by Sever Bronny
“Who are you going with, Jengo?” Leera asked, blushing.
“Oh, I have someone in mind …”
Augum felt that flutter dive. If he was going to ask her, maybe he should do it sooner than later …
The singing grew louder as they walked past more homes with high-pitched roofs. The air was crisp and fresh, the snow sparkling from the light of the torches, each decorated with holly and vine. Soon they were in a plaza near the stone well marking the center of town. Four older women with mismatching skin tones and fur coats gossiped on a bench near a fire. Four men sang arm in arm behind them holding tankards. They were big and burly, coats smeared with mud.
“Miners,” Jengo said. “Some come a long way. Money’s good during war.”
The men raised their tankards as the trio passed. “Happy Endyear!”
“Happy Endyear!” Jengo replied, Augum and Leera joining in half-heartedly, keeping their faces slightly averted.
“Don’t worry, nobody will recognize you—the herald didn’t bring a sketch of your faces.”
They walked past a closed merchant shop named Good Medicine and on to the Miner’s Mule Inn, a two-story log house with a balcony, on which people sat. Glasses clinked as the strangers bellowed with laughter.
Outside the inn, a man with a scraggly beard puffed on a long pipe, a wolf skin draped around his shoulders. He watched them as they walked by.
“You is that walking Sierran tree,” the man said, slurring his speech.
“Well I am Sierran,” Jengo replied with a smile and nod, towering over the man.
The man blew a cloud of blue smoke up into Jengo’s face.
Jengo coughed. “What a dreadful thing, I’ll be sick for a tenday …”
“I don’t much like your kind, you is too dark. Can disappear at night I say, sneak up on a man. It ain’t right. Damned by the sun you is. You go on back to where you come from.”
“But Sierrans come in every color under the sun—”
“My mother’s a Sierran,” Augum said.
“Then you mammy is a no good—”
“Try not to strain that drunken brain, you oaf,” Leera said.
Augum and Jengo stared at her.
The man’s wandering eyes focused in on Leera. “What you just say, you darn squeaker?”
“I said, did you lose your cane?”
The man looked down. “I don’t have no cane—” but they had already strolled past, opening the heavy oak door cut with a stained glass window.
“People like that exist in every kingdom,” Jengo said, sighing.
Augum thought of the Pendersons and silently agreed.
They were in a crowded smoky tavern, its patrons holding tankards of slopping ale. People talked in loud voices, sang, and danced. A large hearth was set into the right wall, a bar counter on the left. Vine and wreaths of holly hung from iron candle chandeliers. Men of all races and creeds sat on rustic wooden stools. Some had sheathed swords, some pickaxes. Glassy eyes drifted their way as Augum noted no one wore a robe.
“You aren’t trying to sneak some of that mead again, is you Jengo?” yelled a big man behind the bar wearing a greasy apron. His hair was black and his eyes almond-shaped.
When Augum saw those eyes, his heart squeezed. He wished Mya were here. He imagined secretly holding her hand at the Star Feast.
“That was only one time, Huan, and I did it because I was really sick.”
Huan laughed. “You barely had a cough.”
“I was dying of winter fever!”
“Everyone here’s dying of winter fever. Look at them drinking to get well.”
“Aye, I be sick unless I have me ale,” said a rotund man on a nearby stool. His hair was so greasy Augum thought it’d light on fire if he neared a torch.
Huan cracked a grin at the man. “You be sick whenever your wife come in here and drag you off by that fat chin of yours.”
“That be all too true. She don’t much like the bottle.”
“She don’t much like you either.” Huan turned back to Jengo. “So since when did you make friends? Spit me some names so I can pass on tall tales.”
“Oh, uh—”
“—Jasper and Penelope,” Augum interrupted, realizing it was safer to use false names.
“Penelope?” Leera mouthed.
“It’s all I could think of,” he said as the innkeeper reached under the bar and brought out four tin tankards.
“On the occasion of Jengo bringing friends in for the first time in living memory,” Huan began, removing the stopper from a stone jug, “allow me to serve you some very special and very sweet almond mead all the way from Blackhaven. I’ve been saving it for the younglings because it’d take four of these here jugs to get you cross-eyed.”
He began pouring. “Anyway, even your father should approve. Couple miners brought it in the other day. Hardly knew what they had.” He wheezed with laughter, spilling mead onto the counter. “Traded them some horse ale, I did.”
Jengo cleaned his tankard quickly before Huan poured him the mead. “Thanks, Huan, and Happy Endyear.”
“Happy Endyear,” Augum and Leera chimed in, clinking tankards with them.
Augum thought it tasted like sweet almonds mixed with thick molasses. It was actually quite good and he found himself taking a second sip, and then a third.
Jengo glanced around the tavern. He was the tallest and thinnest one there. Many a curious eye swiveled his way. “Busiest I’ve ever seen it. Is it safe to have all these people here? What if they burnt the place down?”
“Just the way I like it—rowdy, stinky and drunk. Keeps the coin rolling. How’s your father anyway? Business good?”
Jengo shrugged.
“That man needs to come in here and drink my gutter ale more. All those specialty wines can’t be good for his health.” He raised his tankard. “Nonetheless, he’s the most honest iron trader in town. To your father.”
“To my father,” Jengo said blandly.
Huan downed his tankard in one go and burped. “So you from out west then, Penelope?”
“Uh, yes,” Leera replied.
Huan wiped his hands on his filthy apron. “Where from? Any news to share?”
“Blackhaven.” She glanced to Augum, obviously wondering if it was a good idea to say so much. “No news though.”
“Ah.” Huan glanced at their robes. He looked like he wanted to say something else but instead tipped his tankard under a large cask behind him. “Time for some proper ale. So you’re from Blackhaven, huh? Well you’re not the only ones. Good deal of these drunkards would rather work in the mine supporting the war effort than actually be in the stinkin’ war.” He turned to grin at Jengo. “You saw how the place was as quiet as the grave when that herald swung through.”
Augum glanced around the crowded tavern. Almost every man looked able enough to join the Legion.
“Fewer and fewer men come to the mines every month. Soon they’ll be giving girls pickaxes, they will.” Huan took a long pull from his tankard and grimaced. “Legion don’t seem to realize you need big ugly men to dig out iron if you want to keep making swords and armor. Can’t send everyone to war, you know, and damned if the place isn’t empty every time that foul trumpet blares.” A customer down the bar hooted for his attention. “It’s that Abrandian drunkard again. Excuse me.”
“What trumpet?” Augum asked, but Huan had already left to attend to a wobbly old man.
“There’s always a lookout at the hill by the road,” Jengo replied. “Every villager takes his fair turn. Soon as the lookout spots a Legion herald or Constable Clouds, they send up a blast and every man of age disappears. It’s become a kind of game. Clouds knows all about it, but whoever he catches just has to pay a ‘fine’. Only those that actually anger him get drafted.”
“Who is this Constable Clouds?”
“He collects taxes on behalf of the Legion and is supposed to send men for conscription, but he’s as corrupt a man as they come.”
“S
o the Legion army hasn’t actually visited here yet?”
“Not yet, but everyone knows it’s just a matter of time. It’s truly frightening, and of course we’re all going to die horrible deaths when that happens. They raze villages to the ground.”
Augum and Leera exchanged looks knowing just how true that was.
Jengo peeked in Huan’s direction before helping himself to more of the mead. “Besides, I’m guessing almost everyone here broke one Legion proclamation or another. We’re all doomed.”
“How do we talk to Huan alone about, you know, the castle?” Leera asked.
“I’ll ask Priya to cover the bar for a while.” Jengo’s head swiveled over the crowd. “There she is. Be right back.”
They watched as Jengo pushed through the throng, a tree among shrubs. He met up with a slender woman with very long black hair and sienna skin, gracefully holding a tray of drinks and bread. She wore an indigo cloth wrapped around her waist and draped over one shoulder. Jeweled studs pierced her lips and nose. Jengo conversed with her before the pair made their way over.
“This is Priya,” Jengo said, blushing as he presented her.
Priya made a small bow. “Greetings,” she said in a slight accent. Her face was soft, brows perfectly trimmed. Several turquoise, amber and brimstone necklaces hung from her neck. “So you’re Jengo’s new friends. How many times has the world supposed to have ended since you met him?”
“She’s from Tiberra,” Jengo quickly added. “Her mother has a scribe shop in town—”
“My crazy mother,” Priya interrupted with a radiant smile aimed at Jengo.
Jengo chuckled nervously. “These are my friends, Aug—”
“—Jasper and Penelope,” Augum said. “Um, Happy Endyear.”
“Happy Endyear to you.”
“I like your necklaces,” Leera said.
Priya smiled. “Thank you, and you have the prettiest face. Those freckles make you shine.”
Leera twisted and fidgeted as if never having been complimented on her looks before.
“Right,” Jengo began, “so Priya, think you could take over for Huan a little while? I know it’s rowdy, but—”
“You’re being silly, Jengo. Of course I can, but won’t you tell me why?”
“Well, we need to talk to Huan. Private, uh, trading business, that sort of thing.”
“So you’ve decided to take over your father’s business after all.”
“No—no, I mean, maybe, we’ll see …”
Priya studied him a moment. Jengo cleared his throat and took a sip from his tankard.
“You are hiding something, Jengo,” Priya said with a giggle. “But I will not press you.” She paced around them, still holding the tray, and on through a small door at the end of the bar.
“Do you think she’s prettier than me?” Leera whispered into Augum’s ear.
Augum gave her a funny look. “I don’t know, how in all of Solia am I supposed to tell?”
Leera’s face fell as she gave him a half-shrug.
He shuffled his feet, feeling stupid. How else was he supposed to answer that? He wanted to say they were both pretty, but that probably would have been the wrong thing to say. And obviously Leera was way prettier, but verbalizing that would have been tantamount to … upon reflection, why hadn’t he just said she was prettier?
They watched as Priya spoke with Huan, who at that moment was giving the old Abrandian a stern dressing down for vomiting all over the bar. She patiently pointed in their direction. Huan looked up and sighed. He angrily gestured at the defiled bar, but Priya placed a calm hand on his arm. He listened to her, rolled his eyes, and passed her his cloth, trouncing their way while brushing his hands against his apron.
“Jengo, I’m very busy, I don’t have time for end-of-the-world stories again—”
“Yes, I know, Huan, but please, this’ll only take a moment. It really is important this time, I swear.”
Huan eyed Augum and Leera’s robes once more before groaning and gesturing for them to follow. He tottered around the bar and pushed through the crowd, doling out quick-witted compliments or friendly jibes at his patrons. They exited through a back door and out into a snowy courtyard lit by torches decorated with holly and vine. A group of older men stood in a close-knit circle, smoking pipes and talking in low voices.
“Huan, we’re looking for something,” Jengo whispered, Augum and Leera crowding close.
“What is it this time, another banned spell book?”
“No, it’s a castle,” Augum said.
Huan sighed. “You should know where Eastspear is, Jengo, I hardly need to—”
Jengo shook his head. “No, another castle—”
“Oh, I see!” Huan winked and dropped his voice. “Want to go treasure hunting do you? I did the same when I was your age.” He snorted and ruffled Augum and Leera’s hair, much to their annoyance. “Well,” he began in a conspiratorial whisper. “I happen to know of a very ancient, but dangerous castle, hidden in this very Ravenwood—”
Leera crossed her arms. “Does it sit leagues west of here and have black walls?”
Huan looked at her as if for the first time.
“Yeah, we know about that one,” she said. “We’re looking for a different one.”
Huan placed his fists on his waist. “A different castle … huh.”
“It was built around the same time as that castle though,” Leera continued, “but it’s supposed to sit somewhere up in the Muranians.”
Huan’s almond eyes narrowed ever slightly. “I’ve heard dark stories of this supposed castle. The Occi call it Bahbell, which means ‘gateway to hell’.”
Jengo paled. “The Occi? Aren’t they … aren’t they cannibals?”
“Oh, probably. Legend says the Occi are ancestors of Bahbell’s king, the great Occulus, who was the most powerful necromancer to have ever lived.”
“Where could we find the Occi?” Augum asked.
Huan looked over his shoulder. The other men glanced his way and he quickly turned back to the group. “The Occi don’t like strangers. It’s been rumored they boil them in broth, especially during long winters. Once a year, one of them, always the same one, straggles down from the mountains to do a trade run with the Good Medicine shop here. He’s real ugly and buys all kinds of strange concoctions.” He suddenly noticed how attentive Augum, Leera and Jengo were being. “Wait, you’re serious about this, I thought you were japing me—!”
“Yes, of course we are,” Leera said. “I mean, serious that is. We need to find Bahbell.”
“I’m not,” Jengo said. “No way am I going to look for some crazy cannibals.”
Huan sighed. “Look, kids, I like you, you kind of remind me of me.” He burped and pounded his chest. “Damn foul ale. Anyway, let me tell you something very honest.” He spoke slowly and clearly now. “Every single person who I have seen leave to visit the Occi has disappeared. Every. Single. One. Nobody who visits them ever, and I mean ever, returns to tell the tale. Nobody. Think on that a moment.” He slowly prodded Jengo’s chest. “I hope that sinks in to that gangly Sierran skull of yours. I don’t know what you lot are up to, but don’t you go looking for the Occi unless you want to die a horrible, unspeakable death.”
Jengo swallowed hard. “But I said I’m not going to go …”
“Then I don’t want to hear about it again. Go find yourselves a cave to explore like normal kids.” He glanced at Augum and Leera before waddling back to the bar.
“I don’t feel well,” Jengo said, placing a hand to his forehead. “Think I’m coming down with something really awful.”
“Who owns the Good Medicine shop?” Augum asked.
“Could be winter fever again.” Jengo tried to cough a few times. “Oh, the shop? Now that’s a place I can’t enter.”
“Why’s that?”
Jengo tapped at his scar.
“The boy that gave you that owns the place?” Leera asked.
“No, but his fathe
r does and everyone knows boulders don’t roll too far away from mountains.”
“Some do,” Augum said, thinking of his own father. “Do you think we can find the owner?”
“Not here. He hates to mingle with the rabble. I don’t really blame him—one can catch all manner of hideous disease from such close-quartered mingling. No, best thing to do is go in his shop, but you’ll have to do it without me.”
“We’ll go tomorrow then.”
The men smoking their pipes began to glance their way.
“We should go,” Jengo said quietly. “They could be Legion spies.”
They made their way through the bar, Jengo stopping briefly to thank Priya, before pushing past the front door, where they had to step over a sleeping drunk—turned out to be the man that had accosted them earlier, pipe still in his mouth.
They arrived back at the Okeke home, finding the living room arranged with blankets and pillows. Mr. Okeke had even prepared an evening snack for them consisting of warm sweetened goat milk and dried blueberries dipped in honey. Augum relayed what they learned while popping blueberries into his mouth. Bridget was glad to hear nothing had gone wrong and reported Leland was more than eager to learn about arcanery.
“And Haylee?” Augum asked.
“No change, the poor thing. Wish there was something more we could do for her.”
Before long, Mr. Goss and Mr. Okeke herded their sons to bed. Mr. Okeke offered Mr. Goss Jengo’s room, but Mr. Goss politely declined. When Mr. Okeke insisted, Mr. Goss told him he preferred to sleep on the floor. Further, he would not dare deprive such a tall young man of his own cozy bed.
Jengo and his father cleaned up the table, refusing any help, allowing for Augum, Bridget and Leera to change into clean nightgowns Mr. Okeke had provided. When they asked him where he had gotten them from, he replied that his wife would always have been the first to share her belongings with guests. It reminded Augum of when Mr. Goss allowed Haylee to borrow his own deceased wife’s dress so that she no longer had to wear the necrophyte robe.
The girls giggled at Augum’s nightgown, for it was one of Jengo’s, and therefore much too large. When all but the fat Endyear candle were extinguished, and the fire stirred one last time, a very tired trio crawled under their fire-warmed Dramask blankets to rest their heads on silky pillows.
