One night, while Yarg toiled away, he saw out of the corner of his eye the flickering light of a distant candle. Assuming it was another woodsman, Yarg ignored it. His annoyance grew, however, when the tiny flame kept vigil with him throughout the night. In the morning, there was no sign that anyone had been watching. The next night, however, the tiny flame returned. This time it was closer. He yelled for the light’s owner to reveal himself, but was met with silence. He cursed at it repeatedly as it too watched him until the dawn. As each night passed the flame drew ever nearer, until the features of a face began to form behind the dim lantern. It didn’t take Yarg long to realize that the face that stared at him so menacingly was that of Old Ben.
Yarg tried many times to chase down this specter, but no matter how far or fast he ran, the ghostly face of Benjin hung before him, only to draw closer with each passing night. He threw stones and yelled obscenities, but nothing he did could provoke the spirit to action. Driven mad by lack of sleep, Yarg was sent home.
The next night, while sitting at his own heavy wooden table, Yarg saw a lantern appear outside the window. This time, it was joined by another and another. He ran outside to see a ring of light surrounding him, inching nearer in the darkness. Returning to his cabin, Yarg grabbed his axe. From beneath him came an unearthly bellow so loud and long that he felt his skin melt and his bones come undone.
As Yarg howled in fear, the tiny circle of flames pushed through the thick wooden walls and continued to inch towards him. He swung at them, but his axe became so hot he could not hold it. The flames rose and intertwined, forming the shapes of demons and other dead things. Another piercing bellow filled the air, bending Yarg’s body. The flames rose above him and formed Old Ben Kripple’s mangled face.
“Yes, brother, it is I,” the fiery fiend breathed.
Benjin’s spirit opened its mouth wide and let out his own otherworldly cry. From beneath Yarg, the ground rumbled for miles. His feet slipped and his mangled fingers grasped as the floor crumbled from under him.
“Yarg!” thundered Old Ben Kripple, jaws wide. The ghoul rushed at him and swallowed him whole, carrying him through the gaping chasm and down, down into the underworld.
Weeks later, when Yarg did not report for work, a group of fellow woodsmen climbed the hill to his cabin. They saw inside no sign of fire, only a deep hole that echoed down into eternity. They decided to fill in the hole with the earth from around Yarg’s cabin, but it took the entire hill before the ground drew even. Yarg was never seen again.
The same is not true for Old Been Kripple. Because he chose to return for his revenge, Old Ben was unable to pass over into death. He wanders still today through the forests and fields, the mountains and plains, betrayed by his brother and kept from his wife. His only succor is revenge, so know this all and beware: treat all you meet as though they are dear, lest Old Ben’s lantern follow you in the dark!
* * * * *
Sitting in his inn that evening, Oric shook his increasingly heavy head. For the first time in his life, he re-considered ale. His ears pounded through a tunnel of clay and the edges of his vision faded until he could see little more than the light from the fireplace popping menacingly from the opposite wall.
It wasn’t as though he had ingested an unusual amount, his foggy brain reasoned, but he supposed he might have lost track. It did, he thought, seem to be quite late. The Innkeeper stood shakily and hobbled down the hall to his study.
Making it there with some difficulty, Oric saw this room too through a dark smoke. The fireplace crackled louder than he thought it ought to.
Trying to focus on his comfortable chair, Oric stepped in and closed the door. From the wall behind him the flames swirled angrily. When he turned to shout at them, the flames had jumped, so it appeared, several paces closer. Oric stepped back in shock. Leaning to pick up the bucket of ashes, he moved to extinguish the flames.
Before he could reach the fireplace, the fire within erupted. Circling him in an ear-splitting rage, the flames formed a ring around the room.
Oric grabbed at the door handle, but screamed in pain. He pulled back a burnt hand. The door was too hot to touch. He turned back to the chamber.
From out of the fireplace emerged a giant bull made of pure heat, its eyes deep pits of molten rock. Oric sweated heavily in the inferno of the bull’s breath, shaking wildly in his fearful paralysis. He stared into the hollow sockets that were the gateway to the underworld.
The bull snorted in fury and Oric’s trance was broken. He ran with all his being through a scalding wall of fire, through the door, and out into the hallway. As he ran, pursued by the charging bull, the hallway stretched and tilted until the Innkeeper was running across his walls and over his ceiling. Unbound by gravity, the bull matched every movement as its powerful body barreled forward.
At the last moment, Oric scrambled into another of his rooms and slammed the door closed. He put his weight against the door only to be thrown heavily to the ground as the bull slammed into it. The door managed to hold with each impact, but it began to smolder.
Stepping slowly backwards, Oric noticed for the first time that he wasn’t alone.
A boy stood calmly in the darkness, watching him with wide, scornful eyes.
“Ye again—” Oric breathed with difficulty.
“You ignored Arion’s instructions,” sneered Oric’s dead nephew. “You deserve this.”
“No one deserves this!” Oric yelled as the door buckled. The bull’s snarling head burst through a crack, spewing smoke into his face.
“I told you how to stop it,” the boy said calmly.
Oric tried to meet the boy’s eyes, but they had been replaced by black pits of ash. “I couldn’t—I tried—”
“Liar!” the boy yelled. The demonic bull burst through the door and opened its enormous mouth. Inside the bull’s throat Oric could see the gates of the underworld, and from out of it came a bellowing from the black heart of the earth.
The great bellow shook parts of Oric that he had never thought to consider. He held his hand before his face and watched as his fingers melted into unnatural angles.
With wide eyes, he screamed at the boy, “You’re right. I lied, I lied, I lied! I didn’t try. Please don’t kill me! I’ll get them,” he pleaded. “I will, I will, I will.”
Rose, standing in an empty room lit by a small fireplace and the silver moonlight, didn’t know what her uncle was seeing, but she was good at pretending.
“You’ll get my family back?” she continued unmercifully, trying to lend weight to her performance as the boy ghost.
“I don’t know if I can—” Oric cried.
The bull bellowed again, and Oric placed a panicked hand to his face, feeling his skin liquefy and drip away.
“Okayokayokayokay,” he held up his mangled hands. “Tomorrow! As soon as the markets are opened!”
“You will go now,” commanded the boy.
“But how will I—”
The bull opened his mouth once more. Oric put his mangled hands to his ears, weeping, but there was no bellow. Instead, the bull breathed out acrid clouds of smoke. The smog swirled dangerously until it hit the floor, forming slowly into the hunched bodies of three snarling wolves. They were the gatekeepers of hell.
The cavernous growls of the wolves caused the floor to quake. They approached Oric, their coats made of night, their teeth sharp as daggers. One snapped his powerful jaws.
With a shriek, Oric pushed himself up and ran from the Inn, the wolves in close pursuit.
As her uncle’s screaming faded from the room, Rose removed her cousin’s tattered hat. She walked to the window.
Oric’s wails could still be heard as he made his way through the stone city. She watched a path light up after him as his screaming awoke households, disturbing sleepers into re-igniting their lamps.
* * * * *
Out of earshot of Oric’s night ride, the crew of the Turnagain was beginning to regain its composure. Two of the four
new hires had already come aboard, much to Captain Kaille’s chagrin, and the Tikaani girl had removed herself to the end of the dock.
Kaille leaned on the rail of his ship, looking below at Dezadeash’s silhouette sitting at a small campfire. She moved her hands above the flames as though bending it to her will. What a strange companion, thought Kaille, for a wandering scribe.
“And what of the old man?” asked Jas, reading the Captain’s mind.
“He—” Kaille began.
“Have you considered my offer?” shouted Fenric, limping towards the two. The other Tikaani—Ikpek—trotted along at his side.
“Right on cue,” Kaille scoffed, turning to him. “I have yet to see proof of this fortune that awaits us.”
Jas furrowed his brow and let out a noise of shock. “Eli, you dog, what intrigue have you been keeping from me?”
“Our new friend Fenric,” Kaille informed him, “would have us abandon our route to take him on a special trip to Chaveneigh, which he claims to be able to pay for.”
“You can’t just pay for a trade route—” Jas began.
“I regret that my request would take you away from familiar waters,” Fenric spoke quickly, “but it’s my intention to make it exceedingly profitable for you. I failed to mention last night that there’s a family I’m well acquainted with who has made their fortune facilitating trade. They’re the only reliable source of silk on this side of the world, and their local fleece is highly valued as well. If you’d take me there several times a year, I’d repay you with entrance into the luxury trade business—”
“Wait a moment,” Kaille interrupted. “You want us to take you there ‘several times a year’? Do you mean—”
“Oh my, where has my mind got to?” Fenric touched his forehead absentmindedly. “I intend to sail with you, of course. Long-term.”
The Captain was dumbfounded, as was Jas. Neither could think of a thing to say.
“But there’s no need for you to answer now. Take me to Chaveneigh once. Try it out. Speak with my contacts.” Fenric reached for a pouch at his belt and tossed it to the Captain. “And of the fortune you seek, I’ve been told by the fates to give you this small token of my credibility.”
Kaille tugged at the satchel and took from it a gnarled piece of finely crafted gold. Held firmly into the bright metal were five of the finest jewels he’d ever seen.
Kaille’s head snapped up to look at the stranger in front of him. “Who are you?”
Fenric smiled, “I’m no one, I promise you. I’ve known a few ‘someones’ in my time, is all.”
The Captain turned the gold over in his hands, mind spinning. His heart raced beyond his control. Terror fell to the pit of his stomach.
“If you agree to take me,” Fenric spoke on, “I have two demands. One is that my friend Ikpek”—he clapped a hand on the Tikaani boy’s shoulder—“be taken along to assist me. He has a strong back and could be a valuable member of your crew, if that’s what is needed to earn his passage.”
“We’ve hired a full crew, there’s no need—”
“Second,” Fenric spoke over him, “is that the other man you pulled from the Illiamnaut—”
“You mean Whyl?” Jas asked.
Fenric stopped talking, surprised to hear the name. “I beg your pardon?”
“Whyl Winesmith,” Kaille offered. “Or so says the journal he carries.”
“Ah, right,” Fenric said, though he seemed pained, “Whyl. Yes, it’s important that he remain under my care. Also, seeing the journal is of great interest to me.”
“To me as well,” said Jas. “It’s so unlikely that he’ll wake, why not take a peek—”
“No man shall be robbed and violated while in my care. His journal is his alone,” Kaille shook his head. “It was my intention to set him ashore before we moved on. My men are almost as afraid of the sick as they are of women on board.”
“You may keep the journal from me for now, as you are indeed his guardian, but to have both Ikpek and Whyl remain close is of the utmost importance. I’m afraid I can’t bend on these issues,” Fenric said silkily.
“I don’t like being told what to do on my own ship—” Kaille growled, stepped forward. Jas came to himself in enough time to hold his friend back.
“There’s no need to be so hasty, Eli,” Jas said. He pushed the Captain out of the way. “We shall take the night to discuss and speak further in the morning.”
Fenric nodded his assent, a bemused grin on his otherwise enigmatic face.
* * * * *
A brilliant, clear morning shone upon the stone city. In a small courtyard outside their uncle’s inconsequential Inn, Rose and Sara stood with their arms crossed, feet warming on the cobblestones.
A crow cawed loudly as it flew across the sun. Rose tightened her fists nervously, feeling uncomfortable to be once more in her mother’s binding dress. Three figures approached them.
One of the three rushed forward, arms open.
“Rose! Sara!” Tobi wrapped her arms around her two sisters, tears leaving clean tracks on her soiled face. Without Tobi’s lead, their Mama had stopped walking. Rose went forward to retrieve her.
“Stay as long as ye want,” Oric said mechanically, looking oddly vacant. He used their acknowledgement of each other as an excuse to leave.
Sara dissolved into tears, hugging Tobi and her mother tightly.
Rose stood apart, staring at the vacant eyes of her mother and feeling the weight of this new predicament fall upon her.
It had worked. She had achieved everything she wanted.
Now what?
Had they found themselves in a town where women were allowed to work openly, Rose had no doubt they would be able to take care of themselves. That is, Rose corrected, if Mama was her usual self. The reality of the situation, however, was that Rose’s disguise was the only way for them to survive. She tugged at her female dress and its tight bodice, longing for Tavis’s breeches and a tunic.
She could dress as a boy and find work, but doing what? A man might be able to support his family here, but not a boy. Though she had succeeded in making Oric buy them back, Rose wasn’t prepared to give him any further opportunities to take advantage of her family.
Unbidden, Rose’s thoughts continued to return to an eagle-shaped ship bobbing in the stony bay. To her skeptical mind, it appeared as though someone was offering her exactly what she needed at the precise moment she needed it. This in itself was suspicious enough already without taking into consideration the Scribe who simply oozed with secrets.
Rose allowed herself to imagine abandoning her family and going to sea, soaring over its blue expanse upon a carved eagle in flight. What would happen to her Mama, half dead and unable to work? Would Sara be able to support them all, the girl so useless and housebound? And what of Tobi—young, helpless, innocent Tobi?
But then, what magic role would Rose play in their survival? She was female, same as them, despite a convincing disguise. She couldn’t protect them from everything, she couldn’t commit to being content each day with household chores, she couldn’t make her mother return, and she certainly couldn’t stomach the idea of marrying them off, one by one.
And in the meantime, a nagging feeling in her gut reminded her that every day Benson sailed further away.
“Stay with Aunt Lea,” Rose said suddenly, putting Sara in charge. She walked briskly from the courtyard.
“Where are you going now?” Sara called pathetically, arms around her mother and sister.
“There’s something I need to do,” Rose called back, turning the corner and disappearing from view.
*
Chapter 10:
The Choice
* * * * *
The Curious Cat and the Adamant Dog
Madam Malcontent’s Book of Parables
By Mammie Moore Levvie and her Amber Cat Joone
*
Missus Lara Lenna Lee
Had a Cat named Rah Ray Ree
Rah
Ray Ree, he seemed to be
The curioust cat you e’er did see!
Missus Moira Brenda Bog
She had herself an ad’mant dog
The dog was Corra Calla Cog
Who lay around just like a log
When Missus Lara Lenna Lee
Went to town to buy a tea
She left her darling Rah Ray Ree
Sitting in the limbush tree
Rah Ray Ree spied cross the way
A speckled dog by fire lay
And fast as flames did flash away
Thinking she should want to play
Through the window Cat did sneak
To paw and scratch at poor Cog’s cheek
When she woke, dog gave a squeak
And, nose in pain, did anger pique
First Cog did bark then Ree did yowl
And dog did bend her mighty jowl
Then round the room the two did howl
Both making noises fierce and foul
They dashed most cruelly ‘bout the rooms
Knocking round both pots and brooms
Shelves did fall in clattering booms
Until the mess soon spelled their dooms
Rah Ray Ree, now out of breath
Then did what Rah Ray Ree does best
And out the window he did press
To hide with sparrows in their nest
When mess is mighty, options few
For dog with neither thumb nor shoe
(And short attentions, to be true)
To clean as she might like to do
And so Cog settled down to snore
Upon her stretch of dog-warmed floor
And Rah Ray Ree from out the door
Rolled her eyes at such a bore
Twas then that Lara Lenna Lee
Was heard at coming back from tea
So, licking till his fur was clean
Homeward bounded Rah Ray Ree
Missus Bog was mad to see
The mess that came up to her knee
But nothing worried Rah Ray Ree
Who, petted, purred away in glee
Moral:
Is curious a thing to prize
When we can see with our two eyes
Unneeded wreckage piled high
Beneath the unforgiving skies
Or should we choose the moral ground