Enter the Lamb's Head (The Adventures of Ranthos Book 1)

by Jasper B. Hammer

  She spotted another one, but a fat squirrel popped up from the grass, snatched it away and started eating the center viciously. Bell loved it; it was adorable. Bell kissed her knuckle and thanked the One for giving her such cuteness after such violence.

  “Vhurgus, what are those fat squirrels called?”

  “Holehogs,” said Vhurgus, “I’m pretty sure you had them in Tatzelton.”

  “I didn’t get out much.”

  Vhurgus turned to face her, and shrugged, before looking away again. He snapped his face back around, eyes wide. “Where’d you find that flower?!”

  Bell screamed, “Good Heavens!” and threw the flower away into the grass.

  Vhurgus ran to it and inspected it in his hand.

  “What’s wrong? Is it poisonous?”

  “It is not,” said Vhurgus dryly, obviously mocking her.

  Good Heavens, that was close. She almost died. “That’s a relief.”

  “This is Blossom’s favorite flower.”

  “How nice! I think they’re my favorite too,” Bell put in, unasked.

  “And they only grow further South.”

  “This was just growing right there. A holehog was eating one.”

  Vhurgus surveyed their surroundings for more.

  Bell did the same, and saw more of the lilies, almost in a straight line with each other, and there were no more besides the ones in the line. They lead to a lonely tree. She showed Vhurgus.

  “This could lead us to Blossom,” he said, following after them swiftly.

  Bell hiked up her skirt and scampered after him. Her feet had almost gotten used to the grass, but she knew that they’d be sore as Heaven when this was all done.

  They arrived at the lonely tree. Bell heard a bird’s nest inside. She tried to spy it while Vhurgus searched the ground for more flowers.

  “Why does it stop here?!” He was growing very frustrated. “It can’t stop here.”

  Bell walked around the tree trunk, peering up into the branches to find the bird’s nest, but saw only a lily. She looked back to Vhurgus, “There’s no more lilies?” Something dawned on her. She looked back at the lily in the tree, “Vhurgustheresalilyintree!” She pointed at it furiously, too excited to form coherent words.

  His eyes shot up to it. There were four more, just like it, growing out of the branches, but only on this specific side. He looked behind him and saw that the lilies faced another lonesome tree, “Bell,” he said, excitement in his voice, “I think we found her trail.”

  “Good Heavens!” Bell squealed.

  Calm down, Bellelar. That was a bit much.

  No!

  Bell screamed and shouted as she waddled to the next tree, Vhurgus trailing behind her with a chuckle.

  One tree led to another, and led to another, and Bell and Vhurgus followed the path, practically foaming at the mouth with excitement to the long-awaited fulfillment of this dreadful quest. They rushed from tree to tree, following the faces of the lilies to where they hoped they could find Blossom.

  They hoped further that Blossom was alive and unharmed. “Do you think she’s safe, Vhurgus?”

  He didn’t answer at first, smelling guarded, but he eventually cleared his throat and said, “I do not. If she was safe, she would have found us by now.”

  “How?”

  “She is very resourceful,” he said simply. He spoke with such surety that Bell didn’t feel the need to question further.

  “Do you know her well?”

  Vhurgus nodded. His scent was hard to decipher, but after a few moments, his wall faded away. Bell was unused to smelling through such barriers—when she knew a person well enough, those walls were thinner, as she could sort through the quirks in their scents subconsciously. But from what Bell could glean, Vhurgus was hopeful that she was alive, and eager to see her again. But below all of that there was a lower dimension of worry that one could only feel for a friend—or family. Bell found the only differences between those two terms was that the first was a butcher and the second a hunter.

  Or a cat. But that was a little different.

  Or Vhurgus. And maybe that wasn’t as different.

  Bell inspected the next tree, found the lilies, and followed their gaze to another, a perfectly lain trail. Bell felt her doubts surge and grow more oppressive as they closed the distance between them, but her faith was always restored and redoubled as they found another precious lily pointing to another lonely tree, which in this case was taller than those she had seen prior, and older too. Its trunk was framed against the setting sun in the West, and its branches rose above it, a dark contrast to the golden sky, with deep violet clouds that stretched out like ethereal boughs of the same tree. The grasses at its feet warbled in the light breeze, and, in the final moments of the day, made the hills look as if they were made of sunlight.

  Bell spied a woman sitting against the trunk of the tree whose tiny silhouette hung her head low and draped tired arms over her knees.

  Vhurgus covered the blinding sunlight with his hand and skipped a breath, his heart quadrupling its speed. Belt felt a gust of wind flow through her, but realized that it was only Vhurgus’ joy on his scent, rushing past her like wind, unbothered by any barrier. He tucked his head into his shoulders and took off running, calling out to her.

  Bell hiked up her skirts and followed suit, as fast as her torn and rent legs could carry her.

  The woman on the hill rose to her feet, and shimmered with a distinctly magical green light.

  24

  The Healer

  Vhurgus embraced Blossom the moment he was within reach and lifted her off the ground happily. They laughed together as he replaced her on the ground. Bell was not far behind.

  Blossom was shorter than Bell expected. She wore a wooden mask that covered her entire face. It was carved and painted with the features of an elegant lady, or a porcelain doll. Her cheeks blushed green and her lips were bright yellow. Flowery designs were painted on the temples and running across her chin and forehead. Blossom’s eyes behind the mask were bright green and beautiful, and long alfish ears protruded from the sides of the mask, each dangling a number of golden hoops and chain piercings. Her curly auburn hair fell in two strands on either side of her face, and the rest was tied behind her head with a lily. In the rolls and curls of her hair, Bell saw what looked like bulbs, or tiny dandelions, that caught the sunlight and studded her head with a crown of glowing stars.

  She dressed herself in a simple but well-made dress. It was yellow with hints of green, like her mask. Bell appreciated the coordination. Her garb left her pale arms bare save two leather bracers, studded with gold inlays. She wore no shoes, like Bell, and her small feet were decorated with green markings. Atvyyrk. Thin lines depicted blooming flowers and tall trees, which seemed to sway in the breeze if Bell squinted her eyes, among swirling and twisting knot designs.

  Blossom turned to face Bell, who stepped nervously closer to her. She smelled surprised and was speechless for a moment.

  Oh no.

  Was Bell not supposed to be here? Bell couldn’t ascertain any visual cues from behind Blossom’s mask.

  Bell waved timidly.

  “Blossom,” said Vhurgus with a smile, “This is Bellelar.”

  Blossom approached her, similarly timid, and held her palms out. She was still speechless.

  Bell didn’t know what to say, “I—I came here to find you.”

  Blossom was now standing in front of her and looked her eye to eye. “Bellelar?”

  “Yes,” said Bell.

  “I am Blossom,” she said, taking Bell’s hands in hers. Her voice was soft, and a little squeaky. It made Bell smile.

  “It’s very good to meet you, Blossom.”

  “Likewise,” said Blossom slowly. “You found my trail?”

  “I did—I love the—”

  “The lilies,” said Blossom, her eyes creasing with a smile.

  “Yes,” said Bell, “And I love the lily in your hair.”


  “Thank you, Bellelar,” said Blossom, before turning back to Vhurgus, looking up to him, “You weren’t too mean to her on the way here, were you?”

  Vhurgus rubbed his neck nervously.

  “Vhurgus saved my life,” said Bell, “Twice actually. Once at Sortie-on-the-Hill, and again in the plains.”

  “Well—” Vhurgus tried to protest, but Bell continued uninterrupted.

  “He’s a little rude,” Bell said with a smile, “and he’s very scary. But I’m rather accustomed to rude people, and lucky for us, the flockers were not so accustomed to scary people.”

  Vhurgus beamed.

  Blossom squinted at him and shook her head, “Bad Vhurgus.”

  Vhurgus shook his head, and asked, “How did you get here?”

  “After the flockers sacked Sortie-on-the-Hill, some of us escaped—though we lost all our wagons and most of our supplies. Kota took the survivors to meet up with the troupe, I stayed behind to find you, Alrys, and Sarky,” said Blossom.

  “Could you hear them?” asked Vhurgus, “The flockers?”

  “No,” said Blossom, “Neither could Kota. Couldn’t smell them either, not until they were on top of us already.”

  “We had the same issue,” said Vhurgus, “They’ve got some spell over them.”

  “Maybe Alrys knows,” said Blossom.

  “I don’t think he does.”

  “That’s troubling.”

  “We have more dire worries though,” said Vhurgus with a creased brow, and scratched his beard nervously, “Sarky—”

  “I see…” said Blossom knowingly.

  Vhurgus changed the subject quickly. “Who survived the flockers? Besides Kota?” he asked, his scent foul with fear.

  Blossom approached him and sat him down against the tree. She knelt beside him, and they shared a few whispered words which Bell could hear, but didn’t commit to memory, distracting herself with a holehog in the distance. She had no business eavesdropping—

  Vhurgus sniffled, and he smelled sad.

  Bell turned away and twiddled her fingers nervously, sadness brewing in herself for his sake.

  After a few moments of listening to the wind rush through the grass, Blossom approached, placing a gentle hand on Bell’s back as she neared. Her eyes were red like Bell’s. “We have suffered many losses at the hands of the Cult,” said Blossom, her scent a mixture of sorrow and zeal, “But you, Vhurgus, Sarky, and your brother shall not be counted among them.”

  “How will we find them?” Bell burst out, the tears falling from her face. Blossom wiped them away with her thumbs, “They’ll find us. I promise.”

  Bell didn’t have any reason to trust her, but decided with the rest of her strength that she would.

  “You’re very hurt,” said Blossom softly, “May I heal you?”

  Bell smiled, her lips tight, and nodded. Blossom sat her down in the long shadow of the lonely tree. Bell stole a glance at Vhurgus, who sat against it, his helmet at his side, and his face buried in his knees. Bell’s eyebrows knit and she frowned.

  He was in much pain.

  Blossom retrieved from a satchel at her waist a clump of moss and gently began unwrapping Bell’s bandages on her leg. Bell winced as she touched it, Blossom apologized, and pressed the moss deep into the cut.

  “Good Heavens!” said Bell, her eyes smashing closed from the pain.

  “Give it one moment,” said Blossom.

  Slowly Bell’s leg became very warm. Like those times when she woke up in the morning and stayed perfectly still, her limbs wrapped in a warm, shimmering numbness. The moss soaked the blood up like a sponge and slowly began sprouting buds that spread more moss that filled her wound completely and covered it like a mossy blanket.

  “What is happening?” asked Bell.

  “Magic,” said Blossom, a smile in her voice. She removed the moss, which felt like she uprooted it from her skin, and the wound was completely healed, leaving only the faintest of scars.

  “Good Heavens… that was…” said Bell slowly as the warmness faded away. She didn’t know a word she could say to describe it.

  Blossom tossed the bloody moss away as it withered. She retrieved more to treat Bell’s next wound.

  “I’m sorry,” said Bell, holding her hand up. Something was not right in her heart. The other wounds on her legs still needed attention, but she couldn't sit and have them tended to while there was one nearby that was so much worse.

  “For what?”

  “Can I see that?” Bell held out her hand for the moss.

  “Oh, uhm,” Blossom placed it in her hand. “Of course,” she said, but Bell had already taken it and walked off.

  She strode up to Vhurgus, whose scent brought tears to Bell’s eyes—she was always crying. Bell couldn’t do anything without crying.

  But now Vhurgus was crying, and Bell couldn’t do anything to make him less sad. She knew that, but she also knew she cared, and she needed him to know that she did and that his tears weren’t wasted. She doubted she could really give that to him, but she was sure she could be a step in the right direction.

  “Vhurgus,” Bell said timidly with a quiet voice and a lump in her throat that almost hurt.

  He sucked in a deep breath, and looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot and his nose wet.

  She held out the moss in front of her.

  He took it and applied it to his wounded thigh.

  Bell stammered for a moment, before falling to her knees and against him, wrapping her arms around his neck again. It was uncomfortable against his armor, but Bell ignored it. Vhurgus’ heart raced as he fumbled his arms back around her. He had stopped crying, but smelled no different. He must have wanted to preserve some shred of his dignity, and Bell didn’t mind. She cried enough for the both of them.

  Vhurgus tightened his embrace, Bell almost crushed him with hers, and the sun set.

  25

  Two Idiots

  “You scutting idiot,” said Ranthos to Nosgrim, “What about this do you not understand?!”

  “I understand it all very clearly, let me assure you,” spat Nosgrim back, throwing his arms up in the air.

  They walked along an ancient barrus trail behind Alrys, who solemnly carried the incapacitated Sarky over his shoulders. After her wound, she wasn’t the same, she must have gone into shock, or taken too hard a blow to the head. She said nothing for the past two days but moan. Alrys tried to give her water, but she wouldn’t take it, and almost choked.

  Ranthos himself didn’t even know where they were headed anymore—after what they saw at the Sortie-on-the-Hill gates, he wasn’t sure that Bell and Vhurgus were even alive. It ate at him inside, the thought of Bell being taken by these monsters—because of him.

  No matter what Alrys said, Ranthos could never lift the burden of responsibility off his shoulders.

  Alrys said that Vhurgus would have found a safe place to lie low with the healer, and that he would certainly not make them march through a Hellhole like Sortie-on-the-Hill to find her. Vhurgus was somewhere else. But by Ranthos’ reckoning, there wasn’t any way to tell where that was.

  Alrys smiled at him and Nosgrim when he could, but did little to hide his fright. And Ranthos decided not to pester him—he could lose both his wife and his friend. Why? Because of Ranthos.

  Sarky got hurt protecting him.

  Ranthos smelled another heap of barrus dung, this one fresher than the last. He could smell the musk of the massive beasts on the grass. Alrys had said that they should follow the barrus herd, they would know better than anyone else where the safest place in these plains was.

  Ranthos certainly thought that was far-fetched; and found it more unlikely that Vhurgus and Bell would have found the same exact place. But he didn’t want to become a further inconvenience to the man who he had already burdened with so much and hobbled along behind him.

  Right after they split with Bell and Vhurgus, they’d marched NorthWest, but once they found the sorry state of Sortie-on-the-Hill l
ate the next afternoon, they veered off course following the trail of a distant barrus herd that moved East. The herd gradually turned itself around and moved West. Alrys was an exceptional tracker—Ranthos didn’t believe he was actually following a trail until the scent became stronger further on and Ranthos could detect it himself.

  Night had fallen upon the land hours ago, and this would mark their second day without sleep. Exhaustion plagued them all. They moved lethargically and had heavy dark bags under their eyes.

  And then there was the problem of Nosgrim. The scut had become insufferable since Bell left. She kept a peace between them that Ranthos and Nosgrim simply could not manage on their own.

  “Can you believe him? He’s absolutely dead wrong,” said Ranthos to Remy, who brooded angrily in his box on Ranthos’ back. The one upside of the sudden and fearful upheaval was that Ranthos was allowed to carry something, and that something was his wonderful catten.

  They didn’t take much with them, Nosgrim carried the rest of the supplies on his back. They took with them only the essentials: Alrys and Sarky’s weapons, some food, a large bag of beardmoss—Ranthos did not understand why—and Remy.

  Nosgrim had chosen a sword from a flocker for himself, and twirled it about in the air as he spoke, “You, Ranthos, don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about. Because you’re illiterate, uneducated, and daft.”

  Ranthos mocked his words, “Illiberate, Meh negh gaft.”

  “Barruses travel in herds, there is no way that the bulls stay separated from them. That’s ridiculous! Why would they do that? To be more vulnerable?”

  “To what? What could kill a barrus? And Nosgrim, I have seen it. I’m out in the wilderness and you’re—”

  “Shut your stupid mouth.”

  “You—”

  “Boys!” snarled Alrys, “Both of you just stop talking. Barrus bulls do live alone—I don’t know why. But I also know that they visit their mother’s herd fairly often. I don’t know the reason but, Nosgrim, not knowing the reason for something being true does not immediately make it false, nor does it mean that Ranthos is lying to try to manipulate you somehow; and, Ranthos, Nosgrim saying ‘I wonder who leads the herd, the males or the females,’ is not an invitation to lord your single piece of knowledge over him. You’re acting like children. Shut it and walk.”