Yaz heads for the carcass and unslings his gear and draws a knife.
Roscoe takes up position next to Yaz and licks blood trickling down the deer’s neck.
Deet swings open the door to an A-frame log-and-stone cottage with a grey brick chimney. Hot air overwhelms Deet and Agna as they step inside.
“And it’s about damned time,” a gruff old man with a round face and a round belly says, sitting in a rocking chair by the fireplace. His thin brown argyle cardigan bulging with the bottom button busting at the seams. “So where was she this time?”
“In the Nocklin,” Deet calmly says, though slightly out of breath, “the south woods through the field—where you said she’d be.”
The old man tilts his head to the side and stares at Agna. “Agna Roe? What are you doing here? Deet, where’s Preta?”
“Here.” Deet carries Preta to the back room and lays her on a bed. He strokes her hair for a second and then walks back into the main room. “She should be all right, Grandpa.”
Grandpa leans forward in his rocker. “What in ten furies happened this time?”
Deet nods toward Agna. “Fill in Grandpa. I’m gonna fetch water and check on Yaz.” Deet steps out the back door, pauses, and rests his hands on hips. He looks up at the starry sky. “What the heck was that light?” Deet clicks open his watch. “Eleven twenty-two.” He smiles gazing upon the words engraved on the inside silver cover: To my love, so you can remember it’s time to think of me. He snaps the case shut, slides it into his pocket, and unlatches a copper pail hanging from a hook next to the door. In the dim light, he strolls onto a worn dirt path leading to the well.
On the right, Deet passes a privy shed and a small washhouse. He reaches the stone-lined well and hooks the copper pail to a metal eyelet attached to a rope and rusty winch. The copper bucket swings freely in the breeze. “What’d you get yourself into this time, Preta Penter?” He peers deep into the black well. Moonlit ripples reflect back at him. Deet grips the tethered rope and yanks it hard, releasing a knot and sending the bucket to the water with a splash.
The cool, damp frayed rope clings to his calloused hands, and his foot rests halfway up the cobblestone masonry wall. Hand over hand, Deet raises the full water bucket, and the rusty winch squeaks with every tug.
Deet closes his eyes and pulls in rhythm. He dwells on the night’s events. Did he miss something? Who was the boy? Where’d he go? The woman? The light? Preta and the mark? The light? Where did the boy go?
The rope jerks and snaps Deet back into the present. The metal bucket handle locks into the winch, spilling frigid water onto his arms. He lowers the bucket to chest level and unclasps the hook.
A brisk wind gust hits Deet as he moves along the path toward the barn. Deet calmly shuts his eyes, striding in tune with his surroundings. The path illuminates in his mind, the trickling creek on his right, the swaying branches to his left, Yaz’s profanity ahead; they all guide him through the darkness.
Deet opens his eyes to the barn’s lantern flickering and his brother’s fuzzy outline emerges next to the hanging deer.
Yaz’s body morphs from man to dark as he circles the carcass.
Roscoe mutates into a lurching beast licking the ground, waiting for any deer flesh to escape the bucket.
Deet approaches Yaz. “Are you almost done?”
Yaz curls his lip and shakes his head in frustration. “This should’ve been done hours ago.”
“Not now, Yaz. Just give me what you have and I’ll take it to Nala.”
Yaz snorts. “Doing this right now is such a pain in my ass—just like Nala.”
“You better hurry up and focus on getting it done, or she’ll really give you some pain.”
“She talks a big game, though she ain’t all that.”
Deet chuckles. “So you want me to tell her you don’t think she’s all that?”
Yaz freezes and glares at Deet. “No—you wouldn’t—would you?”
“Better get a move on then.”
Yaz frowns and grumbles as he cuts a hunk of flesh off the deer. “I’ll be done in a few minutes. Hey, what do you make of it all?”
“Nothing good,” Deet says. “Dead boy in our woods, and a woman tried to kill Preta. Some weird light shoots out of the forest and marks up Sis’s body. I don’t know what to think of it, Brother. But let’s hope tonight is all that comes of this.”
Yaz’s knife rests on the deer as he glances at Deet. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”
“She seems to be getting better.” Deet steps toward the cottage and then he stops and points at his brother. “Best not tell her anything when she wakes up.”
Yaz rolls his eyes. “Come on, you know me.”
“Yeah, I know you, and you better not tell any of those fools for friends you hang out with either.”
“Of course I won’t.”
Deet nods. “By the way, nice shot taking out the woman.”
“I know,” Yaz says, turning back toward the deer and slicing another chunk of meat off the carcass.
Water and meat balanced in one hand, Deet yanks open the cottage door with a hard pull. At the apex, he shuffles forward, thrusting his hip into the center of the door and pushes off, bouncing himself inside the cottage.
Grandpa, bent slightly over, stands in the middle of the room with his hands on hips. “Damn let’s go, Dee. I’m starving in here.”
“Sorry, Yaz is coming.” Deet sets the water bucket and meat on a thick walnut table as he eyes the cobblestone fireplace.
A cast iron pot sits on a black metal grate over the flames and steam rises from the lid.
Deet snatches a wooden spoon off the table and dips it into the simmering pot. He raises the spoon to his lips and blows, and a pair of giant, sharp, feminine brown eyes, bears down on him. He chokes on the hot stew and swallows with an exaggerated gulp. “Nala.”
Nala stands firm, clinching her fists, frowning through her supple yet feisty face, and a vein throbs in her temple.
Deet playfully grins and licks the spoon. “Darn good, Sis. You out did yourself tonight.” He winks at his older sister as he extends the spoon back toward the pot.
“Don’t you dare, Dietch Penter,” Nala says. “Not if you want any dinner tonight. Now out do yourself out of my kitchen and get,” and she waves a piece of cloth in the air as if swatting at a swarm of mosquitoes buzzing around her head.
“Come on, Nala, just one more bite.”
Nala slaps the cloth on the table with a loud crack. “What, something wrong with your ears? I said get. Or you’re going into the pot with your spoon.”
Deet sighs. “Dang, Nala.” He moves to Grandpa and Agna sitting by the window.
“My jollity jumping jack rabbits, Dee,” Grandpa says, “Agna here tells quite a tale, about horse poopin’ fluttery damned lights, and ladies roamin’ the forest hunting kids.”
“It’s true,” Deet says, “we went where you said and found Preta. A woman killed a boy and then went for Sis. Yaz took her down with his bow, two arrows to the chest. She had this on her.” Deet tosses the woman’s pistol onto the table and unfolds the map with names on it.
Grandpa leans in and squints for a closer look. “Never laid my eyes on a revolver that fancy. What’s on the scrap of paper?”
“It’s a map with symbols next to a list of names.”
“What kind of symbols—whose names?”
Deet runs his finger over the leathery parchment. “Glynn Refess, and next to his name is the same hollow circle burned on Preta’s back. It shows an arrow from his name to Hallerton and a fish symbol.”
Confused, Grandpa tilts his head. “Same symbol as on Preta’s back? What in the blazin’ Iinia is going on here in our forest?”
“The light marked her somehow when it struck her.” Deet swivels the map toward Grandpa and points at the symbol. “This exact mark is now on Preta’s back, and the woman Yaz shot has a similar symbol, though the dashes were slightly different.”
A
gna leans in for a better look. “What else does it say?”
Deet adjusts the map on the table for everyone to see. “Davin Olertee, and next to his name the circle’s third dash is darker and raised above the rest. The arrow points to Iinia, maybe north of Ardinia, and next to his name there’s a symbol, maybe a stack of coins, but I’m not sure. And there’s one more, a Pard Wenerly, the fifth dash is raised, and the arrow points to Bastin with an X near Wellingtin. The symbol next to his name is a quiver and an inkwell.”
Grandpa’s face twists in disbelief. “And what in blazin’ Iinia is all that supposed to mean?”
Deet calmly folds the map and pats it on the table. “I don’t know, but one person on this list is dead, and the symbol of that dead person is now burned on Preta’s back.”
Grandpa sighs and leans back in his chair. “Poor girl, seeing death so young.”
“Her body’s in shock,” Deet says, “but she’s getting better.” He sets the silver cylinder on the table.
“Do I even have to ask?” Grandpa says, eyeing the canister with suspicion.
Deet frowns. “I have no idea what the hell this thing is. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Push the latch on the side,” Grandpa says, pointing at it.
Deet raises the cylinder close to his face and slides the latch back.
Psst—
Cha—
The cylinder’s top decompresses and snaps open.
They all gasp at the same time and leap out of their chairs.
Deet drops the cylinder onto the table.
It crashes onto the wood and rolls until striking a large copper bowl, then it wobbles and stops. A faint white smoke emanates out the canister’s center.
With shaky hands, Deet lifts the cylinder which is cool to the touch. He takes a shallow breath and peers inside.
Inside, a wet, pinkish, veiny flesh honeycomb with the appearance of grapefruit lines the metal walls. Intermingled with the flesh, thin silver wires poke out extending toward the center.
Deet tilts the cylinder so Grandpa and Agna can see inside.
Grandpa’s eyes widen. “What kind of madness?”
“No idea,” Deet says, shaking his head. He touches the clasp again.
Cha—
The cylinder snaps shut and they all flinch in unison.
Grandpa grabs his chest and breathes heavy. “I think I’m gonna have a heart attack my heart’s pounding so damned fast. Put that hellish thing out of sight before it hurts someone.”
Deet wraps the metallic cylinder in a ragged cloth. “Whatever this is, it’s not like anything I’ve ever seen.”
Grandpa slowly lowers his body into his chair. “This world is going crazy I tell you. All manners of these new mechanical steam and electric machines I can sort of understand. Though I can’t for the life of me understand what the hell that thing’s supposed to do.”
Agna extends her arthritic hand, gently touching Grandpa’s. “Don’t worry about it, Lon. All will be better in the morning, I’m sure of it.”
The door swings open with a bang, and startled, they all spring out of their chairs again.
Yaz coolly struts in. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, no need to get up, I got it, same as always.” His arms bloody, he carries three meat buckets. He hooks the door with his boot heel and swings it shut.
Deet eyes Grandpa, and they both shake their heads at the same time and sit back down.
Nala meets Yaz halfway across the room. “About time. What took you so long? Get lost again?”
“Shut up, Nal, you do it next time if you’re going to complain. The deer’s been hanging out there ever since we left for Preta.”
Nala cocks her head and flicks her hair into Yaz’s face and then glances back, giving him the look.
“Whatever,” Yaz says. He eyes the fireplace and makes straight for the simmering pot. “Mmm—what’s this?”
Nala slams the buckets on the table. “Don’t even think about it, you bloody dirty doofus. You touch my pot, and you lose your hand. Now out, out of my kitchen and clean yourself up.”
Yaz pouts and spins away from the pot. “I swear, this is such crap.”
Nala slams her hand on the table, and Yaz jumps. “What did you say?”
“Oh my gosh, nothing.” Yaz raises his chin in empty superiority, snatches a piece of cloth, and shoulders his way through the back door. “Such crap.”
Grandpa smiles at Agna. “It’s been quite an eventful evening. I can’t thank you enough for helping the boys and Preta tonight. You know Deet is getting married in a week, right?”
“To the Fallow girl if I remember correctly,” Agna says. “Lurrin, Lurra, Lurrus. Lurrus Fallow.”
Grandpa slaps Deet’s thigh and winks at Agna. “Right good looker there. Not sure how this one caught such a fine lookin’ lady, and smart too. Yup, only about a week left. The wedding is at the pavilion in Waighton. Most of the town will be there, and I expect you’ll be there too.”
“I’d love to come,” Agna says.
Grandpa grins and stomps his foot. “Settled then, be there this Saturday at eleven.”
Agna eyes her pocket watch. “I better be off, the husband is probably wondering where I’m at. It’s been a long day and I’ve got a long walk home.”
“Walk? The heck you say walk. Yaz, get two horses ready and take Agna home. Yaz? Dammit. Yaz!” Grandpa braces his hand on the table and presses up. He groans. “Hells these bones—these kids. Yaz!”
“Gramps, I’ll take Agna home,” Deet says.
Grandpa ignores Deet and waddles halfway across the room and stops, distracted by the feast Nala just set on the table.
Steam rises from the seasoned whitefish and warm bread.
Grandpa bends over, taking in the aroma, waving both his hands over the food and drawing the tasty air to his nose.
Nala bumps Grandpa to the side with her hip and sets another pot on the table. “Not you too.” She picks up a knife and slices the bread. Nala glances back and forth between Grandpa and Deet. She points the tip of her knife at each of them. “You guys play with swords so much, just keep on tempting me and I’ll show you who’s the best with a blade in this family.”
Grandpa winks at Nala and slaps her butt. “That a girl.”
Deet catches up to Grandpa and places his hand on his shoulder. “Gramps, I’ll take Agna home.” He raises his voice louder so Grandpa can hear.
“No, no, Yaz can take Agna home.”
The back door swings open, and Yaz struts in.
Grandpa and Deet both stare at him.
Yaz jerks to a stop. “Now what’d I do?”
Nala chuckles and snatches a cloth off the side table.
Yaz opens his arms. “What the heck’s with you two?”
Deet flicks his head toward the front door. “Get two horses and take Agna home.”
“What? Me—now—why me?”
“Yes, you,” Grandpa says. “Now get your butt moving.”
“Seriously, I just—”
“Move!”
Yaz pouts and sulks past them. “This is such horse crap.”
“Hey, Yaz,” Nala says.
Yaz turns and Nala tosses him a wrapped bundle. He catches it as if a baby flew in his direction. Yaz sniffs the warm seasoned gift of wrapped satisfaction. “All right then.” He twists his face into something unrecognizable and slips out the front door.
“He’ll be ready in just a minute,” Nala says to Agna, “can I get you anything to eat? Some meat, or bread, or stew?”
“No, no, I’m fine. I’ll be off now. Give my best to Preta when she wakes up. If she needs anything, you know where to find me. And Deet—”
“Yes,” Deet says, leaning forward with full attention on Agna.
“The woman who killed the boy, she knew who he was. It seems like they were hunting him. Protect your sister because whatever they wanted and killed him for, your sister may now have.”
“I will, don’t worry, she’ll be safe with
us.”
Agna gives him a kind smile and turns away. “Good night, all.”
“Hey, beautiful,” Grandpa says with a wink, “see you at the wedding, and I’ll keep my eye open for my dance.”
“Grandpa!” Nala says, throwing a soiled towel at him.
Agna returns a shy smile and closes the door behind her.
Deet moves through the kitchen and on to the bedroom where Preta lies asleep.
Preta’s chest moves up and down in a rhythmic motion.
Grandpa’s voice echoes from the other room. “Let’s eat. I can eat a whole damned horse I’m so hungry.”
Deet smirks and kneels next to Preta. “Gramps.” He places the back of his hand on Preta’s forehead. “You’ll get better soon, you’re safe now.” Deet strokes Preta’s hand with his thumb.
“Huh?” Preta’s eyes snap open in a fright. She gasps for air and her body jerks upright to a seated position. “The-the boy, the light, it’s after me.”
“Shhh, now, now, you’re home, you’re safe.” Deet softly rubs Preta’s back. “Lie back down, rest.”
Preta lowers her body while blinking. She tilts her head and searches for Deet’s hand.
Deet kisses her forehead. “It’s all right, baby Sister, it’s all right, sleep.”
THE WEIGHT OF THESE STRAPS
“No, don’t do it.” Preta’s eyes flinch open in a fright, and she sucks in a deep breath. She sits up, wipes her face, and stares at the window.
“Check this one out, Dix,” Yaz says from outside.
Preta crawls out of bed, opens the squeaky wooden shutters, and peers through the cloudy glass. She unlatches the clasp and pushes open the window. A cool breeze rushes into the room and fills Preta’s lungs.
With shirts off and swords in hand, Yaz and his friend Dix, face each other.
Dix scowls as he stands three inches taller and has twenty pounds of muscle on Yaz.
They both raise their swords at the same time, and metal clashes at eye level.
Yaz shifts his body, presenting his right shoulder. He suddenly dips his elbow and his forearm goes horizontal. Yaz rolls his wrist around Dix’s blade, and he shuffles to the left. His left arm shoots out, striking Dix’s elbow, forcing it to lock in place and then he shuffles forward into Dix’s body. Yaz rolls Dix’s back toward him while his own blade slides to Dix’s neck with the hilt first.
Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1) Page 3