brust leaned away.

  “That’s fine there,” he said. “Thank you.”

  With her brother tended to, Dalence looked at the chaos about them. Nearest was a sobbing teen crouched over his father. The man’s neck was pure gore and blood soaked through the boy’s shirt. A single volley had done this. Lumber set aflame by the governor’s torch burned itself out. They were lucky to have kept the fire from consuming more.

  The unscathed moved the injured to a central location for treatment. A few physicians and surgeons soon appeared to address those worst hurt. A handful of nurses tended to those with less threatening wounds. The dead were laid together in a clearing. Dalence knew it would take some time to identify them and notify the next of kin. The soldiers left behind by the rapid dismissal of the force were the last gathered.

  Dalence sat on the ground and stared into the indigo sky. What would they do now? Her gaze fell on Hantle. He had moved off and carried a woman on a sling to an operating table of sorts. Next to it, a surgeon scrubbed his hands of the blood left by his last patient. Thanks to Brust’s bravery, she had gone unscathed and would be able to direct her energy toward their plans. Although, how would this impact the construction’s progress? She felt a pang of guilt that her main concern was what this setback meant for the weapons instead of for those hurt. But time was short.