Twelve Ways to Die in Galadore, Volume I

by Coleman Alexander

  “She’s going to choke on her tongue,” Peony said with wide eyes. “Quick, hide yourself.” She pushed Jake away.

  “Where?” Jake said, looking about frantically. The walkway where they stood was the only place between the mill and the water, bordered on either side by the stone wall and the backside of a shed that butted right up against the mill.

  “Anywhere. In the water, for all I care.”

  Jake stepped away from Peony as he saw someone moving beyond the hedge. He heard footsteps coming towards them.

  “Is that you, Mother?” Peony said loudly. “I was just looking at the waterwheel.” Again, she shoved Jake away. “Go. Get out of here,” she mouthed at him.

  Jake looked about wildly, wondering what she expected of him. He couldn’t just disappear. For a moment, he considered trying to explain the situation to Mrs. Cooper, but the thought mortified him. Jake wasn’t sure why it had never occurred to him before but sneaking around with Peony was a horrible way to repay her and Mr. Cooper’s generosity, and it was hardly what anyone with any decency would do. Mrs. Cooper might understand, but Mr. Cooper. . . Jake didn’t even have a decision to make. The shame of it was too much. The river was the only place to go. It certainly wouldn’t be a graceful end to the night or the sweet farewell kisses he had imagined, but at least he wouldn’t die of pure shame and embarrassment. Without a moment to spare, he hurried towards the water. But then, just as he was almost to the bank, he saw a hidden nook between the mill and the shed, covered in ivy. In an instant, he made his decision and ducked back toward the shadows, slipping sideways between the buildings and through the screen of leaves. It was a tight squeeze, but he fit, and the mill was loud enough to hide his rustling.

  He had just barely slithered in and stilled when he saw movement on the small path and Mrs. Cooper emerged. He held his breath, watching one-eyed through the broken gaps in the ivy.

  “Peony, what in the name of goodness are you doing back here?” Mrs. Cooper said suspiciously. Jake could just see her looking around, scanning the area where she surely assumed some boy was hiding. Thankfully, her eyes slid over the small nook, passing right over Jake’s hiding spot without ever stopping.

  “I was taking a look at the waterwheel,” Peony said excitedly. “Have you ever really looked at it? It’s fascinating. Come and have a look at this!”

  Peony grabbed her mother’s hand and dragged her towards the mill, right past where Jake was hidden. He watched from the corner of his eye, not daring to turn his head.

  “How did they ever conjure such a contraption?” Peony asked in feigned excitement. Jake couldn’t believe she wasn’t fleeing, but her boldness seemed to put her mother at ease.

  “Blame it on your father, being interested in all things moving. Why would you ever care? And why in the name of the stars would you leave the festival, anyhow? On tonight of all nights. You know nothing good comes of walking, especially with night curling about and evil afoot. Now, come along.”

  Peony’s cheeks were flushed as her mother herded her away. She glanced back and gave a small wave and a wicked grin. Jake couldn’t help but grin too, resisting the urge to wave back lest he shake the ivy. They disappeared, and he finally let out his breath.

  His legs were shaking, though whether from the nearness of his demise or the thrill of actually kissing her was hard to tell. He wanted to laugh and scream and shout in triumph all at once. And he wanted to rush into the woods to find a whole bushel of moon lilies.

  Not only had it gone perfectly—aside from almost being caught—but it had been her doing. She was surprisingly devilish. Her demure glances and quiet greetings from her father’s shop had gone up in smoke the moment they were alone, giving way to full-bodied kisses and passionate stares—which meant she no doubt thought of him just as he thought of her. Jake wanted to shout with jubilation. He couldn’t wait for their next tryst, to feel the soft press of her body and the taste of her lips. He wanted her back. To do it again. To maybe be bolder next time, to let his hands wander, explore . . .

  Jake remained there for a long time, wondering what was next. Maybe he could get the courage to ask for a more formal courtship. Maybe her parents would allow it if he asked in the right manner. Not for the first time, he began to imagine what might be to come. He was only seventeen, and she a year younger, but if he asked for her hand, then they could spend the rest of their lives in bliss. But that was getting ahead of himself. Maybe, for now, he could just start with flowers. . .

  Jake sat on the wall by the watermill deep into the evening, reliving every word and kiss he’d shared with Peony while wondering where he could find moon lilies. He had seen them before, but he hardly ever took notice of them because they were so dangerous to harvest. He thought back, remembering he’d seen some while hunting nettle and chickweed in the spring. If he remembered right, they were in the little grove of aspen trees hidden just a stone’s throw from the road near his farm. Once the Bright Moon was high enough, he would go looking. He grinned to think of handing her a whole bouquet of them.

  Over the river, the last rays of sunlight lit the mountaintops while dusky shadows gathered on the downs beneath their feet. Two lonely clouds rose above the highest peaks, catching a hundred shades of pink and scarlet before eventually bruising to purple and finally returning to grey. With twilight fading, Jake pushed himself off the rocks and began to walk back to the village, wondering how Kenton had faired with Hannah.

  Not very well, he imagined, considering Hannah had been snooping on him and Peony from the other side of the hedge. In all likelihood, Kenton had never stopped going on about joining up with Lord Skelm, and likely hadn’t even noticed her leave. He was probably already back at the festival, trying to drink a whole river’s worth of beer.

  Jake chuckled at the thought as he stepped back onto the lane.

  The dirt was hard and dry as stone, with wagon ruts crusted over by the noonday sun. A summer breeze rustled along the river banks, hunting lazily for the croaking frogs and trilling birds.

  The mill lay between the woods and the river, on the far side of the village from his family’s farmhouse. He spent a few minutes searching alongside the road for elvish bellflowers amongst the maples and the ferns but found only trillium and jewelweed. He gathered the prettiest of these, cutting them with his belt knife, and holding them in a careful bunch. But there weren’t many, and he moved back to the road, unfamiliar with the woods on what he considered the wild side of town. Besides, he doubted he would find anything worthwhile in the thick of the trees.

  The noise of the festival grew louder as he walked, the forest giving way to the first houses this side of the Miller’s Bridge. Blueberry bushes crowded together in clumps, with bees and birds bustling among the ripening crop. Grasses grew so thick upon the riverbank that in most places, he couldn’t see the water beyond. On his other side, orchards trundled down the hillside right to the back of what Jake considered the last houses of the town: the Nicktons, the Porters, and the Williams. Each had small gardens overgrown with vegetables: red and yellow and still-green tomatoes, thin cucumbers, and not-yet-ripe peppers, as well as thick beds of lettuce and cabbage. Beans climbed up rickety trellises, and squash lay fat and lazy upon the ground, with all manner of flowers growing about the fringes.

  Jake paused, thinking about adding to the bouquet he was gathering. The windows of the houses were dark, and though he wasn’t entirely sure it was proper, he looked the flowers over, imagining which ones might be nice to give to Peony. He pulled his knife out again but stopped. After a moment’s hesitation, he decided better of it. Even though the Nicktons and Williams were both beyond generous and would have pressed flowers into his hands had he asked, Peony wouldn’t think much of that kind of borrowing, and so he refrained.

  He passed a few more houses and small farms, keeping his eye out for stray flowers and humming tunelessly as he walked. He felt drunk with the memory of Peony’s lips and alive with the search for the flowers. It was
becoming a game, and he was determined not to quit until he had the finest bouquet in all the lands. He didn’t care how far he had to wander.

  As he hummed, he approached the Wedge, a narrow strip of woods that split the Miller’s Corner from the village of Stillwater proper. Here, the forest burrowed down the creek’s groove as though trying to sneak through town without being noticed by the lumbermen. The trees, of course, weren’t big enough to be worth cutting, and the slope was too steep to be worth the hassle, and so no one had ever bothered to clear the land. Instead, the road turned downward to cross the creek, and this time of year was forced to tunnel right through the thick foliage still swollen from the spring runoff. The opening to the path formed a maw, and inside this tunnel, night was already thick and waiting.

  Something about the shadows brought Jake out of his reverie, and he slowed, walking warily beneath the branches, thinking of the stories of the trouble with the sprites. In the daytime, it was easy enough to speak of rushing off through the woods to chase the sprites from their holes. But now, at night, he began to wonder if Peony had the right of things in thinking it foolish to go chasing after the demons of darkness.

  Jake looked ahead to the narrow fold of woods clinging to the creek. He was never one to be scared at night, especially not right in the village proper, but he suddenly had a shiver run up his spine. It surprised him as the woods had never before given him pause.

  Dusk lay thick within the shadows. He approached the stream warily, hair standing on end. It wasn’t a long stretch through the woods, twenty yards down, then twenty yards back up. And once his eyes adjusted, it wasn’t true dark, just gloomy, rather. Gloomy enough to make it eerie. In the middle of the groove, a sturdy, cobbled bridge spanned the small creek. At the moment, it flowed quietly beneath, so small that there seemed little reason for the bridge at all.

  He eyed the dark space below, thinking of the merchant’s stories of trolls snatching unwary men from beneath, easy as grabbing dinner off a plate. Their hands were said to be as large as horse carts, and their swipe came as fast as a barn cat pouncing on a mouse. This bridge was nowhere near big enough to hide trolls, but he peered down nonetheless, and was just readying himself to hurry across when he caught movement in the corner of his eye. A shadow shifted unnaturally just beyond the nearest tree trunk, darkness within the darkness.

  “Who’s there?” he said loudly, skin bursting with goosebumps.

  Not a moment later, a low growl emitted from behind the tree.

  Jake froze, fists clenched. The growl redoubled.

  But there was something wrong about it—it sounded like a human, or rather, like a human trying to make a noise like a bear.

  “Kenton? Is that—”

  Suddenly something lept at him. Jake only had time to raise his fists and flinch backward before he felt hands clasp his arms and heard a roar. He expected pain but opened his eyes to cackling laughter.

  Kenton shook him and then let go.

  “You should have seen your face!” his friend said, doubling over in laughter. When he straightened up, he put up his hands mockingly and, making a squeamish face, said, “Kenton is that you? Kenton? I swear, my little sister would’ve put up a better show.”

  Jake didn’t want to admit it, but his heart was still racing. “Demons of the dark, you scared me.”

  “Demons of the dark is right. What were you doing peeking under the bridge? Did you think a troll might have stumbled into town without anyone noticing?”

  “I thought I saw a fox,” Jake lied, moving towards the bridge and feeling both sheepish and a little foolish.

  Kenton laughed louder and fell into step next to him.

  “Your mum tells you too many wives’ tales. And you must listen, being frightened of the copse of woods right within the village.” He stepped onto the bridge and held his hands up in mock terror. “Better get across before the troll takes ya!”

  He danced to the other side, laughing. Jake just ignored him. It was the only way to get him to let well enough alone. Otherwise, he’d be going on for a fortnight.

  “And what are the flowers for? Going to give them to the troll? Oh no, you’re getting them for Peony. Things must have gone pretty well. Are you planning to serenade her beneath her window or what?” He shoved Jake’s shoulder playfully.

  Jake just shrugged. The noise of the festival rose to meet them as they climbed from the Wedge. Brilliant orange flames rose from two towering bonfires, seeming to suck the night inward all around them. The last evening glow was giving way to the deep navy of failing twilight.

  “How did it go with Hannah?” Jake asked.

  The smile didn’t leave Kenton’s face, but the gleam in his eyes seemed to fade slightly.

  “She’s a prude. She just wanted to talk.”

  “And did you talk?”

  “For a bit. She kept talking about Avery of Holbrook. I guess she was in Rhun for the King’s Tournament. She saw his match against the Prince, said it was the finest thing she’d ever seen.” Kenton glowered. “But then she left in a huff.”

  Jake raised an eyebrow, and Kenton went on unprompted.

  “Thinks this whole thing with Lord Skelm is a fool’s errand. A boy’s adventure.”

  It was Jake’s turn to laugh. “Those two sound like twins. And they think we’re thick as thieves. Peony was after me for the same thing.”

  “Of course she was,” Kenton said. Then he turned his voice singsong to mimic Hannah. “Playing Outrider to root out the elves from the woods. Might as well try to root out the trees. It’s like she doesn’t understand that he’s offering land to any man who kills a sprite.”

  “I mean, they might have a point though,” Jake said. “Heading off into the Northwoods isn’t exactly safe. And going in there to pick a fight with forest demons might be a touch mad. They’re said to be cursed.”

  “The woods or the sprites?”

  Jake snorted. “Both. But the sprites are supposed to have magic. They sing songs that make a man mad. And they do it without even moving their mouths—”

  “Load of tosh,” Kenton said.

  “Admit it, they’re dangerous.”

  “Maybe. But Lord Skelm isn’t going to send us in there with sticks. He spent twenty years as an Outrider. He knows what he’s up against.”

  Jake shrugged, feeling as though he was as close to fulfilling his promise to Peony as he wanted to be. Kenton wasn’t going to be convinced one way or another, and any more talk might only reveal that Jake had promised her he wouldn’t go. That news could wait for another day. Instead, he walked quietly, only half-listening to Kenton list all the reasons it wasn’t madness in his ever-growing enthusiasm.

  When they reached the village square, it looked as though everyone who lived within ten miles had converged in a challenge to crowd out any open dirt. Dancing had broken out, and lines had formed around the kegs. Beer was flowing in full now. Jackson Parks was up on Tim Stout’s shoulders with a mug in each hand. Neither seemed to care that half the beer was spilling. Lisa Derens was dancing in the middle of a circle, spinning her skirts as well as every boy’s head who had the poor luck to be looking. She had a habit of breaking hearts faster than she made them beat. Jake looked away, worried he might catch the sickness, searching for any sign of Peony, but she was either lost amongst the crowd or more likely, already at home with her mother and father. Mr. Cooper was never one for drinking or singing and wouldn’t like them out after dark. With nothing better to do, he followed Kenton to the kegs where a good number of their friends were already milling about.

  “Where have you two been?” Owen Jeffry exclaimed as they approached. “Did you hear? They actually brought the thing. They brought it here, to Stillwater!”

  “Brought what?” Jake asked.

  “The sprite! The demon. It’s here. You’ve got to see it!”

  “Here?” Kenton asked, eyes wide with excitement, looking about as though it might be amongst the crowd.

  “You l
ot are messing with us,” Jake said, not believing him for a second.

  “I’m not,” Owen answered. His twin brother nodded grimly, and their other friends didn’t have a trace of humor in their faces.

  “Where?” Kenton asked breathlessly.

  Owen jerked his head, his smile losing some of its sheen. “They’ve got it in a cage over by the Boatman’s Market. And the guards are keeping everybody back two dozen feet. The thing… this demon, it can control people without a word. Apparently, it’s already taken a knife and tried to kill several men. The only thing that keeps it back are the torches. You’ve got to see it, Kenton. You won’t be so quick to sign up for Skelm’s little foray into the woods.”

  Jake stood dumbfounded, a chill running up his spine to know that the creatures were actually real. Some part of him had hoped the stories had been taken a little too far.

  “Why did they bring it here?” he asked.

  “Lord Skelm is taking it to the King,” Owen said, as if that made everything clear. Jake wasn’t sure he understood.

  “To what end?”

  “Are you kidding me? Lord Skelm’s not going to have any trouble earning the King’s blessing after he see’s the sprite. One look at it and you’ll see. The King’s likely to marshal every hand in the realm just to raze the woods to the ground.”

  They made their way across the square toward the river. Jake found a place out of the way to set down his flowers, and headed for the cage, which was already in sight. He couldn’t see anything inside, despite the ring of torches inside a greater circle of lamplight. The lamps were lit, and a few stragglers from the festival wandered this way or that. They came to the Boatman’s Market and slowed.

  A dozen stout men lounged about, forming a perimeter around the cage. The cage was fixed up on a cart and stood alone in the center of twelve torches, each burning bright and hot. It was unhitched from any horses, and was open on all sides, wrought of inch-thick iron bars set just wide enough for a cat to slip through. Inside, Jake could just make out a twisted form lying flat upon the floor. It looked ragged and inhuman. But even from afar he could see the ghostly pale skin and strange, skeletal hands. It looked utterly broken, as though it had been ravaged by days of torment. It didn’t move.