by John Brown
When they passed by the pine, the creature began to move again.
Iron Boy whinnied and picked up his gait.
The creature swung down the limbs of the tree to the needle-strewn road. Then it began scampering after the wagon in an odd, hunched gait, quickly closing the distance.
“You’re right,” said Talen, “I’m hallucinating.”
Because if he wasn’t, that meant they’d attracted the attention of a small nightmare. What else could it be? As the thing drew nearer, Talen could more easily discern the eyes, hands, and feet. But they were misshapen. The nose was flat and crooked. The fingers too long.
There were creatures not wholly of this world. There were the mighty skir that the Divines enthralled and the souls of the dead. But there were also other things, some of which could, under certain circumstances, be seen with the naked eye. This thing matched the descriptions of one of those. Talen had never seen one before, but he’d heard about them. They fed upon the Fire of the weak and dying. Like the creatures that ate carrion of the flesh, they were attracted by death and disease. They shadowed the edges of armies and hid in cellars and the thatch roofs of villages smitten by pestilence. They did not flock in great numbers like crows and ravens. At least, he’d never heard tell of anyone seeing more than a handful together at once. But did numbers matter? When they got a hold of you, they burrowed in like ticks to gorge upon your Fire. And like ticks they were hard to dislodge and sometimes left bits of themselves behind.
Godsweed was supposed to keep them at bay, which is one of the reasons why soldiers smoked themselves with it before battle. Drinking it in a tea was also supposed to help, but such a tea gave men horrible cramps. Talen reached up and felt the godsweed braid on his arm. Even wearing it was supposed to have an effect.
Iron Boy trotted down the road, nervously turning his head to the left then right so he could get a better view of what was behind him. The odd-limbed thing was only a few paces behind them.
“I believe,” Talen said, “that we’ve just attracted ourselves a fright.”
At that moment the creature closed the final distance. It grabbed the wagon bed with one long-fingered hand and disappeared underneath.
30
SECRETS
Will you shut up?” said Nettle. “You’re giving me the willies.”
Iron Boy kicked, then jerked into a canter. It would not do to lose control of the wagon. He braced himself, but Talen felt like he did after an exceedingly hard day’s worth of work. Then a wave of weariness fell upon him, and he could not keep his eyes open. He sagged into Nettle.
Nettle elbowed him back to his senses. “What are you doing?”
“The come-backs have finally worked their way through,” said Talen. “Take the reins. I’ve got to lie down.”
“What about your fright?” asked Nettle.
Talen looked down at the boards beneath his feet. Frights did not have power to steal from a healthy man. He and Nettle had nothing to fear. And panicking might only lead to them crashing the wagon. Besides, they had godsweed with them.
“It’s gone,” said Talen. “A vapor of my mind.”
“I’ve never heard of come-backs like this,” Nettle said. He cursed. “I’m getting you home.”
Talen wasn’t going to argue, “Sure,” he said. Then he handed the reins to Nettle and half climbed, half fell into the wagon bed.
He rode that way, flat on his back, looking up at the tops of the pines and the darkening sky beyond. Nettle took the reins and drove. He drove too fast. Once, Talen almost bumped completely out of the wagon bed. But he couldn’t bring himself to object. Nettle kept turning around to look at him. At one point he reached down to feel Talen’s forehead for fever, then turned back and spurred Iron Boy even faster.
Talen said nothing. The moon and the stars shone through the breaks in the tops of the trees. After a time he realized something cold lay on his ankle. Talen looked down. There, squatting in the back corner of the wagon bed was the fright. It was a hideous thing, all twisted and gray like a piece of knotty driftwood. One of its long fingers touched Talen on the bare skin of his ankle.
He kicked, and the thing released him, but it stretched out its finger once again.
“Nettle,” he said. Or at least he thought he’d spoken. “Nettle!”
But Nettle did not turn.
Then Talen remembered the godsweed charm about his arm. He could brandish it and chase the thing off. He yanked on the charm, but it would not tear free, and the knot was suddenly too complicated for his fingers.
He was so very tired. The touch of the fright was so very cold. It wasn’t supposed to touch him, not with the godsweed. So maybe this wasn’t a fright. Or maybe it was and godsweed didn’t have the virtue everyone claimed it did. Besides, what if it did take some of his Fire? At least it didn’t have the power to eat his soul.
The creature reached out with another finger.
Talen kicked again. But he could not kick a third time-he was exhausted and in a cold sweat. His thirst was beyond anything he’d ever experienced. There was not enough spittle to wet his tongue, much less swallow.
Then Talen recognized the trees and the run of the slope to his left. He twisted around and saw their barn ahead.
Nettle did not slow quickly enough and almost crashed into the well. When he finally got Iron Boy to stop, he turned around and looked down at Talen. “Goh, you look rotted through. This isn’t come-backs. This is some plague. Can you stand?”
“I can get up,” said Talen.
But he couldn’t. He could hardly move. His lower left leg was ice. The fright had elongated its fingers, split and multiplied them, and wrapped them around his calf. It looked as if the spidering root of a young tree had attached itself to him.
Nettle called out for help. Then he jumped into the wagon bed and helped Talen sit up. The fright moved slightly, but it did not disengage.
“The fright,” Talen said.
“Yes,” said Nettle, then he looped his arms underneath Talen’s and around his chest. Nettle dragged Talen to the back of the wagon. He dropped the back gate of the bed. In one fluid movement Nettle jumped out, then pulled Talen over his shoulder like a sack of meal.
Talen’s head hung low. He could see his leg. He could see that the fright still clung to him with one of its odd hands. Talen kicked, then Nettle pushed the door open and Talen found himself in the main room. River sat at the table, the candlelight shining off the beads in her hair. She was braiding clippings of Da’s hair into an intricate decoration.
Talen looked for the hatchlings and saw the door to the cellar lay flat, shut up tight.
When River looked up, Talen saw her face go from annoyance to concern. “What’s happened?” she asked.
“It’s an overdose of come-backs,” said Nettle. “Or worse. Earlier, he’s a picture of liveliness-blinding fast, wrestling Fabbis to the ground, leaping to the tops of the trees. Now look at him. Nothing more than a smelly dishrag. And he’s seeing frights.”
“I need something to drink,” said Talen.
“He’s drunk a barrel today. I’ve never had to stop so many times waiting for a body to relieve himself.”
River cleared the table. “Put him here.”
“Did the Fir-Noy come here?” asked Talen.
Nettle dumped him on the table.
“I haven’t seen any Fir-Noy,” said River. She began pulling up the sleeve of Talen’s tunic. “Where did Da tie the charm?”
“How did you know he gave me a charm?” asked Talen.
“Where did he tie it?”
“Here,” said Talen and lifted the other sleeve. He looked down at his leg. The fright was there, squatting all knobby and hideous, staring at him with one of its raisin eyes.
River fingered the braid and cursed. Her face turned grave. “And he talks about risks.” She removed the charm and cast it to the floor.
“Who?” asked Talen.
“Nobody,” said River. She slid
her hand into the collar of his tunic. She had no sooner put her hand to his chest than she gasped and withdrew it.
“He’s got the plague,” Nettle said. “Doesn’t he?”
“Do you have any of the baker’s goods left?”
“Three cookies,” said Nettle. Then he went back outside.
“Has he poisoned me?” asked Talen.
“No,” said River. “And it’s not Nettle’s plague either.” She looked at him, and Talen could tell something had happened. She was deciding if she should share some secret with him.
“Goh,” he said. “It was the kiss. That girl!” He’d been wrong; they would have to kill her after all. Talen’s weariness pressed down upon him even more. “And her familiar has attached itself to my leg.”
River said nothing. Of course, River wouldn’t kill her. Not if the girl had magicked her. His thoughts strayed for a time. He looked at River and for a moment forgot what she was doing. Then it came back to him in a rush.
“We’ll have to be quick,” he whispered.
“What?” said River.
“Quick,” said Talen more loudly. “Quick. Kill them, the boy and girl, quick.”
At that moment he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw the girl standing in the doorway to the back room.
River followed his gaze. “He’s out of his mind,” she said to her.
“I’ll divert her,” said Talen. “You clobber her with the pot.”
“Be still,” River commanded.
Talen looked at the girl for a while, waiting for her to spring. “Playing us like a cat? Is that your pleasure?”
“Sugar,” River said. “I need you to fill the mule’s watering trough. We’re going to need to lay Talen in it. Have Nettle help you drag it in here.”
Sugar looked at the two of them, a storm brooding on her face. Talen thought she was going to say something, but she must have decided against it, for she strode across the room and out the door.
“Now’s the time,” said Talen.
“Will you shut up,” said River. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. This isn’t her doing. It’s Da’s.”
That made no sense, no sense at all. But River wouldn’t listen to him. She brought a candle near to get a good look at his eyes and mouth. Then she began peppering him with questions: when did the thirst start, how many cookies did he eat, what did Da do when he tied the charm on his arm, had he been hearing a ringing in his ears? Talen struggled to answer them all. Twice she had to repeat a question.
Finally, he held up his hand. “My leg. It’s sucking the life out of my leg.”
Then he saw something at the window.
The shutters had not been closed tightly and pale twigs seemed to shoot in over the sill. From his position on the floor, he couldn’t make any sense of them, but there they were. Tree roots on the window. Then a twisted head appeared, followed by a long body. Another fright, smaller than the one about his leg. It pulled itself up onto the sill.
“There’s another,” he said.
“Another what?”
“Nasty little thing,” he said and motioned at the window. “It’s got cold fingers.”
River looked up and followed his gaze. “There’s nothing there.”
“There is,” said Talen. “And there’s another wrapped about my leg. Right there by your hand.”
The creature about his leg didn’t move. It just sat and watched them.
River put her hand on Talen’s leg, partially covering the thin fingers of the fright. Her hands felt warm.
“How many are here, Talen?”
“Two,” he said.
She cursed, then she calmly picked up Talen’s godsweed charm, took it to the hearth, and thrust it into the fire. “And thus a portion of my life goes up in smoke,” she said. Which made no sense to Talen. She picked up a bowl and put the smoking weed in it. Then she took a pair of tongs and removed three hot coals from the fire and put them in the bowl as well. The weeds smoked.
“Where are they now?” she asked.
“The little one’s at the window. The bigger one is right here.” Talen moved his leg.
River approached, blowing on the smoking braid. She blew it on his face. Then she blew it on his leg.
“Don’t worry,” said Talen. “Nettle says it’s just the come-backs.”
“Be gone!” said River. She blew again on the smoke. Godsweed was not a sweet herb and Talen did not like the taste of its smoke.
The knobby creature on his leg eyed her.
“It’s not afraid of you,” said Talen.
River blew again and waved the smoking bowl around him.
The creature turned as if trying to avoid the smoke. But River blew again and the thing released Talen’s leg and jumped to the floor.
“There it goes,” Talen said. The thing only shuffled a few steps then stopped. But the little one at the window was gone.
River followed Talen’s gaze. She waved the smoking bowl around in the air. Blew more smoke. Then the fright that had been attached to his leg scuttled up the wall and out the window. However, River kept moving about as if it were still there.
“You got it,” said Talen. “It’s off to torment the chickens.” Then Talen wondered why it would do that. Was this the reason Da’s last batch of hens died off? It seemed reasonable. “They’re the ones killing the chickens,” he said.
“You’re babbling,” said River. She went to the window and waved the smoking bowl there. Then she closed up the shutters and brought the bowl back and placed it in the middle of the room on the floor. There was no fire to it anymore. Just coals and smoke.
Nettle and Sugar opened the door and bumped their way through with the empty trough. They set it close to the hearth.
“Stand over that bowl,” she said. “Smoke yourselves.”
“Goh,” Nettle said. “Are you kidding? A real fright?”
“Just do it.”
When Nettle and Sugar finished, River said, “Now get the water going.”
“With a fright out there?”
“Move!” said River.
Nettle growled, and Talen couldn’t tell if it was in frustration at River or to muster up his courage to face the fright. Then he marched out the door, the girl right behind him. River walked over to the wall where their five white ceramic plates hung. She took down one plate, brought it to the table, and broke a cookie upon it. Then she lit four more candles and turned them on their sides about the plate to give the cookie more illumination.
She dug at it with the point of a knife, examining the crumbs. “I see nothing.”
She held one up and sniffed it. She took a bite. After savoring it for a while she shook her head and swallowed it. Then she ate the other two cookies and drank a cup of water. “Sometimes certain herbs magnify the effects of the charm. But I can detect nothing of that sort in these,” she said. “If there’s anything in them, we will shortly know. In the meantime you need to soak. Take off your clothes.”
All this time Nettle had been hauling in water, first to fill the large pot Sugar had put over the fire and then to fill the trough. The thought of moving daunted him, and Talen found he couldn’t do more than look at that trough.
“Never mind,” she said. “I’ll do it. Sugar, is that hot yet? We don’t want to freeze him.”
Talen wanted to protest, but it was no use. River had him out of his tunic and pants in moments. Mercifully, she left his linens on.
The trough was slick with slime and the freezing water just about sent him into shock. But he soon didn’t care. The cold meant nothing. He didn’t even care when the girl dumped the boiling water in too quickly and scalded his legs. The hatchlings were in control now. It was too late for all of them.
His eyes were heavy. They itched with sleep and he tried to close them, but River kept slapping his face.
“Let me alone,” said Talen. Then he drifted off into no thought at all.
“Listen to me,” said Rive
r. “You will die tonight if we do not change the course of what’s happening.” She felt his chest again as she had done at first. “This isn’t come-backs. Some herbs can heighten the effect. But there was nothing in those cookies. If there had been, I would be feeling the effects by now.”
“Effects,” repeated Talen. Something about that struck him funny and he giggled.
River stood and addressed Nettle. “You keep him awake. Use whatever it requires-don’t let him sleep.” She moved to the table and began unraveling her weaving of Da’s hair.
Nettle first tried to make Talen talk. When that failed, he began with slapping, pinching, and poking.
But Talen didn’t care. He just wanted to close his eyes.
That’s when Nettle retrieved a stick from the fire and burned Talen’s arm with it.
Talen started and yelled.
“Aha,” said Nettle. “It’s fire that will keep him awake.”
But soon Talen’s eyes began to droop, and Nettle had to burn him twice more before River returned.
“Put your tortures away,” said Talen. He looked at Sugar. “She can perform her depradations after I’ve rested.”
But River said nothing. She tied what she’d been weaving to his arm where Da had tied his charm.
“I’ll give it a few minutes,” she said. It sounded as if she were trying to reassure herself.
“There’s no virtue in hair,” said Talen.
“There isn’t?” asked River.
“I’ve never heard of it,” said Talen.
“What about Atra’s hair?”
“She’s given me up,” said Talen.
River made him relate the whole story of what happened at the glass master’s until Talen realized all she was doing was trying to keep him talking so he’d stay awake.
“I’m going to sleep,” he said. “Burn me if you like. I don’t care.”
River put her hand to his chest again. She looked desperate. She took him by the head then, her two hands clasping the back of his skull. “You need to help me,” she said.
“I can’t get up,” he said. “You’ll have to kill her yourself.”