Path of Ruin

by Tim Paulson

  “That is an excellent looking blade,” she said.

  “Thank you. It's one of my father's. He was always ten times the smith I was.”

  “Would you help Adem wash his hands please?” Henri asked her as he lined his knife up with the top layer of the shining white cake.

  “I'm a warrior, not a nurse maid,” she said, but couldn't help smiling a bit.

  Adem had already found his bowl and was holding it with both hands waiting for cake. Once it became clear he would be required to wash he made a face, dropped the bowl and ran over at full speed to meet her at the water skin. The boy held out his dirty mitts, hopping from foot to foot.

  Mia poured the water over his hands, watching as he rubbed them together clumsily, fumbling his fingers as little children do. After a few moments little Adem looked up to her asking wordlessly if he was done.

  She couldn't help but smile. He was a good boy. He hadn't asked for this curse. He didn't deserve it. She really hoped the old woman would help him. Whatever she was.

  “That's good,” she said.

  Adem whooped and ran off to scoop his bowl up and Henri deposited the waiting slice of cake in his son's bowl.

  Oddly, the cake steamed when he cut into it, like it was still hot from being baked, yet that was impossible since it was covered in cool, perfectly set frosting.

  Mia half expected it to taste like the barley stew but it didn't. It was tooth shatteringly sweet, with hints of almond, citrus and something else she couldn't identify. Every trace of the stew was gone. Thank goodness for that.

  “This is good doll,” Henri said.

  “Of course it is! It's the wedding cake of Siram of Holiam trove, greatest sorcerer of his age, from when he married his partner and former apprentice Galrum Matherest. An absolutely gorgeous ceremony let me tell you. The colors, the dancing animals, a true spectacle, but Siram always did know how to throw a party!” said the doll as it paced around the cake gesticulating with every word.

  “So you made his wedding cake?” asked Mia through a mouthful.

  “It was Siram's doing. What better way to immortalize something than to pay for its addition to the repository at Galorum Core? Such a romantic. It's a pity,” said the doll, it seemed to stare off into the distance.

  “What's a pity?” she asked.

  “Only two years later both were atomized when an experiment went awry. I didn't see it but I heard it was quite ghastly. Dripping from the walls, ugh, terrible.” The doll shook its yellow haired head.

  “Huh,” Mia noted. So it would seem this sorcery could be risky.

  “Two people were... I'm sorry what happened to them?” Henri put in. He sounded unsure as to whether he wanted to know the answer.

  “You wouldn't understand blacksmith. Suffice it to say they died. I quite liked both of them too, well, if I'm being honest I liked Galrum less. He could be a bit of a moaner if you catch my meaning. People like that, you know? You want to tell them how everyone sees them but it's also kind of embarrassing. Not to mention he was married to an absurdly powerful sorcerer. Sometimes it's best to let the dragon sleep.”

  “No argument here,” Henri said. “And you're saying this happened thousands of years ago?”

  The doll cocked its head. “Now that you mention it, I could summon a calendar now that I'm all juiced up. Let's see.” He stepped back and waved his arms in the air.

  “Soooo yummy,” Adem mumbled through a mouthful as he sat on his very own, much smaller, sitting rock.

  There was a hum and a little flash and the doll was suddenly staring at a floating tapestry of lines, symbols and numbers that moved and spun as he moved his hands to and fro.

  “Ah, the clock of Quelthial is still functioning. That's good to know. Much of it must still be intact. Hmmm.” It rubbed a stubby hand against its woven chin. “Says here the year is nine thousand seven hundred forty seven. This is the age of the manticore, fascinating. So that would make me... three thousand one hundred and two years of age.”

  “Yet you don't look a day over two months,” Henry said.

  Mia laughed.

  * * *

  Giselle awakened to the sound of talking and the smell of a fire. There was straw in her clothing somewhere, she could feel it. She reached behind her neck in an attempt to fish it out while her other hand stifled a yawn.

  The children were spread out all around her, each unconscious and wrapped in blankets. There was wood to her right, planks of it. Yes, she remembered now. This was the cart they'd taken the previous night. It had all been such a blur.

  She managed to extract herself from the pile of disheveled children and headed toward the voices in the distance. There was laughter as she dropped down to the muddy ground. The rain had not quite soaked in yet, pity. She'd really liked these boots. They weren't Pyrolian leather, but they were comfortable, a quality she'd often overlooked in the shoes she'd chosen in the past.

  “And that's when I figured, something's really wrong with this guy!” Celia said with a laugh but then her smile fell. “Unfortunately, he'd already shut me in the pantry and barred the door. I tell you, if I ever get my hands on that guy-”

  “Who are we discussing? The weaselman?” Giselle said as she walked up to the group.

  A cook pot bubbled over the fire and whatever was inside smelled better than she thought possible.

  “No, your friend the bard,” Celia remarked icily.

  “Benny? What did he do? Where is he?” A fearful realization gripped her. “Did you kill him?”

  “I wish!” Celia said from her seat on a log next to Liam.

  Across from them stirring the pot was Aaron. The weasel creature was nowhere to be seen.

  Aaron smiled at her. “Good morning, did you sleep at all?”

  “No,” Giselle said. “What happened to Benny!”

  Aaron's eyes dropped to the pot of stew. “Celia says he locked her in a closet-”

  “A pantry!” corrected Celia.

  “-right a pantry, just as they were done filling the cart with supplies and-”

  “I'll tell my own story thank you Mr. Technician,” Celia said to him. “He said something about Giselle. Like she would be waiting for him for some reason. It was very odd and I remember thinking how creepy he was and how I ought to double check the coin purse. It was gone. He'd taken it when I turned around and then locked me in and barred the door. The man has very light fingers for a simple singer.”

  “Celia! Benny is the sweetest soul. You've heard him sing for us before, many times. He couldn't possibly do anyone harm. Perhaps someone put him up to it?” Giselle said.

  “Put him up to stealing all the money and telling those men where to find us?” Aaron said, his eyes narrowing.

  “Celia did you actually see Benny take the coin purse or tell anyone about us? I thought you said you were locked in a pantry!” she said.

  Aaron nodded, “You do make a good point love but-”

  “It's not a good point! We know what happened, Pioter was there,” Celia said.

  “Pioter, who's that?” Giselle asked.

  From the bushes to her right emerged the weaselman. He was holding a long knife in one hand and a bundle of green plants in the other.

  “I am Pioter,” he said as he walked quietly up to the cook fire. “Pioter Cordovinski at your service,” he added with a short bow.

  “Are these the herbs? Excellent!” Aaron remarked excitedly.

  “Also I found this. It is chicken of woods, most delicious,” said Pioter as he untied a lumpy yellow mushroom the size of a melon from his waist.

  “Oh that will be perfect. Let me chop that up and throw it in with a little more butter and we'll be ready in only a few moments more,” Aaron said with a smile.

  “Smells good!” said Pioter. “You are good cook Aaron.”

  Even Liam nodded his assent. Giselle could see her younger brother licking his lips in anticipation.

  “I still want to hear what happened to Benny!” Gis
elle asked.

  The weaselman regarded her with those dark beady eyes. “Not complicated. Bard stole money. He told men with swords and guns where to find baron's children hiding in woods. Men ran off. Bard went to drink at Inn and I stole money back and came to get rest of you with cart.”

  “And you left me in the pantry!” Celia snorted.

  The weaselman threw up his brown furry hands. “I'm not knowing everything!” he cried. “I just watched bard. I knew him from dungeon. He singed much of bad things.”

  “What? No!” Giselle said. “All I ever heard from him were sweet songs about love and being together forever.”

  “Those words can mean a lot of things,” Aaron said, stirring his stew.

  “Look, I was suspicious of Pioter too,” Liam put in. “When he found me in the woods I didn't know if I should trust him, but I did and now we're all here together and... when will the damned stew be ready?”

  “Any minute now. Liam's right you know. Pioter has been nothing but helpful. We're in his debt, truly,” Aaron added.

  Giselle didn't like it, not even a little. She had a bad feeling that poor Benny was lying face down in a ditch somewhere. This Pioter, he would be watched, she'd make sure of it.

  “So... where are we going next? Actually...” She looked around, not recognizing anything. “Where are we?” Giselle sat down on a large rock near the fire. The morning was cool enough to see one's breath but not yet freezing. Wherever they were going, hopefully it would be a short journey. Any colder than it was and the few blankets they had wouldn't be nearly enough.

  “This is an abandoned farm off the road South to Valendam,” Aaron said. “We're going to the king. That's what I was told to do, however-”

  “Oh here it comes,” Liam said, rolling his eyes.

  Aaron flashed his brother in law a hard stare.

  “First we're to go East over the Aeyrd foothills to the edge of Heidelwood grove,” Aaron said.

  “The Forest of Whispers,” Giselle said. That was what they called it in the stories. It was not a place you were supposed to tarry long or bad things happened to you. Very bad things.

  “Why? It takes us out of our way. Shouldn't we be going South as fast as we can?” asked Liam, arms folded.

  “That forest is haunted. Do not go,” Pioter said, stroking the hairs that hung from his tiny weasel chin.

  At first Giselle had been disposed to agree with Liam but as soon as the man sized weasel creature expressed his distaste for going there, it changed her mind. Maybe he would rather leave off than travel there. She could hope.

  “I say we follow mother's plan as she intended,” Giselle said.

  “No actually it was your father who told-” Aaron tried to correct her but he was interrupted by chuckles from Giselle and Liam, though Liam's laughter had a bitter note to it.

  “Clearly this is mother's doing. She just had father tell you because she thinks that, like most men, you're more likely to do the bidding of a man than a woman,” Giselle said.

  Celia nodded.

  “Yes, mother is definitely fond of getting people to do what she wants,” Liam said.

  Aaron looked puzzled. “What are you talking about? I've only seen her a handful of times since I've lived here, how could she possibly-”

  Giselle put a hand on her husband's. “Hush my love.”

  “I don't understand,” Aaron said.

  “Clearly,” Celia said.

  Aaron sighed. “Soup's done. We don't have spoons but we do have bowls over by the cartwheel.

  Children were starting to stir. Giselle could hear their yawns and little voices. They would be hungry as well, she ought to make water before they were crawling all over her again.

  “Ladies latrine?” she asked Celia.

  “Over there, behind the two big bushes with the red leaves. See them?” Celia said.

  “Don't get lost or hurt,” Liam said through a mouthful of steaming stew.

  “I'll be fine. Worry not dear brother,” she said, standing up.

  It wasn't long before they'd all filled their bellies with Aaron's soup, a buttery stew of dried salted cod with vegetables and the meaty mushrooms and herbs Pioter had provided.

  Then Giselle and the children piled into the cart and Aaron led the pony that pulled it back on to the road. Despite Liam's many objections they backtracked North a short ways before turning on to an Easterly path so hard to see it might well have been just a slightly shorter stand of yellow tall grass. No wonder mother had wanted them to come this way.

  Giselle passed the time telling stories to the children and pointing out birds, trees and flowers she knew, though most of the summer flowers had gone already. What remained were tall grasses and other fast growing brush that bloomed late in the season.

  The best color came from the changing leaves of the Ars and Parch trees. Golden orange, pink and red, they shook with the wind and sometimes leaves would release and cause a shower of color that the children would try to catch with their hands.

  The unfortunate side of taking a forgotten road was that the cart kept getting stuck until finally they had no choice but to push it into the brush and shoulder what supplies they couldn't lash to the back of the pony. Pioter, who continued to remain with them, said it was just as well since the road took them up over the Eastern hills into Vinicia and the road would soon become too difficult for a cart.

  Giselle couldn't help but feel some excitement. It was said the land became rolling hills for as far as the eye could see and they continued on unbroken right up to the cliffs of Nadal where the cliff city of Strapiombo clung to the very walls.

  But first, before the land opened completely, they would encounter the forest of whispers on the upper slope. It was said to be a stand of tall evergreen trees that rose in defiance of the lack of rain. Their very existence was a mystery.

  The real problem for their party however, she grudgingly had to admit, was the children. Now that they could no longer ride along in the cart, they were becoming every flavor of insufferable. Those that weren't complaining about their hurting feet or how the sun was in their eyes were wandering off the trail only to reappear later with a new stick to hit the pony or a new clump of prickle burrs embedded in their hair, fur, or clothes.

  Surprisingly the tiniest of the children was the least of an issue. Little Min just walked along humming cheerfully to herself only stopping here and there to pick up a fluff weed to blow into the wind. Giselle had no idea why the girl was so happy but she was grateful for it.

  By contrast it seemed all Remmy did was complain and ask for cookies that no one had and Meera, the little lion girl, had a penchant for trying to sneak up on Liam to hold his hand which her brother found terribly annoying but Celia thought hilarious.

  “So we climb up the hill and over the pass to some trees?” Liam asked as he again batted the little lion girl's hand away, glaring at her.

  “That's the idea, yes,” Aaron said from up ahead where he'd been chatting with Pioter about something.

  Giselle watched, following her brother's gaze up the side of the hill.

  “I worry they'll see our tracks and follow us up here,” Liam said.

  “What do you think we ought-” Aaron began to reply but a snapping noise from the woods just off the trail stopped him cold.

  The noise was followed by a bellowing roar as a ten foot troll crashed out of the brush to the right of the trail. In its right hand was a huge misshapen club fashioned from the trunk of a small tree with Alk horns lashed to it.

  “Oh... my,” Celia said.

  Chapter 11

  "The garden variety apple troll will eat only the rotten ones that have dropped. Honestly speaking, they do more good than harm, as long as you leave them be."

  -Excerpt from Jaeger Leon Meyer's On Trolls, printed 1532

  “Shouldn't we think about moving on?” Mia said. Having already eaten her cake, she was now preparing to clean and stow her bowl for travel.

  “Ah ye
s, right you are raven haired sword woman. Has everyone had their fill?” asked the doll.

  “No!” said Adem, eyes wild, nearly choking on a mouthful.

  Henri assured his son they would be taking cake with them and wrapped the leftovers into one of the many large brow mopping kerchiefs the blacksmith seemed carry in every pocket. Once camp was packed and their fire doused in dirt they headed West and South again.

  The breeze was now warmer however and the sun bright so the travel was easy going. Even Adem hummed and sang bits of songs he knew as he tromped his way through the matted leaves and tufts of forest grass.

  The woods were full of scampering sounds of furry creatures fighting with birds for the last dried berries and nuts on every branch that had them. Often Adem would prance ahead and a small striped something would race away through the leaf litter to take refuge in a burrow or a hollow log.

  It wasn't long before they came upon a clearing. There was evidence that a group of horses had recently passed, as well as the remnants of a hastily concealed camp, likely military. Unsurprisingly the blacksmith wouldn't have noticed had Mia not pointed it out. Yet when he asked if she knew the identity of riders she had no answer. Something in the back of her mind said she did, that they were important somehow, but she couldn't remember why. When Mia had no reply Henri had looked sad, like she said something wrong.

  Soon after they came to an opening in the trees that revealed a roiling brook. It was swollen from the recent rains surely, but the effect was to make it impossible for them to ford on foot.

  “I don't know what we're supposed to do now,” Henri said.

  “I don't remember this river being here. How odd,” said the doll from Mia's shoulder.

  “Three thousand years and you expect everything to be the same?” Mia asked.

  “Actually two thousand. I was born three thousand one hundred and two years ago but I was alive for nearly a thousand years. Most impressive, I know.”

  “And now you're a doll,” Henri said.

  “Oh shut up smith! Can't you push down a tree or something? I could twist the wood into a bridge but I'm afraid I don't have the... eh... juice to generate an entire bridge from nothing. Unless of course we were to drain Adem a little early and-”