Candlewax

by C. Bailey Sims

  Feeling calmer, she focused her thoughts on her village. The people always welcomed the Crystal king and believed it was a shame that their homes lay outside his protection. As it was, he had kept Kallik out of Crystallia, fighting his incursions from Tabrek with decisive victories.

  But what returned over and over again to Bessie’s mind was the shocking truth that Clara Smith was actually Princess Catherine. The proud and beautiful young princess had been the subject of much speculation and admiration for as long as Bessie could remember. Whom would she marry? How would a possible alliance affect their village? Bessie and her friends also secretly hoped, in the way of young girls, that her husband would be dashing, and the match a romance. I cannot believe I have actually laid eyes on the princess, much less been called her friend.

  She started at the sound of a voice behind them. “Wish we were goin’ to Swiggins Tavern,” complained one of the riders under his breath. “I thought we was goin’ to sleep in town tonight.”

  Jessup grunted. “Now wouldn’t that be nice? Perhaps you’d like to have a pint or two with the Crystal king? Hmm? No, we’re doin’ what we was sent here to do—bringin’ Kallik the missing princess.”

  “If she is the princess,” said Buckteeth.

  Jessup didn’t answer, but Bessie distinctly heard his growled curse.

  Bessie wished that she had run faster. She hadn’t counted on facing all of Kallik’s men in full pursuit. Once the trail had leveled out, she had found herself boxed in by several galloping horses. She had hesitated, dodging them, until one of the men had sent her flying with a knock to the back of the head. They had captured her easily after that. No one from the village seemed to hear her screams, and soon Jessup had gagged her with his filthy rag.

  Buckteeth broke the silence. “Let’s go by way of Courtney Creek. We’ll have a better chance of finding game near the creek, or maybe some fish.”

  Jessup answered, “That be my plan. We will make camp before nightfall if we ride straight through.” Jessup sounded irritated. Bessie braced herself for an even longer journey and wished that Buckteeth had kept his mouth shut.

  Two and a half agonizing hours later, they reached the creek. Jessup grabbed Bessie and set her on her feet. Her legs buckled and she sat down hard.

  “Untie her,” he ordered, laughing. A man with a scruffy beard and bad skin untied the rags that had bound her. Bessie’s wrists were bruised, but fortunately the bonds had not been so tight as to cut off her circulation. They let her drink from the creek. She glared warily at the guards who followed her.

  “Don’t you run off again, missy, or we won’t be so polite next time,” said the man with the scruffy beard. The men laughed again.

  “Take her shoes just the same.” Jessup sounded bored. The man with the scruffy beard groped for her arm and clenched it tight in his dirty hand. Bessie sank slowly onto a nearby log and started to untie her shoes.

  She remembered the sight of Catherine’s stockinged feet when she had first met her and took comfort in the idea that she probably didn’t need her shoes anyway.

  Kallik’s men started a fire and two of them went off to hunt while Jessup tried to fish. Buckteeth busied himself with sharpening a knife.

  Courtney Creek was full of fish. Bessie watched as Jessup lumbered downstream and proceeded to soak himself through with failed attempts to grab fish out of the water. The ridiculous sight of him pouncing and sloshing around made all of them seem less threatening. Foolish and human. When her hunger pains grew too strong to ignore, her sturdy, practical nature allayed her fear. We’ll never eat at this rate, she thought, sighing.

  Bessie dangled her hand into the water and gently stroked the belly of a large fish lumbering under the bank of the creek. It swam in the same spot, lulled by the soothing touch of her hand. She quickly flipped the fish onto the bank, gathered it in her hands and took it to the man feeding the fire. He gazed at her with a stupid look and then grinned.

  She went back for more, seeking out the hidden, gentle currents on the creek banks that often attracted large fish. Bessie felt Jessup’s eyes following her. She stole a glance at him and was alarmed by the admiration she saw there. Maybe he’s just happy he’s not going to go hungry.

  She thought back to conversations her father and mother had had about Kallik when they thought the rest of the household was asleep. The tyrant’s network of spies kept him well informed. Since Kallik’s rule, the whole of Tabrek had turned tattle-tale. This man with the square face—Jessup—his own men would inform on him if he doesn’t bring me to Kallik unharmed and still a maiden. Unless they make a pact. She shuddered.

  Bessie caught one more fish, sure that she had more than enough. The man at the fire had gutted the fish and unpacked a large, heavy iron pan.

  “Won’t go hungry tonight thanks to you, princess.” He shoved his greasy hair out of his eyes with a filthy hand and Bessie looked away in disgust.

  “Here, let me cook them,” she urged. The man moved aside in surprise. First Bessie made a bed of leaves next to the fire. Then she gathered up the filets and took them back to the stream to wash them off.

  Laying them side-by-side on the leaves, she turned to the man and asked, “Have you got any butter or flour? Any salt?”

  “No, just a bit o’ lard is all that’s left,” he answered, disappointed.

  “Then that will have to do. I’ll look for some herbs while you tend to the fire and make sure the birds don’t fly off with our dinner.” Bessie didn’t ask for permission. She had spotted herbs growing wild near the creek bank. She picked several and brought them back to the fire. Jessup watched her every move.

  The man tending the fire looked at the darkening sky and said to no one in particular, “’Bout time they got back.”

  Jessup broke off from staring at Bessie and jabbed a finger at Buckteeth.

  “Warren, take a look in the forest and see if you can find those two. We’ll start cookin’. The smell will bring ‘em runnin’.”

  Warren gave him a sullen look, put his knife back in the sheath, and strode off into the woods to look for the hunters.

  * * *

  “Arnold! Ben!” Warren yelled. Every few feet he would shout their names in a different direction, but there was no sign of them. Warren walked about half a mile more through the gloomy forest.

  “Arnold! Ben! We got fish!” Warren shouted at the top of his lungs, then stopped. There was a strange shift in the silence around him, and he felt the hair on his neck start to rise.

  “Somehow I don’t think they are in any condition to dine,” a strange, low voice said behind him. Warren spun around. What was that he saw? His eyes were a bit blurry. He concentrated hard and looked around the woods, searching for the source of the voice.

  “Don’t joke around, Ben. Jessup wants us back!”

  “Jessup will have to wait then.” The menacing voice seemed to be coming from directly ahead. A shimmering whiteness caught his eye. Warren grinned, his buckteeth flashing white, and pulled out his knife.

  “I see you now!” Warren took a step forward.

  “Braver than the others, this one.” The voice seemed to be talking to someone.

  He yelled and slashed at the empty air.

  “Over here now,” said the voice behind him.

  Warren nearly tripped as he spun to face the voice. His eyes darted in all directions. There it was again, that white blur. He lunged forward. Something brushed his hip. Something large. He twisted and stabbed at the blur.

  “Put down the knife or I will kill you,” said the voice.

  “What have you done with Ben and Arnold?”

  A rumbling growl sent chills down Warren’s spine. “They refused to put down their weapons,” the voice said.

  “All right,” Warren said with his hands stretched out in supplication. “I am putting the knife down now.” He lowered the huge blade to the ground, trying to get a fix on the voice. It was directly in front of him. Just as the knife was almost on th
e ground, he dove forward with lightning speed.

  The presence jumped sideways and Warren twisted after it. He felt a crushing pain seize his arm that held the knife and saw clearly for the first time the angry, yellow eyes of a large, white-headed cat. It was biting his arm with huge curving teeth.

  Warren shrieked in pain and terror. It had the same spotted skin that Kallik wore! A fairrier cat! His knife dropped to the ground. The cat was dragging him away from it, crushing his arm. He grabbed at the fallen knife with his free hand and managed to get hold of the handle. He swung in an arcing motion destined to strike the cat’s neck.

  The fairrier cat dropped his arm and spun away from the blade. Warren heard an ominous, low rumble like the sound of a massive thunderstorm approaching. He jumped to his feet, using his good arm to swing the knife from side to side.

  The sound of growling grew louder with deep vibrations that encircled him like a net, passing through his clothing and hitting his skin, passing through his skin until he could feel it in his muscles and bones. Warren dropped the knife, shaking.

  He fell to his knees and then curled up on the ground, cradling his injured arm. His head was filled with the unremitting vibrations of the growl.

  “Stop!” he shouted, his teeth chattering in fear. But the sensations did not cease. Warren clutched his insides, trying to shield himself from the onslaught of the fairrier cat’s furious growl. His eyes rolled back in his head. Suddenly his spine arched and his head tilted back.

  The sounds stopped.

  “I think this one is done fighting, Catherine. Take his knife and cut his shirt into bonds,” the voice said wearily.

  * * *

  Catherine stepped from behind the huge oak tree where she had been shielded and walked up to the ungainly form of Warren. Her knees felt weak. The man was covered in blood.

  “Gag him first, then dress his wound,” said Pokos.

  She took his knife and cut a long strip from his shirt, tying it around his head and between his upper and lower teeth. She bound the wound with another strip, then she pushed the unconscious man over onto his stomach. She tied a knot Sir Gavin had once shown her, one that wouldn’t come easily undone, fastening his wrists together behind his back.

  “When will he wake up?”

  “A day, maybe two. Every now and then I suspect they never wake up if I growl like that for a long time,” said Pokos.

  “I’ve never heard you... do that before.” She swallowed.

  “He angered me,” said Pokos. “The battle growl of a fairrier cat is difficult to defend against. That is why I asked for you to remain behind shelter. It was good you listened.”

  “Pokos, you wouldn’t hurt me, would you? You know, just because I’m not wearing the Ancient Onyxes?”

  “No, Catherine. I could never hurt you.” Pokos sounded concerned. The white fur around his mouth was bloodied and his eyes were a fierce gold. “These men smelled of evil. Close your eyes and smell it!”

  Catherine closed her eyes and concentrated, not sure exactly what evil would smell like. She inhaled deeply. There was a smell coming from Warren. Sweat, body odor, blood. Fear. She could smell those. She kept her eyes closed and inhaled again, this time more slowly. She could smell the trees and earth. There was something...

  She relaxed and took in another breath. A faint odor she had never smelled before came to her senses. Catherine couldn’t be sure she if was smelling it or feeling it. At first it was faint, just a wisp of dreadful, cold emptiness that seemed to have no source. As it grew stronger, it forced its way up her nostrils with a putrid, icy insistence—reaching her closed eyes, now squeezing tight, pulling itself farther into her thoughts. Wickedness of decay and decrepitude, wretched stench of horrible chaos!

  Catherine jumped backward, eyes wide, covering her nose and mouth with her hand, a look of horror on her face. She looked at Warren and wondered how she could not have known. He was steeped in evil.

  “Pokos! I never knew... I’ve never smelled anything like that before. Is it because of your fur?”

  “Fairrier cat fur helps one recognize it. Now that you know, you will be able to smell it again if you try, even without the fur.”

  “Shouldn’t you kill him, now that we know?”

  “I knew when I spared him. Sometimes men change. It has happened.” Pokos nudged her with his nose. “Come, I smell fish cooking. We will see how Bessie is faring. I smell herbs too.”

  Pokos paused for Catherine to get on and then made his way noiselessly to Kallik’s men’s camp. Finally, Catherine smelled the fish cooking. His nose is much better than mine.

  By the time they reached the camp it was past twilight. Stars shone overhead. An owl hooted in the trees above them. Pokos stopped outside the camp and Catherine slid off his back, then crouching, followed the cat’s stealthy approach through the brush, keeping as low and silent as she could.

  Bessie was turning a filet in a pan, humming a little tune. Three men stood around the fire, watching her cook. Two other fish lay on a bed of leaves next to the fire. Bessie was smiling. Catherine marveled that her friend could be in such good spirits.

  “Leave a portion for the others, mind you,” Bessie cautioned as the three men grabbed at the next fish with grubby hands.

  “They can fend for themselves,” said Jessup, stuffing his mouth with a huge bite of fish. He licked his fingers. “Probably found a squirrel or something. Takin’ their good time they are.”

  After all of the fish were gone, Jessup pulled out a bottle and took a long drink. “Here’s to Kallik! What he don’t know won’t hurt him.” Everyone laughed. Catherine watched Bessie withdraw as far as she could from the men, her face pale and hollow with worry. Then her friend busied herself by scrubbing the pan with a wad of leaves.

  Kallik’s men continued to pass the spirits around. Half an hour later the first bottle was empty. Jessup opened a new one and offered Bessie a drink, but she shook her head, failing to hide the look of dread on her face. He laughed and took another gulp.

  The belch that followed made Bessie jump. Catherine’s hand went to her dagger and she felt Pokos restrain her with a nudge. “My little princess doesn’t like to drink!” yelled Jessup with the bottle held high. “All the more for us.”

  The man with scruffy beard stared at Bessie with a lecherous grin. The other man wiped his hands on his pants and pulled out a flute from his pocket and began to play a soulful, haunting melody. The notes drifted into the night air along with the campfire smoke.

  “That’s a Tabrekian tune,” whispered Catherine, kneeling next to Pokos. “‘Wind of Tabrek,’ I think. My grandmother used to sing it to me when I was little.”

  “Yes. I know this song.” The tone of Pokos’s voice alarmed Catherine. He had begun to hum, at first in a low rumbling way and then louder. He was grinning and his eyes were glinting green. The flute player continued to play—each note part of a melancholy chain. Pokos’s humming got even louder.

  “Shh, Pokos! They’ll hear you!” she hissed, shoving her shoulder into his side.

  To Catherine’s horror, Pokos ignored her. Worse, he lifted up his head and began to sing in a deep, loud voice, two octaves below the flute. The flute stopped, leaving only the sound of Pokos singing. She cringed as the whole forest was filled with his rich voice.

  Bring me to Tabrek, wind so kind.

  Where the fairrier cats do roam

  Bring me to Tabrek, wind so kind

  I won’t be at peace ‘til I’m home

  Princes may come and kings may go

  The springs of Tekora still run

  Wars may be lost, wars may be won

  Winter will bring pure Tabrek snow

  Bring me to Tabrek, wind so kind

  Where the fairrier cats do roam

  Bring me to Tabrek, wind so kind

  I won’t be at peace ‘til I’m home

  Pokos stopped. There was complete silence. Bessie sat with her mouth wide open. Jessup dropped the second empty
bottle and stood with a look of shock on his face. The flute player brushed away a tear. The man with the scruffy beard reached for his knife.

  “Play ‘Wondrous View from Mt. Krenaka’!” ordered Pokos. Catherine couldn’t help giggling. There was no stopping him. Bessie peered out at the woods in the general direction of Catherine and Pokos. The man with the flute looked at Jessup for guidance.

  “Who goes there?” thundered Jessup, slurring his words.

  “Spelopokos. A friend of the princess,” replied Pokos. “A friend of Tabrek. An enemy of Kallik.” Pokos snarled out Kallik’s name.

  Jessup blinked at the darkness, swaying from side to side.

  “A friend of my princess can sing anything he damn well pleases.” Jessup swung an arm toward Bessie, lost his balance, and flopped to the ground.

  The flute player struck up the tune and once again Pokos sang, this time in harmony with the high notes of the flute. Just before the end of the third verse the flute dropped unnoticed to the ground. All three men were slumped over, snoring.

  “Catherine, go loose their horses and send them off,” said Pokos. Catherine understood in an instant—a shrieking horse could be very loud. She ran to the picket line, untied the horses and sent them into the wind so they would not catch Pokos’s scent. They scattered with a couple of nervous whinnies and snorts.

  Pokos boldly trotted into the camp. He nudged Jessup with his nose. Jessup smiled and rolled over. “See?” said Pokos. “No need to worry.”

  Bessie was laughing and crying at the sight of Catherine and Pokos. She ran over to them.

  “Thank you both for saving me!”

  “Too bad all the fish is gone,” said Pokos. “It smelled good. I liked what you did with the herbs.”

  Bessie grinned in surprise. “If I’d known you were coming for dinner I would have caught more! The men ate all of the fish before I could get a mouthful. You’d think they hadn’t eaten in weeks.”