by Forthright
“You have reavers in your pedigree, and your inheritance is lovely. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve been pestered by Ephemera all your life.” She pointed at him, giving her finger a little twirl. “Untrained reavers let it all hang out, and it can be … alluring.”
“I’m not the only one who sees things?”
Hesper’s expression gentled. “No. You’re not alone. The world is full of reavers, and my people cherish humans with the qualities you possess.”
It occurred to him that this was a rather large secret. Warning flags were waving. “Should you be telling me this?”
“Not under ordinary circumstances, but I’m providing context. You may as well understand your place.”
“Which is?” asked Caleb.
“Here.” Hesper didn’t mince words. “You saw too much. You know too much. You’re not leaving.”
Borrowed Clothes
Once he was alone, Caleb inspected the clothes Hesper had brought. He seriously doubted they were readymade. No label to hint at the size or country of origin, let alone the fabric content. He was no expert, but he was pretty sure the seams hadn’t been machine stitched. So who was the tailor?
Unlike the rough-looking tunics that Andor and Oaken wore, this one looked expensive. The cloth slipped over his head and settled against his skin like silk. Caleb didn’t think he was imagining the faint luminescence that was a dead giveaway that he was dealing with a figment. Had these people harvested thread from the figment-equivalent of the silkworm?
That, in itself, was plausible enough, but he couldn’t imagine someone as scruffy as Andor handling such a delicate task. But maybe he should investigate the rooms, see if he found anything resembling a loom.
The color, a pale gold, did adhere to the trend in Andor’s and Oaken’s wardrobes. Did they like the color on a personal level? Was the dye a local product? Or were all these honey hues important for another reason?
“Are you kidding me?” he muttered. No undergarments had been provided. Still, this was a far sight better than dragging around in a blanket.
His pants were a warm golden-brown, and the fit reminded him of athletic wear—stretchy and snug. But the cloth was far from flimsy. He scratched and prodded at it, curious what gave it so much toughness. Was it hide? Was it synthetic?
“Dressed?” Hesper leaned past the curtain that served as his door.
“More or less.” Caleb was grateful that the tunic fell to mid-thigh, preserving his modesty. Even so, he was highly self-conscious.
Hesper didn’t help. Giving him a long once-over, she said, “The tunic looks well with your hair.”
“It’s out of control,” he muttered, scratching at hair that was getting unruly.
She startled him by brushing her knuckles against the scruff that was an inevitable consequence of camping. “You usually shave?”
Caleb hadn’t really registered how tall Hesper was. He had to look up. “Y-yes.”
“Want me to clean you up?” She arched her brows. “My family’s last cover was a barber shop. I doubt I’ve lost my touch.”
“I thought you made mead.”
“We do. Privately.” Hesper shrugged. “We’ve always operated some kind of shop in our neighborhood.”
That surprised him on several levels. “You pass yourself off as human?”
“We have a few tricks to hide the most obvious differences. But yes, and we’re invested in our community.” She patted his cheek before stepping back. “I’m the sort of person who has lots of friends and knows all her neighbors.”
“I’m not.” He desperately missed his tiny, tidy apartment and the privacy it guaranteed. “Maybe just loan me a razor?”
“Ever shave with a straight edge?”
Caleb’s shoulders sagged in defeat.
Hesper took a coaxing tone. “We bears are big, and we can be formidable, but we’ve a light touch. I’ll be careful, and you’ll feel more yourself. Am I right?”
She was.
“We can wait until your brother’s awake. Moral support.” Hesper chuckled. “Set a good example, too. He’s shaggier than the hind-end of a yak.”
“All right. I’ll let you.” It would be a relief. Give him back something lost. Glancing around, he asked, “What about shoes?”
Hesper grimaced faintly. “You won’t be allowed any.”
He was about to protest, since he wouldn’t get far if he was barefoot. But at the same time, he realized that this was undoubtedly the point.
They may as well have shackled him.
Answer Me
“Maybe you should go on back,” said Hesper.
“If they won’t give me shoes, then I’ll just have to toughen my feet.” Caleb, now cleanshaven, stubbornly picked his way along a path that was barely wide enough for rabbits. Nessie didn’t mind, though. If her tail-wagging was any indicator, she approved of both the trail and its most recent occupants.
“I’m one of them, you know. Are you sure you should be confiding in me?”
“Don’t make light of this,” he muttered. “It’s … it’s captivity!”
“You made all this trouble for yourself. What are you even doing in our territory?”
Caleb stepped on something and paused to brush at the bottom of his foot. Irritation sharpened his tone. “Looking for bigfoot.”
“What? You?” Hesper snorted. “No.”
“What can I say? My brother’s a true believer. Or something. That’s the whole point of this … this expedition.”
Mouth twisted to keep from laughing, she glanced back toward the crevice that apparently served as the den’s doggie door. “Speaking of your brother ….”
“Caleb! Are you hearing me?” bellowed Josheb from somewhere inside. “Caleb!”
Sucking in a lungful of air, he hollered, “Here! I’m here!” And because she would get there faster, Caleb unfastened Nessie’s leash. “Go on, girl. Get to Josheb. Find Josheb.”
She bayed and bounded toward his voice, which hadn’t stopped.
“Caleb! Tell me you’re safe!”
“Coming!”
Heedless of the path, Caleb stumbled back the way he’d come, bruising his soles in the process. By the time he reached Josheb, his brother was sitting up in bed, eyes wide, using Nessie as a shield against Andor, who’d moved to the far corner.
Hesper jostled past Caleb, quicker than he would have expected. She had a hand on Andor’s arm, and she was talking in a low voice. Probably translating.
Limping a little, Caleb closed the distance and dropped to a seat beside his brother. “I’m here. We’re safe.”
“We found him!” Josheb hissed, pointing at Andor. “Bigfoot’s real.”
Everything was suddenly too much to explain. “Yeah. Congrats.”
“You okay?” Josheb was gripping his side. He was too pale, and a sheen of sweat had risen on his forehead.
Caleb dredged up a smile. “Don’t worry about me. You’re the one who took on a landslide and lost.”
His brother grimaced. “Broken leg. Bruised ribs. But that’s not important right now. I have questions. I mean, this is huge.”
“Bigger than both of us,” Caleb acknowledged. “Seems like there’s a whole society living in hiding. It boggles the mind.”
Josheb’s jaw dropped. “You understand them?”
“Not the guys, no. But they brought in a translator.”
Hesper turned and waved, “Wait your turn, scruff-bucket.”
When she turned back to Andor, Caleb seized his opportunity. “We’re safe, but I think we’re in trouble. They won’t let us leave.”
“But that’s perfect!” Far from concerned, Josheb rallied a smile. “If they don’t kick us out, I can get the whole story.”
“It’s not a big scoop if you never get to tell it.” Caleb pushed his brother back onto his pillows. “We’re prisoners.”
Josheb waved that off. “We’re here. Hard part done. Leave the rest to me!”
Caleb wanted
to argue. A real shout-and-throttle tiff. But he forced himself onto a more reasonable course. Even if he and Josheb had seen eye-to-eye, they were effectively stranded by bruised ribs, a broken leg, and bare feet.
Turning his brother’s order around, Caleb said, “Rest. We can talk about leaving later.”
Recluse Code
Caleb was beginning to feel invisible.
As usual, Josheb was at the center of everything, monopolizing Hesper as he asked questions … and asked her to ask questions for him. Andor wasn’t the most cooperative interviewee; in fact, he disappeared for hours on end.
After one such absence, the big guy returned with a bundle containing their abandoned gear. Caleb’s heart sank. It was the only clue to their location, if anyone bothered to come looking for them. With a grumble Andor held out Caleb’s field journal.
“I left it under my pillow,” he said reaching for it.
Andor pressed a thick finger to the open page, where Caleb had sketched one of the pom-pom birds. Mister Big spoke at considerable length—for him—but it wasn’t any use.
“They follow me.” He shrugged uncertainly. “Figments usually do. Not lately, though.”
His captor grimaced, sighed, and surrendered the book.
Giving up was apparently preferable to interrupting Josheb’s cheery inquisition in order to borrow their translator. With little else to do, Caleb located his pencils and settled in to bring his journal up to date.
It’s what he was there for.
Documentation.
Hours passed before the smell of cooking distracted Caleb from his task. Tucking the journal under his pillow, he padded along the passage to Josheb’s room, where a table had been set up. Apparently, shared mealtimes were important to Hesper, who assumed that Caleb would want to be with Josheb. She wasn’t wrong.
More surprising was Andor’s arrival. Josheb had to be thrilled, sharing a family-style meal with bigfoot.
Caleb focused on taking one bite at a time. And slipping tidbits to Nessie under the table.
Suddenly, Hesper waved a hand in his face, then jerked her thumb at Josheb, who was propped up in bed, eating off a tray. “You’re being paged.”
“Hey, what’s up with you?” Josheb asked. “You seem down.”
Down. Talk about understatement. “Somewhat,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Gonna tell me why?”
Caleb swiftly edited his possible rant down to a single statement of fact. “I can’t hear the stars anymore.”
“Why?” asked Josheb. “Did something change while I was out?”
“I don’t know,” he said, barely clinging to a polite tone. “I haven’t had the chance to ask.”
Josheb looked between Caleb and Andor, then at Hesper. “Oh, whoops. My bad. You’re up, bro. Ask away!”
Since he’d already stated his problem, Caleb looked expectantly to Hesper. Only to be met by a blank stare.
“The stars,” he repeated. “Why can’t I hear them from here? Is something interfering?”
Her eyebrows slowly arched, but she turned to Andor and spoke a few words.
He simply grunted.
“I met one. Right after the landslide.” At Hesper’s expression, Caleb muttered, “I’m not crazy. Oaken was right there. Ask him.”
“Oaken’s gone.”
“I thought you said these guys never leave?” It was part of the recluse’s code. Caleb was in a position to know.
“There was a message. A summons,” said Hesper. “He didn’t have a choice.”
Josheb blurted, “You get mail up here? How?”
“Don’t ask,” snapped Hesper. Like she’d said it a hundred times already. “And don’t ask me to ask. So help me, I’m staying on this guy’s good side.”
But she did say something to Andor.
Who only grunted again.
Second Moon
Night fell, but Josheb and Hesper kept right on laughing and chatting. Caleb was about to steal back to his own room when Andor’s posture shifted in a way that drew Caleb’s eye. They might not have had a word in common, but Andor rolled his eyes toward the two chatterboxes, then lifted his chin toward the door.
An invitation to escape.
Caleb nodded cautiously.
Andor stole outside.
When he followed, Caleb hesitated at the limits of the lanternlight. “I can’t see a thing.”
A big hand found his.
He was about to protest that he didn’t want to hold hands when matters worsened. Andor lifted him right off his feet. And tucked him up against his chest so Caleb was perched on his forearm. Like a toddler.
Which was equal parts disorienting and humiliating.
But Andor was already striding into the woods.
Searching for handholds, Caleb found the ropy mess of Andor’s hair. Mister Big didn’t growl when he grabbed hold, so Caleb wrapped a dreadlock around his fist and held on for dear life.
Away from the den, his eyes gradually adjusted. Picking out trees became easier because they were thinning. Then Andor stepped out of the forest. There was a steep drop, with more woods below. Mentally, Caleb was plotting their location. Probably Boar Ridge, which meant that base camp had been practically on bigfoot’s doorstep.
Bad luck. Or dumb luck. Either way, at least the other guys had gotten away.
Andor pushed something into Caleb’s chest and grunted.
It was a flask. Unscrewing the top, he sniffed. Whatever it was, it was alcoholic. “May I?” he checked.
A grunt.
A sip. Quickly followed by a deeper slug.
“This is good.” Caleb was already shaking his head. “No, this is excellent.”
Another grunt. And pleased by the sound of it.
Caleb caught on. “You made this?”
Andor nodded toward something farther along the ridge. Trees grew right up to the edge, and the moon shone between the branches of the tallest. Except … it was in the wrong part of the sky. And then the second moon began to descend, climbing down, branch by branch, to drop the last few feet to the ground.
Tipsy Star
It was her! Or wait, maybe him? As the star person moved closer, Caleb couldn’t be certain, and he wasn’t sure if preferred pronouns was really where he wanted to start a conversation. Either way, they were not a figment of his imagination. And a different mystery was solved, because they were dressed in the same style as he’d been.
“These clothes,” he touched his chest, then pointed to the oncoming star. “You borrowed these from them?”
Andor spoke, but the words weren’t meant for Caleb.
The other sped up, practically skipping the rest of the way, and was scooped up to perch on Andor’s other arm. Face-to-face, there was little doubt that they were dressed to match.
“I didn’t dream you up.” And feeling foolish, Caleb asked, “What should I call you?”
As before, the radiant one carefully placed a hand against Caleb’s now-smooth cheek. “You may call me Eri, for that is my name.”
“Eri,” he echoed, glancing at Andor, whose expression had gone all soft and indulgent. “Are you an angel?”
“Not I. My descent was an accident.” With the air of a confession, Eri revealed, “I was tipsy and slipped, and Andor caught me. Now, I am a vintner.”
A winemaker. The distillery scent and rows of barrels all supported their story. Caleb glanced at the flask in his hand and asked, “You made this?”
“I helped.” Eri touched the flask with one finger. “May I?”
They took a long swallow and sighed, “Aaah, me. Is there anything nicer?”
“I was trying to tell Andor it’s excellent.”
“This he knows full well.” Eyes alight with mischief, they added, “Do you want to know why?”
“I’m probably interested in anything you care to share.” It might be all that was left to him.
“Caleb,” Eri chided. “Do not sound so resigned. The songs are culminating,
and their resolution may surprise you. Pleasantly.”
“I can’t hear them anymore,” he muttered. “The songs stopped.”
Eri looked startled, and their gaze slid toward Andor, whose blank expression quickly shifted. It was pretty clear that Mister Big was being scolded by his starry friend.
Andor adjusted his hold and grumbled something, then Eri was guiding Caleb’s hand to the ring upon Andor’s first finger. “Touch the stone. Unlock the sky.”
All at once, a chorus of lilting, laughing notes spilled into Caleb.
Tipping his face skyward, he let himself be relieved. Maybe even a little happy.
A faint whine startled him.
Had the piteous sound come from Andor?
“He did not mean to deprive you.”
Caleb wasn’t sure what to say. Or what to do. He, who’d protested hand-holding minutes earlier now clung to Andor’s fingers, keeping contact with his ring. To let go was to lose touch with something he wanted badly enough, it might be a need. But clinging to his captor smacked of some kind of syndrome.
With great reluctance, Caleb took back his hand.
Eri claimed it instead. “We must stay close, or my words will not reach you.”
Averting his gaze, he asked, “Are you a prisoner, too?”
“Too?”
“You said he caught you.”
They lifted a palm and mimed pulling something to their chest. “He rescued me when I tumbled down. Was it not the same for you?”
Fresh fear pierced Caleb as memories resurfaced—the raging bear, the reckless path, the crumbling riverbank. Did Andor’s rescue count if he was the reason they’d needed one? Maybe Eri was happy here. Even Josheb treated his captivity as a stroke of good luck. But Caleb whispered, “It’s not the same.”
Star Wine
Caleb could tell Eri was speaking with Andor because of the range of fidgets and grimaces that were the latter’s response. Mister Big was clearly frustrated, but Caleb didn’t have the context to understand why.
He needed facts. He wanted answers.