Dusk Mountain Blues

by Deston Munden

  As she walked, Kindle noticed the little things that marked the Breauxs - and any family aligned with them - as opponents stronger than even the Civilization wanted to mess with. There was wonder in how everything worked, and a level of raw power. Kindle felt both like she belonged and she didn’t.

  ​Remy led them to what was the largest of the homes in the swamp. It was three stories tall, wide, and made of a slick black stone and dark brown wood. The windows on each floor emitted a warm light from the lanterns tucked behind their clouded panes, giving the house a mystical look from all sides. White and green ivy climbed up the walls, steps, and bridges, covering the house with warm-colored flowers that invited them in with their pleasant scent. The porch reminded her a little bit of her and her father’s cabin, wide and with plenty of chairs and a large oak front door. Men in white painted wood masks and clean black clothes bowed as they approached, movements soft and silent. They looked as part of the home as anything else, statues of flesh and bone ready to kill any person in their way.

  ​“I’m sorry ’bout the quietness. It’s been a while since we’ve had visitors.”

  ​“We aren’t your first?” Appetite asked.

  ​“No,” Remy said. “You know that we don’t take a side in your conflict with the Blues.”

  Appetite tried to not let his annoyance show. “I’m as patient as any man, but ain’t much time before they decide that they can take ya too.”

  ​“True, true. But until then we aren’t going to antagonize them the way you do. We don’t have the same negative history y’all have with them. Remember, our kin was once a colony in the First Civilization, before the Fault that destroyed everything. In many ways, their respect stems from things they don’t understand, the forgotten things they lost in the Fault. Until that respect fades to history, they will not step foot here with weapons. Like you.”

  ​“I still wouldn’t trust them...Remy. What’d they come for?”

  ​“Who’s better to come to when you know nothing of the land? Major Debenham isn’t a dumb man. He’s even kind and understanding under all that exterior.”

  ​“You didn’t see the hole he made in my cousin,” Kindle snapped.

  ​Remy gave a soft snort. “You act like the Caldwells haven’t done worse.”

  ​It took everything in Kindle’s body not to say anything. She gritted her teeth, chomping hard on the swampy air. He wasn’t there. He didn’t see the man...that cyborg’s satisfied expression as he punched through her cousin in a spray of blood. She had seen Mastiff’s face with its perfect, pristine horror, dead before he even touched the ground. It haunted her at night; clung to her waking steps, too.

  Kindle swallowed her hot anger, wandering behind the two adults in a cold silence. Remy eyed her with those violet eyes, expecting her to say something. She only followed them up the stairs of the massive porch and through the front door. Her fingers and her teeth ached by the time they were in the softer air inside the Crocodile’s manor. The heavy door closed behind them with a loud boom, leaving only the three of them and a few of the Crocodile’s security details within the parlor. Remy stopped in the center of the room with a smile on his face.

  “Neither of you took that bait. I’m surprised.” Remy shrugged, waiting for a response. He didn’t get one. Mildly disappointed, he kept walking, that grin on his face refusing to dissolve. It only made the anger kick harder in Kindle’s chest. Appetite shook his head.

  ​He led them to a small area on the side of the parlor that looked to be some sort of study or lab. More wooden masks in thousands of colors filled every wall, staring down on them with hollow eyes. Purple candles tucked in long metal rods burned green flames all around them and served as the only light in the room. A few of the windows remained open, letting in the darkness of the barj and the whispers of the wind. The middle of the room only had two items; a black cauldron with a fresh flame of its own, and a long table blanketed by glass jars filled with oddities.

  Without pause, Remy walked up and began tossing herbs and other, more grisly items into pot. “The Flame is going out.”

  ​“What?”

  ​“The Flame is going out. You’ve noticed that the barj has been getting worse, spreading to the edges. It’s getting worse.”

  ​“’cause Ina has been off planet for too long.” Appetite sighed.

  ​“That isn’t your fault. I am offering some advice...for a simple request.” Remy stirred the pot with a slow, lethargic motion.

  ​“I know what you want. Ask her. Not me.”

  ​Remy frowned, tossing a long claw from the barjka into the cauldron. The liquid hissed back in a cloud of hot steam. “I know what it looks like. I’m not using either of you to handle my problems here. The long and short of it is that there’s your problems, and there’s the planet’s problems. Both can essentially destroy everything here. I’m willing to help with both of those, since you and your family are so willing to cause all kinds of trouble. All I’m asking for is for someone to take the Flame. A part of it at least.”

  ​“Again, I’m not going to say yes or no for my daughter. Ask. My. Daughter. Explain it to her. Ask for her help. She came ’cause she wanted to come and meet your family. And--”

  ​“Pa. I got this.” Kindle lightly pushed her father aside, taking the helm. “I came to meet you and get to know my… mom’s…side of the family. I guess I came ’cause I knew one day I was gonna have to. But if you know anything about this Major Debenham, I want to know and I will help ya if that’s the price, Granddad. What exactly do you want? That’s why you asked me to come, right? That’s the only reason.”

  ​“Don’t question my loyalty to you,” Remy interrupted. The playful and aloof tones in his voice were gone, leaving only cold solemnity in his words. There was a sincernity there, almost a concern in his voice. “I care for you and Woodrow. I’ve been here for longer than you can remember, my grandchild. I would do anything to protect the both of you. But there are things that are important to me, too - like the very land that keeps you and your family alive on this planet. So before you start judging me on not stepping into the politics, think about why we are staying out of it. And honestly, this is for the best. You’re powerful, Cassie. Stronger than even Ina. So swallow that Caldwell pride and listen to what I have to say. I’ll help you if you help C’dar. Simple as that. I would much rather have a place where my granddaughter lives.”

  ​Kindle felt her face go warm from embarrassment. What did he mean about the danger to the planet? How was that connected to her mother’s disappearance? Everything suddenly felt small, so small that the room spun. She felt herself stumbling forward, head swimming. Her father’s big hands steadied her back into reality. Even now, he didn’t say a word for her.What does he mean? She wanted to ask, but the words in her mouth felt heavy.

  “Alright,” she managed to say, lowering herself into a nearby chair. “What do I need to do?”

  ​“At this moment, I only want one thing,” Remy said, dipping a ladle into the hot liquid of the caldron. He poured the mixture into a small wooden bowl. “I want you to drink this.”

  Chapter 7

  Shadows in the Well

  Appetite

  “Shadows in the well have stories to tell.

  From the warm midnight gales to the stones of hail.

  Only a few know what tales they sell.”

  --The Augur of Owls

  Appetite didn’t feel like he belonged in the room with Kindle and Remy.

  ​No matter how much he tried to adapt, dip his toes into the into the deep unknown of their world, he knew that this wasn’t his place. Old superstitions worked hard on him, like a pick chiseling its way through ice. He liked to think that he was more tolerant than some members of his family, but that deep root of fear and respect for things they didn’t quite understand clung to him with every passing moment.

  He walked through the moving bridges of the Crocodile’s Walk and through the sprawling village of Will
ow’s Grove, hauntedly aware of the eyes that followed him with every step. They too had their superstitions about him and his. They called them monsters, animals wearing the clothes of humanity. Such was the way of people, he supposed. You can’t get to know someone if you’re too scared to speak, his mom had always told him. So, he was going to take the time to get to know the people again.

  A lot had changed in fifteen years. The village had become very much a city in his time away. There were plenty more of those floating houses on the lake, and more of the bog had been cleared away than he remembered. As he walked, he noticed small changes in how the place made up. He wandered around for a little over half an hour searching for the marketplace. His memory worked against him; where his footsteps felt familiar, his eyes knew nothing of where he was. This didn’t bother him, though. He let his feet carry him from one island to another, recognizing a few things now; the immaculate shrines, the massive mess hall, and finally the market stalls teeming with people. A dull bolt of familiarity struck him, one that he promptly swallowed. He didn’t want to think about that right now.

  ​The market, too, had gotten bigger since the last time he visited Willow’s Grove. Where before they’d had only simple weapons, food, and supplies, now they had local spices and exotic fruit found in the nearby area. Once upon a time, Appetite had known them all by name. Now his mind only clung to the ones he remembered the taste of, of course: the spicy golden chili peppers; the sweet, hard-skinned pink fruit known as the kao; and the sour tastes of their swamp grown citrus. The memories made his stomach grumble.

  The butcher was still here today, as mean and grumpy as ever, his beard wild and straggly against his dark skin. He had the thick arms of a birch tree, covered to the elbow in green blood. Today, he was chopping up some massive scaled animal with a cleaver as sharp as sin. The older man glanced over, a small amount of recognition glittering in his eyes. He came down with another powerful crunch, severing the twitching head from the scaly body.

  “Thought you were dead,” the butcher said with a sour amusement, not even looking up with his pupiless orange eyes.

  ​“Same to you. Heard you got pretty sick, Elijah. Never heard anything else ’bout it though.”

  ​Elijah shrugged. “Eh, didn’t like the idea of being dead that much. So I got over it.”

  ​“Can’t much blame ya. Any news around here?”

  “Sit down, boy, I know you’re hungry. I’ll have my boy whip you up something.”

  ​He wasn’t wrong. Awkwardly, Appetite sat in yet another chair much too small for his massive body. It seemed that Elijah had learned his lesson about serving Appetite: if you can’t accommodate his size, make sure the chairs are sturdy enough.

  Appetite slumped in the chair, arms over the counter, watching the stoutly-built butcher move from behind his counter to wash his hands clean of blood. His boy, Santiago, was a grown man in his twenties now; he stirred a pot over a cooking fire, stoking the flame. He’d only been five, last Appetite saw him. Now, he had all the looks of his father, with all the short temper and half the age. Pushing with a tad more vigor than he probably needed, Santiago stabbed a whole metal stake through a slab of meat, heaving it over the cooking flame.

  Elijah patted his son on the back with fatherly pride. “Like father, like son, eh? Ain’t nothing quite like it.”

  ​“Ain’t nothing quite like it.”

  Santiago rolled his eyes and continued spinning the spit.

  ​Elijah finished off a few cuts of meat before sighing. “A lot has changed since you left. You know they blame you for the situation we’re in, right?”

  ​“For the Flame?”

  ​“Yeah, and for losing their pride and joy.”

  ​“I didn’t lose her. She left on her own.”

  ​“Do you think that she would be gone if she had never met you?” Elijah rose an eyebrow, waiting for a response. He didn’t get one; he wouldn’t get one. “Whether you’re at fault or not, it don’t really matter. You’re the one they blame. Ina…” Elijah stumbled over her name like everyone did around him.

  Even in my own head. Appetite hated that her name had become that small stone that tripped every sentence. She wasn’t dead. At least, he didn’t think so.

  “Ina meant something to us. More than her title or her connection with the Flame. She kept us grounded when her dad couldn’t - or rather wouldn’t. Remy isn’t a people’s person. It’s the nature of his job, I suppose.”

  ​Everyone knew that they needed the other half of their power, the Shadow. The barj came from it. It was said that when the first Civilization came, it was this that kept them bay. There was also a price, an elusive one spoken of in whispers. I got the jist of it though. Some superstitions had a kernel of truth tucked in there somewhere. Remy the witch doctor had his followers and served his people well. He would do anything to insure the safety of his people and the planet. One thing Appetite had learned on the mountain with his own family was there was always someone who thought they knew what was best.

  He shook his head. “Who’s causing trouble ‘round here then?””

  ​“Ignace mostly. You know how he is.”

  ​Appetite grunted. Santiago stoked the flames again, its tail licking up and up towards the young man’s face. The smoky smell came next, drifting in his direction. The constant pain in his stomach stirred.

  “Don’t cook his steak too much, my boy,” Elijah said. “He likes his a little bloody, am I right? He likes everything like that.”

  After a few minutes, Elijah sent his boy off to help other customers and handled the food himself. When he was done, he put the food on the plate and cut the first slice off with a sharp knife as if to show his point. “You’re different. You mellowed with your age as many tend to do.” He cut another piece with a soft click of the knife against the wooden plate. The red juices flowed a little over the lip and onto the counter. The hunger throbbed hard in Appetite’s stomach, the smell catching the wind on just the right angle. “Don’t mean that there’s not a little bit left in ya it seems. Enjoy yourself.”

  ​The butcher pushed the plate along with its fork and knife and continued wordlessly back to his work.

  ​Appetite hadn’t thought about Ignace in years. The last time he had heard from him was when he’d almost crushed the man’s skull with his bare hands. He remembered the man’s hair rough against his large palms, his fingers digging into the skin, muscles, and bone. There had been a certain fear that he gorged on that day. Ignace stopped being the brother of the woman he loved, the one who hated him and he hated in return. For long minutes, the man was no different than an aluminum can - an empty one at that. He remembered the satisfying crunch, the shrill voices of his men and women clamoring for him stop with empty words and threats. The man’s eyes threatened to pop out of his head with each tightening finger. The smug look on his face was gone, replaced with only sheer and satisfying terror. The younger man Appetite kept inside, the silent brutal towering colossus of a man who hated everything, stirred in the back of his head with a satisfied grin. That was a long time ago. But he knew that Ignace remembered just as clearly.

  ​As long as they were in the same village, he might as well pay the man a visit.

  ​Appetite cleaned the plate as he always did, leaving not even the bones, and left the butcher and his son to their work. After buying pastries from a small bakery run by a confident old woman, and a beer from a rambling old beer seller to wash it all down, he strolled his way through the market. The memories came back to him with every step. In the newer parts of the village, he could ignore the feelings. Here, in places that he recognized, he started to feel the threads of familiarity. Buildings he had been into, people he knew, things he had bought or tried out. It like coming home all over again - with everything good and bad that came with it. Old memories surfaced and danced in his head as he finished his beer. He almost wished that he could get drunk enough for this; at least then he could blame that for what he wa
s going to do next.

  ​People were things of habit. They didn’t move or change their ways unless they had to. Ignace Breaux wasn’t any different, caught in his slow loop of doing the same darn thing. The small glimmers in the faces that recognized Appetite turned from mild amusement to fires of hate the closer he got to the totems. The tall, multi-tiered, painted wooden structures stared down at him with pale white eyes cut from chips of bone, hidden within the long leaves of the willows. A small clearing was cut out in the middle around a simple gazebo.

  In the center a man sat watching the fire with hard eyes. Men and women in long red-and-orange robes surrounded him, meditating over a large bonfire.

  No amount of meditation could stop this man from his ambitions.

  ​Ignace made him wait. Appetite knew he’d heard him come up. For one thing, he wasn’t was a stealthy man; when you were the size of small truck, you tended to make a sound everywhere you went. The man ignored him, let him stand there like a fool - but he’d learned patience a long time ago. Appetite finished his beer with slow, obnoxious slurps. There wasn’t much left, of course. He had to make it last. I can wait here all day.

  In the end, Ignace was the one that blinked first. He stood, taking in a lungful of smoke through his nose and breathing it out in a cloud of grey. He turned, smirking with those pearly white teeth peeking through those smug lips. “My, if it ain’t my sister’s towering behemoth. Didn’t recognize you without her collar around your neck.”

  ​The scarred man walked over with a grin plastered on his face. The sneering confidence hadn’t changed over the years. He sauntered over, looking up the length of Appetite with those hard-red eyes. He stared up, his twisted lean body underneath the robes of red and orange.

  Appetite noticed a little trip in his step. Ignace didn’t see the softer, patient man that he become; he saw the man that gave him that ugly red spiderweb scar on his face and the dent in his skull that hadn’t healed right. Memories worked the same way for everyone when seeing someone that hurt them.