by B. K. Parent
Journey’s
Middle
B. K. Parent
iUniverse, Inc.
Bloomington
Journey’s Middle
Copyright © 2012 by B. K. Parent.
Cover Graphics/Art Credit: Katherine M. Parent
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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ISBN: 978-1-4759-0105-4 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4759-0107-8 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-4759-0106-1 (ebk)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012904731
iUniverse rev. date: 06/13/2012
Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the Chapter of the Week Group who have been my main readers, critics, suppliers of ideas and support, and have kept me on track. To Celeste Klein who encouraged me daily along with the real Carz, my cat Carson. Many thanks to my sister Patti Callaway, Flika Gardner, and Joni Amundson who insisted on their chapter every week and let me know if the cliff hanger at the end of the chapter worked. To Linne Jensen for her editing and talking through plot ideas with me, and to niece Katherine Parent for her art and ideas. To René Carlberg, Cathy Carlson, Sarah Charleston, Glennis Cohen, Beth and Josh Irish, Vickie Keating, Jenni Meyer, niece Anna Perkins, Connie Stirling, niece Kris Storage, and Robin Villwock for also being members of the Chapter of the Week Group and reading the story. To Nancy Przybylski who road tested the book, and very special thanks to Sarah Huelskoetter for discovering Neebings with me.
To my mom, Winifred M. Parent, who always thought I was a pretty
good storyteller. I am sorry she did not get to read this one.
To CEK, always.
Introduction
Journey’s Middle was written originally as a serial. The chapters were each approximately four plus pages long and sent via e-mail to friends and relations once a week. A cliffhanger was written into the end of each chapter in order to build anticipation for the next chapter or, in some cases, merely to irritate the reader. You, as a new reader, have choices. You can read a chapter, walk away, and then later pick the book up and read the next chapter to get the serial experience. Another choice is to just read Journey’s Middle as a conventional book and “one more chapter” yourself to three o’clock in the morning on a work or school night. Whichever way you choose, I hope you enjoy Nissa, her friends, and their adventures.
Chapter One
As I came out of the forest, I glanced at the sun and noticed it was later than I had thought. It was easy to lose track of time in the twilight light of the woods. I had been gathering herbs for Nana, and branches of the rarer woods for myself, but if I wanted to get home before dark, I would have to hurry. Home was in the small village of Mumblesey on Rumblesea Cove. Well, it was almost in the village. Our house was down a path, around a curve on a lone point that stuck out into Rumblesea Cove. My Da had given up the life of a traveling tinker, or rover as they are called in this land, several years ago after my mother had died. Said he just did not have the heart for it anymore. He had packed our travel home up one last time, along with me and my mom’s mom, Nana, and traveled to this little known byway, settling into a cottage he named Journey’s End. I am not sure I would ever name a home Journey’s End because you never know where life will lead you. I guess I would name a cottage Journey’s Middle instead, just in case it was not the last stop. But enough of this musing. It was time to pack the hand cart with th
e last of what I had gathered and head home.
“Come on Carz. Cat nap is over. Time to head home.”
Carz is a very large silver-hued hunting cat I had found as a small kit some four years before, when we were still a traveling rover family. I had gone to gather firewood for the evening cook fire and had found him all tangled up in a very crude canvas and twine bag that someone had carelessly discarded. He had gotten his head caught in an open slit in the bag, and then while trying to get out, had tangled not just one but three of his legs in the twine. He had looked exhausted and bedraggled when I found him, so I can only guess he had been there quite some time. I am not sure how old he was at the time, but Da thought he probably had just been sent off by his mother to begin life on his own. It took quite some time and patience on both of our parts to get him loose, and in the end, we seemed to have formed a bond. Maybe he thought of me as a littermate. Whatever had happened in those long minutes when I tried to gently untangle him from the mess he had gotten himself into, for some reason he did not run off into the woods, but instead rather painfully climbed up my body to rest in my arms. He has been with me ever since. I did not realize at the time how big he would become. Hunting cats may start out small, but it takes several years before they stop growing. Carz is now about the size of the village dogs, and believe me, they do not give him any trouble.
I really should not have chided him about napping, for while I was looking for ginger root and rosewood branches, he had been hunting and had returned with two large rabbits and three turkeys. Nana would be delighted with the rabbits and would make a wonderful stew. We could trade the turkeys for other goods in the village. Our village was so far beyond the regular trade routes that we pretty much bartered among ourselves for goods and services. Da being a metal smith was much in demand in the surrounding area, and Nana’s gift with herbs and medicinal plants made her most welcome hereabouts. My skill with wood was not as useful, for I made items that were better suited for trade at fairs and larger village markets than here, but Da continued to encourage me to hone my craft. He said that perhaps in a few years we might make a summer journey to trade my wares at some fairs farther to the south.
As we started down the path, I could feel the wind begin to pick up and thought I could almost smell the sea. We were still a good hour from home and the way, being mostly down hill, was an easy one even with the handcart fully loaded bumping along behind me. Carz, feeling rested and mostly full of himself, pounced playfully in and out of the tall grass and brambleberry bushes lining the path. I made a note that I needed to let Nana know that the brambleberry bushes were in full bloom, and it looked like there would be a great crop this year. The view from the edge of the tree line in the hills overlooking Mumblesey was spectacular, especially this time of day. The sun was heading down, leaving a bright streak across the water of the cove, and the sea stretched on forever. It was easy to imagine why our ancestors thought that if you sailed beyond the horizon line, you would fall off the edge of the earth. I loved this time of day when the green of the grass and the trees seemed to be just a bit greener. It must be a trick of the light.
The village looked like little doll houses from here, and the boats in the bay reminded me of the toy wooden boats that children float in the horse watering troughs on a summer’s day. It was such a peaceful scene, and yet as I grew closer, I was touched with a feeling of unease. I glanced quickly towards our cottage, but could see little since it was sheltered by a grove of very sturdy pine trees, thick and dense to protect it from the winds out on the point. Even though nothing looked amiss, I quickened my pace. Carz must have sensed my unease, for he fell in beside me.
I approached the village just as the sun was beginning to set, right at the start of dusk. Most of the villagers were home by now, but I waved at Jamie McClancey, who was coming in from his fields, leading his team of horses. He must have spent the day getting the fields ready for planting. He waved back. As I entered the village, I remembered I was supposed to stop at Mistress Bromhild’s place to pick up the wool Nana had wanted and give Mistress Bromhild the bottle of liniment Nana had sent in exchange.
“Helps her with her rheumatism,” Nana had said.
I would have liked to linger in the village, but my sense of unease was growing, and so I quickly traded the turkeys off to Thomas at the pub for a small jug of Da’s favorite ale and some meat pies. Thomas threw several large bones into a separate sack, which he said with a wink were for soup stock, but there was a bit more meat on several of them, which indicated that they were really for Carz. Thomas had a really big soft spot for the hunting cat that he tried hard to hide from everyone. Carz had earned the treat however, for there were never any noxious rodents anywhere near the pub, the stables, or the hen house out back. House cats are all well enough for the mice and voles but not so good at the other vermin that slip into the village from time to time. It did not take long for a pack of risterrats to clean out a grain bin or steal all the eggs in the hen house, not to mention a hen or two.
“Thanks for the soup bones, Thomas,” I said.
“Can’t have anythin’ goin’ to waste now, can we, Arial?” he replied. “Tell your Da, Mabel’s done with refittin’ all the curtains and cushions in the homewagon, and he can pick it up when he returns the pots and fire irons he was fixin’ for me.”
Mabel is Thomas’ wife and a fine seamstress. Nana may be great with herbs but claims she cannot sew a straight stitch, and I have never had a great interest.
“I’ll tell him,” I said, as I left the pub and tucked the ale, meat pies, and bag of bones in alongside the bag of wool from Mistress Bromhild. I headed off, anxious to get home. It was near dark by the time I drew close to our cottage, and I slowed my pace. Something did not seem right. Then I realized there was no smoke coming from either the smithy or the cottage chimney, and no light coming from the windows of either building. I signaled Carz to stay with me and could hear the low quiet rumble of a growl coming from him. He too sensed something was wrong. I stood there for a long moment, torn between turning around and going back to the village to get someone, anyone, to come back with me, or going forward to the cottage.
I decided to go forward but did so with caution and not directly. I quietly pulled the cart off the path, tucked it under a low-branched pine, slipped between the trees, and with as little noise as possible, made my way towards the back of the smithy. Keeping low along the wall that outlined our yard and formed the back wall of the smithy, I crept up and peered in. Coals glowed in the fire pit and all was still. It looked like Da had been working in the smithy and had not finished, for his tools were scattered and not put back in their places. Actually, when I took a closer look, I noticed his shop was really in great disarray. It looked more as if he had been frantically looking for something and tossed everything about. This was really quite unlike Da, who was almost overly neat and organized all of the time. Now I was really beginning to get worried.
The wall, shoulder high, built of sturdy rock, continued to afford me cover as I inched my way along it towards the cottage. I could hear the sea pounding on the rocks below in the cove and the wind in the pines, but otherwise it seemed unnaturally quiet. Not even the raucous gulls were calling back and forth. I quietly moved to the back gate and slowly swung it open, thinking to myself that it is sometimes good to get one’s chores done in a timely fashion, since I had greased this gate not but a few days back to quiet its normal squealing screech. Carz glided silently in ahead of me, and I was grateful for his company. It was nearly full dark by now, and so we moved quietly from shadow to shadow until we pulled up just below the open kitchen window. There was no sound to be heard from inside the cottage. I began to grow more fearful. If Da or Nana had been in the village, surely someone would have mentioned it. There had been no mention this morning before I left that they were going anywhere this day. Nana had said she was going to spend the day in the still house brewing dan
delion wine and making poultices for bee stings and spider bites since it was that time of year again. Da had said he wanted to finish up Thomas’ pans.
Very slowly I raised my head and peered through the gap in the kitchen curtains. I let out a quick gasp. The kitchen was a jumble of broken crockery, spilled flour and other food goods. The table was overturned, and several of the chairs were on their sides. One of the house cats was calmly lapping up cream that had spilled from a jug. I was about to rush to the door to go inside when Carz placed a paw gently on my arm. He was right, caution was still called for. Just because the house cat seemed unconcerned about the mess did not mean that whoever had caused the mess in the kitchen was not still in the house, and so I moved to the door, only to find it partially open.
Carz slid through the door, hackles raised and belly close to the floor. Meekers the house cat looked up, saw who it was, and went back to lapping up cream. I followed Carz. I left the kitchen and went into the parlor to find it as much of a jumble as the kitchen. Nana’s spinning wheel was upside down, her basket of carding wool tipped over, its contents scattered. One of Meekers’ kittens was playing with a small ball of yarn. Such a natural occurrence amid the wreckage of the parlor seemed so odd.
Moving more quickly now, for it seemed no one was on the lower floor, I crept upstairs to find each of our bedrooms torn apart, mattresses split, with bedstraw strewn all over. Spring was a time for changing the bedstraw in the mattresses, but certainly not like this. As I surveyed what had been done to my room, I needed to hold onto that little bit of humor because otherwise the tears at the back of my eyes would certainly flow freely. I did not have much, but to see it tossed so carelessly about was hard. I quickly crossed to my small wardrobe to check if whoever had done this had found the hidden way to the attic. It appeared undisturbed, but it would have to wait, because I still had one more place to look.
