Candlewax

by C. Bailey Sims

  Menard pulled his sword and brandished it at the cats that had attacked him and Bessie, shooting glances at Catherine and the cat on top of Cyril. “Catherine, whatever you’re doing, best hurry,” he said.

  “Hush, I’m working on it!” she whispered.

  “The Cinnans stole the pendant and we had to win it back from them. We meant you no harm that first night, but we had to defend our lives,” Catherine thought.

  The cat sighed. “I would have done the same,” he said gruffly, pushing reluctantly off of Cyril’s chest. Cyril sat up and began to cough and wheeze. The cat moved to stand directly in front of Catherine. His eyes bore into hers. “Now I understand why the intruder came—why he did not kill me when he could have done so. What is his name? Does he yet live?”

  “His name is Spelopokos. Without him, all of Lackanay would be lost. He brought me here to lead you to Lackanay.” Catherine felt her eyes beginning to moisten but she did not dare shift her focus from Zekkarados. “He lives, but an arrow has put him in mortal peril. He returns to his birthplace.” Bessie, Menard, and Cyril—who was finally able to stand—were staring at Catherine and the huge fairrier cat, their eyes darting back and forth between them.

  “Why should we leave Cinna? It is our home.” The cat appeared to be testing her.

  “Because you must. It is your destiny. Cinna is not a place to raise your cubs—they face only hardship and starvation here. Lackanay is full of deer, and the people of Tabrek used to raise goats just for fairrier cats. Spelopokos told me so.”

  The cat looked at her and tilted his head, “Many people to eat too?”

  “NO. You must never again eat human flesh. That is forbidden.”

  “Who are you to forbid us anything?” snarled the cat. He crouched as if to spring. Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine saw Cyril move.

  “I AM CATHERINE OF THE ONYXES!” Catherine’s fear had turned to fury. She took a step forward. “You will never have any peace in Lackanay if you eat a single human being!”

  Zekkarados stilled, and Catherine held her breath. She looked quickly at Cyril, willing him not to move. Then the great cat dropped his head wearily. “As long as there is game... this is something I can enforce. My pride of fairrier cats is one of the last in Cinna. I am their ruler.” Zekkarados suddenly raised his chin, his eyes narrowed. “But you are not telling all. There is more to the prophecy.”

  “Yes. There is more,” Catherine admitted. “You are a protection to our land, to Lackanay. Without you all is lost.”

  “You have stated the prophecy correctly. Every fairrier cat in Cinna learns it. The pestilence has begun?”

  “It is possible.”

  “They will eat the deer?”

  “The trodliks will eat everything.”

  “Then we must go to Lackanay. Let them wither at our presence. Let the dust of their bodies blow with the wind into nothingness. Let the fairrier cats be the balance of the land once more. Let our goodness and strength bring fortune to Lackanay forever.” Zekkarados turned his head and sniffed the breeze; his eyes were bright green in anticipation.

  “There is something else I must tell you, Zekkarados. Not all of the men in Lackanay can be trusted. Some would kill you. Some are very evil. They would wear your skins.”

  “I know this already, Catherine. I accept the challenge. Just because I said we would not eat men does not mean that we will not kill them if we have to.”

  “That is fair.” Catherine nodded in agreement. Cyril smiled at her and for the first time in a long time, Catherine genuinely smiled back. Zekkarados turned and looked at the other cats. They padded silently toward the forest.

  “Where are you going?” Catherine said, panicked.

  Zekkarados paused and looked back at her. “Upwind where your scent won’t tempt us. Perhaps we will catch a few rodents tonight to quell our hunger. Tomorrow we will go with you to Lackanay.” With that, the fairrier cats vanished into the night.

  Cyril, Bessie, and Menard gathered around Catherine. Cyril took her hand, his shirt bloody from where Zekkarados had broken the skin on his chest. There was an awed silence among them. Menard cleared his throat.

  “You did it, Catherine!” cried Bessie finally. “I knew you could. You figured out the pendant!”

  “Not a moment too soon, either. I thought we were done for,” said Menard.

  “What was it that you were thinking?” Cyril’s eyes held an expression of disbelief. “That big cat could have killed me in an instant,”

  “I told them to stop. Then I told them who I was and what the prophecy held. I could hear Zekkarados’s thoughts and he could hear mine.” Excited, Catherine looked from one astonished face to the other.

  “Pokos spoke with me only a little while ago,” she continued. “I was holding the pendant and thinking about him and he said my name. I don’t know how, but he did. I heard it plain as day. But I wasn’t sure what it meant; it was just one word and I couldn’t hear anything more.” Catherine stared at Cyril’s shirt and shuddered to think what would have happened to him if she had been a moment too late.

  Menard followed her gaze. “Better get you fixed up, Cyril. Cinnans must have packed soap somewhere in these supplies.” He reached for Cyril’s shoulder, only to be stopped by Catherine’s hand.

  “I’ll do it, Menard,” said Catherine. Menard looked surprised. Then he nodded and grinned.

  Cyril smiled widely. “Maybe I should be attacked by a fairrier cat more often.”

  With a shake of her head, Bessie retreated to help Menard look for the soap. Catherine led Cyril to the fire, her heart pounding. She gently removed his coat and shirt, drawing a blanket around his wide shoulders as he sat down. Catherine knelt, taking his hands in hers, turning one over to place a kiss in its palm.

  “You would have tried to kill that cat for me,” she murmured, her breath warm against his skin. She raised her head. Cyril seemed mesmerized, his eyes fixed on hers. She smiled again. “You have been there for me from the moment we met, haven’t you?”

  Cyril took her hand and brought it to his chest, over his heart. “You have been here from the moment we met, Catherine. I can do nothing less.” Under her hand Catherine felt his heart leap. Breathless, her eyes met his.

  A discreet cough made them both jump. Menard handed her the soap, a basin of water, and a cloth. He stood behind her, ignoring Cyril’s pointed looks, until a well-aimed pebble hit him between the eyes. Cyril glared. Laughing quietly, Menard rubbed his forehead and moved away to the other side of the fire.

  Absorbed in her work, Catherine flushed the wounds with clean, soapy water. Zekkarados had left three bloody scratches about an inch-and-a-half apart and an inch long, just under Cyril’s right shoulder. He is well muscled, like a knight. Catherine was glad the wounds weren’t deep. She blotted them dry, satisfied that they had stopped bleeding. Then she tore a strip of fabric, bound it over the scratches, and tied it firmly behind his shoulder without pulling it too tight.

  Cyril grinned at her and gave Menard an I-told-you-so look. The counselor winked at Cyril and sat down by the fire. Cyril shivered and put on his shirt again.

  Bessie’s eyes met Catherine’s and they both smiled. The four of them stared into the fire, the cries of the fairrier cats filling the mountain air. The sounds echoed and fell off and then started again in an endless circle. Cyril moved closer to Catherine, the crossbow in his lap and his back against a heap of Cinnan provisions. Menard soon dozed off, followed almost immediately by Bessie.

  Catherine reached into her shirt for the pendant, wondering if it would translate the sad cries. She closed her eyes. Their meaning came in waves, and she matched her voice to their inflection so that Cyril could experience it with her.

  “Cinna, home of our birth, we leave you.”

  “Cinna, most glorious, our eyes may never see you again.”

  “Mountains of Cinna, our mother, we will never forget your cold, free air.”

  They sang to the rocks and i
ce, to the scent of the pines and the caves. They sang to the stars and moon and to the ancestors who had hunted in Cinna for a thousand generations. Each cry felt as if it would wrench Catherine’s heart from her chest. When she could bear their sorrow no more, she released the pendant and closed her eyes in exhaustion. She was too tired to cry, too tired to worry about Pokos or what would happen tomorrow. She rested her head on Cyril’s shoulder.

  His eyes never leaving the forest, Cyril slipped his arms around her shoulders, drawing her into his lap. He kissed her hair. “Rest now, my love,” he whispered. “All is well.”

  Warmth spread through her body. She slept.

  PART III

  MARCH OF THE TRODLIKS

  King Stephen of Crystallia looked at the impassive face of William, the big, red-headed captain of Candlewax, and resisted the urge to throw something.

  Yes, Catherine and Spelopokos had come through Candlewax Wood. That much he already knew from the villagers at Ryeburg. No, William hadn’t seen any necklace. No, he didn’t know where Catherine had gone. No, Cyril wasn’t at Candlewax Castle; he was off hunting with Menard. Back soon.

  Something about the stoniness in William’s eyes troubled Stephen. He was obviously not telling all that he knew. Brine, who had come along to find his daughter Bessie, was fuming. He kept looking all around, as if Bessie could somehow be hidden under the smallest stick of furniture.

  Servants were starting to prepare the hall for the evening’s dinner. Stephen and his company had now been at Candlewax Castle for three days.

  “Stay as long as you like, sire. I am sure that the Candlewax king would wish it so,” offered William. His voice sounded sincere. Or sincerely forced. King Stephen cocked his head, listening for what remained unsaid. The captain appeared to have grown more and more restless each day Stephen and his royal entourage lingered. And every dawn, William left with his men to survey part of the kingdom.

  A good man, just like Sir Gavin is for me. But what is he worried about? What is he hiding?

  The people of Candlewax weren’t revealing anything. Stephen had casually tried to draw some of the soldiers into conversation, to no avail. One of them, a burly black-haired man by the name of Sebastian, had looked quite amused by his efforts. Not even the stable boys would do more than nod respectfully or declare ignorance to the matter at hand, quickly scuttling away at the first opportunity.

  King Stephen knew that if he stayed long enough, the truth would eventually surface. He reasoned that his daughter must have crossed into Cinna; he wanted to be as close as possible to the Gate should she reappear. His wife, Sarah, knew what to do while he was away from Crystallia. Yes, Catherine’s mother would want him to stay at Candlewax to help Catherine. Besides, he needed to rekindle plans for the marriage. In order to do so, he was prepared to offer Cyril a stake in the mines.

  “We shall stay,” Stephen said finally. William’s shoulders slumped slightly. Despite his frustration and worry, Stephen hid a smile.

  “Very well, then. We welcome your presence, sire.” William nodded deeply, almost a bow. It was a courteous reminder that he, William, captain of Candlewax, was in charge.

  “We are in Cyril’s debt for his captain’s hospitality,” replied King Stephen just as formally, nodding in return.

  They paused as an out-of-breath boy hurried into the room, bowed, and handed William a scroll. Stephen glanced at the sealed document, wondering if William would open it. He felt sure it was addressed to King Cyril. If William opened it, it would mean that he had no idea when Cyril was coming back.

  William broke the seal.

  A shiver ran down Stephen’s spine, a foreboding that was confirmed when he saw a look of dread cross William’s face. William rolled the parchment back up and, to Stephen’s astonishment, handed it over with shaking hands, his face ashen.

  Stephen took the scroll, swallowing a rising panic, certain there would be bad news about Catherine written there. He fumbled as he opened it.

  To Cyril, the Candlewax King

  This morning at daybreak a shepherd discovered trodliks in Lackanay. They are nearly to Claret, and will reach Retona in days. There are more than can be counted. We cannot see the end of them. They are eating everything that is not stone or metal. We have lost livestock and a score of people are missing. Please help us. Everyone from Retona has already fled. Our village will be next. We cannot possibly fight this onslaught. We are on our way to the safety of the castle.

  Geoffrey of Bellary

  “Perhaps you would like to return to Crystallia after all, King Stephen.” William spoke in a leaden voice, his face full of despair.

  Stephen closed his eyes. Memories flowed through him, and he welcomed them—when Catherine was a little girl, her hand in his, pulling him to her window to see the miracle of a full moon outside. Then a young maiden, her beautiful face laughing as they good-naturedly argued the history of their people. And finally, a quiet and unsmiling princess, standing before her mother and father to formally receive the news of her betrothal. The disbelief in her face. The hurt. She had said nothing to them, not one word, her eyes downcast. He shook his head at the memories of the arguments that had come later. I treated you like an unruly subject, not a daughter, Stephen thought. I might have found a way to make it easier if I had not been so blind.

  He reluctantly opened his eyes to the grim present. Standing up, he paced back and forth in the hall, his hands clasped behind his back. “Trodliks in Lackanay. It’s happening. After all these years, it is really happening. Spelopokos... I hope he is... Catherine. My sweet, lovely Catherine. You must hurry, my daughter,” he murmured. He rubbed his beard thoughtfully and then, in a moment of decision, turned to William.

  “We must go at once to Retona!”

  “You will help?” A spark of hope flashed through William’s eyes.

  “Of course. We must keep them away until Spelopokos returns to Lackanay.” Stephen saw the look of surprise on William’s face. “I already guessed that Spelopokos and Catherine went through the Gate, William. Now, of course, these trodliks prove it.”

  William nodded. “King Cyril, too,” he admitted. “He wouldn’t let Catherine go into Cinna by herself. Menard and the Brine girl went, too. We haven’t heard a thing from them since they left.”

  King Stephen’s face went pale. He nodded in acknowledgement and bowed his head under the weight of this new revelation.

  Then William spun toward Stephen, his eyes filled with determination. “We will need heavy logs. We will smash them!” He slammed the table with his hand.

  The servants looked up in alarm from their task of setting the dinner table. A sallow-faced, bucktoothed man spilled a jug of ale and cursed.

  “Aye, and we could burn ‘em! Pulverize ‘em and burn ‘em!” William pounded his meaty fist into the palm of his hand. “Come then. We ride tonight!” His booming voice shook the room. He clasped King Stephen’s outstretched forearm and the king gripped his in return.

  The stables were in a frenzy. William had ordered full leather body gear for the horses of the King’s Guard, including the laced leather sleeves that covered the horses’ legs above the hooves. These were rarely used, and the horses were giving the grooms trouble, kicking and pawing and trying to bite the leggings off. In an hour, twice the time it usually took, one hundred and sixty horses were ready to mount. Stephen couldn’t help being impressed, even as William swore up and down that the grooms had better start moving quicker.

  The King’s Guard assembled at the large courtyard by the drawbridge. King Stephen noted that Sir Gavin looked as worried as he usually did before a battle. Wolfy panted excitedly. Even Brine was coming. He was a courageous man, albeit one untrained for war. But he had every right to be there.

  William’s huge mount snorted in anticipation. Sebastian, the black-haired soldier, walked up to William, looking important.

  “Sebastian, you have command of the foot soldiers, archers, and castle guard,” said William. “Keep the
drawbridge up until you see the villagers from Retona and Bellary coming. Be wary of Kallik’s spies, and send out patrols every day to keep watch. Whatever happens, you must capture any spies if you find them near Candlewax.”

  “You worry too much, William. The kingdom is safe in my hands,” said Sebastian, thumping his chest.

  “Good man,” said William. He nodded at Stephen and they surged forward together. Soon the pounding of hooves on the drawbridge made a deafening roar. On the other side, soldiers lit torches and handed them up to the riders as they went by. Stephen swooped down and grabbed one as he passed. It smelled as fragrant as the burning copses of Candlewax trees that were starting to sparkle brightly in the dusk. Following the King’s Guard were wagons drawn by mules hauling provisions and the ropes, saws, and axes that William had ordered brought with them. Stephen noticed soldiers loading large barrels into the wagons. Candlewax oil.

  As they traveled, rumors about trodliks made up most of the soldiers’ conversation. Stephen had never actually seen a live trodlik. Some of the Candlewax soldiers bragged about the ones they had dug up from Devona. They said trodliks were large, ugly bugs that you could squash dead. Stephen hoped they were right. Teeth like razors, they said. He hoped they were wrong about that, but suspected they weren’t.

  Stephen wasn’t concerned about a few trodliks. No, even a dozen or two would be easy enough for one man to kill if the soldiers’ accounts were true. But his mother had told him that a hundred trodliks could strip a man of flesh in a few minutes. How many are there?

  Within two days’ ride they started seeing the first few, fleeing villagers. William instructed the soldiers to move them off the road while the King’s Guard road past. It was futile. Their path was jammed with men, women, children, dogs, cows, sheep, horses, mules—anything that could was getting out of the way of the trodliks. Off of the road and in the fields and forests, the wildlife was doing the same. It was a battle to push against the exodus from the outer reaches of Candlewax.