“We ap preciate your generosity,” Clayton said as he took his hand and shook it gratefully. “We certainly didn’t expect this luck on our travels.”
“My pleasure, dear boy, my absolute pleasure,” Oderheim laughed. He continued on down the row, shaking each hand until he reached Adelaide. He ushered her to hug him, an action that caught her slightly off guard. She accepted his embrace and gasped as she caught a quick peak of his arm.
“What is it, my dear?”
“I’m…I’m sorry. It’s just your arm, sir. There’s something wrong with it.” Oderheim looked down.
“Yes I’m afraid there is.”
With that, he rolled up his sleeve to give them all a better look. A haunting image stretched down from beneath his wrist down to the elbow. It appeared to be some kind of tree. Its branches were decayed and wrapped around one another in a twisted, mangled form. The skin beneath it was irritated and worn, as if its bearer had rubbed it raw trying to remove the ghastly impression.
“What the rot is that?” exclaimed Finn.
Oderheim shook his head.
“That, son, is a cruel twist of destiny.” He then turned to Freud and waved his hand. “Thank you, Blankis. You may leave us for now.”
Freud nodded and exited the house, closing the door softly behind him. “A useful foreman,” Oderheim sighed. “I found him just when good help around here was impossible to locate. I’ve been told he was a boxer of sorts, in another life, of course. He’s an excellent worker and a fine friend.”
“Excuse me, sir, but that mark on your arm,” pressed Clayton. “What did you mean when you said it was a curse?” Oderheim sighed and looked down at the ghastly image. “Well, son, what I meant by that was that it was given to me for reasons I’ve yet to fully understand. But please, do sit down and rest your feet. Leave your bags by the hallway.”
Finn and Raoul moved towards the fireplace. Adelaide sat down on a small chair nearby and took in the view of the room. A glass chandelier hung from the ceiling directly above her head, thin shiny crystals dangled down from the three brass rings that composed its center. Two banners stood against the wall, each bearing a large oak tree with two axes crossed before it. The entire room was full of wooden figurines, big and small, each one depicting a lumberjack in one of the many stages of his job. One stood with his back arched to the side and his arms outreached, as if an imaginary axe was in his grasp. Another showed the lumberjack hunched over on a fallen trunk with his hands cupped to his mouth as if a sandwich was supposed to be there. Perhaps the most interesting was the one behind Oderheim’s chair. Its arms were crossed and its eyes seemed focused on the chair Adelaide sat in. The lorb light gave it a looming and formidable stance, one that made her feel pretty uncomfortable. Oderheim crossed his arms just like the figurine depicted and glanced out at her. Clayton stood beside his chair, awaiting his answer patiently.
“Now,” continued Oderheim. “To fully answer your question, Mr. Hogg, you should know that you four are not the only unfortunates to bear the title of Red Hands.”
“What does that even mean?” Raoul asked in a frustrated manner. “We haven’t done anything wrong. We aren’t traitors of anything if we haven’t committed any rotting crimes, right?”
Oderheim smiled. “Ah, bu t with that being said, Mister King, do you not recall what was spoken by The Tibris Guards when they read you that scroll?”
Raoul scowled and looked away. Clayton thought about it for a second before responding. “It said we had already been tried and found guilty, of crimes either past or future.”
“That is precisely right,” Oderheim exclaimed. “We may not know how ourselves, but by malicious intent or ignorant participation, all Red Hands have become dangers to the very structure of Sanctumsea.”
“Either that or they’re blowing smoke out their rumps” Raoul muttered. “I can’t imagine an execution of this mass and magnitude being approved and taken into action because of some random notion, young man,” Oderheim told him. “In the minds of the Tibris Guards and Lord Tiberion, we are all threats to Amber’s security. Frankly, I can barely lift a cup of water to my lips these days, let alone wield a sword with which to strike someone down. But according to them, somehow, I either have been, or soon will be, a danger to the land and many of its inhabitants. And that ultimately, my friends, is why I have this mark on my arm: to inform anyone who crosses my path that I am a Red Hand and not to be helped or trusted.”
“How did you get it, Mayor Oderheim?” Adelaide asked. “How did you get that terrible mark?” “A Red Hand becomes imprinted over time with the mark once in the company of another bearing it,” the mayor replied. “No one really knows how it happens. They just appear. I imagine yours became visible soon after you walked through the front door. Usually an outside bearer can trigger its creation.”
Finn found his along his right bicep. Raoul ’s was situated squarely across the palm of his left hand, hidden well by the tattered remains of his latex glove. Clayton’s sat squarely in the center of his chest. Try as she did, Adelaide couldn’t locate hers.
“I don’t have one!” she finally exclaimed gleefully. “I’m not one of them. There’s been an error.”
“Adelaide….” Clayton said. “No look, there isn’t a mark. They made a mistake!” she cried happily. “I can….I can go home. I can get out of this. Don’t you see? They have to understand. They have to.”
“ Hey,” Raoul threw in. “Look behind you.”
Adelaide turned around.
Behind her was a wall, and on that wall hung a large gold plated mirror. As she cranked her neck, Adelaide could see the mark as clear as day, stamped squarely just below her hairline. Even in the reflection it appeared bigger and more distinct than any of the boys put together. Her long hair had done its job of hiding it from sight. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek as she felt her last glimmer of hope fade away.
“I’m so sorry, my dear,” Oderheim said. “Oh Sorra no,” she moaned, shaking her head. She rubbed the mark anxiously until Clayton laid his hand down on her shoulder and the scrubbing stopped.
“I’m afraid they never fade,” continued Oderheim. “Mine still looks as rotted as the first day I found it ten years ago.” “What is it supposed to be?” asked Clayton.
Oderheim sighed and slowly rose from his seat.
“It is called The Acryptus Tree. I don’t suppose any of you are familiar with the writings of Jonah Longstreet?”
Adelaide’s eyes widened at the mention of his name. “I take it from your expression you might know a thing or two about his works,” the mayor chuckled. “Talented fellow, I must admit, but perhaps a little too solitary for someone of his artistic stature.”
“You mean these arborous blisters are the doings of some rotting inkman?” Raoul yelled. “I don’t…I don’t understand,” Adelaide stammered. “I’ve acquired every book he’s ever written. There’s never been any mention of something called an Acryptus Tree.”
“Ah,” Oderheim sighed, striding over to his engorged bookshelf. “You see, my dear, some of us more shined fellows can secure items not publicly sold in the common markets. I expect Mr. King here knows a little about what I’m saying.”
“Rot off,” Raoul retorted. “I thought so,” Oderheim chuckled. “Well, to prove my point, I managed to uncover the rough draft of Mr. Longstreet’s latest work last year. Bearing this thing on my arm for so long had greatly embittered me. But when I saw a familiar image illustrating the cover, I felt hope for the first time in annuals. Here you are.”
He handed Adelaide a pencil thin manuscript. It was loosely bound and slightly singed at the corners. She bit her lip at Oderheim’s poor treatment of it.
“The entire s tory rests at exactly thirty three pages,” the mayor informed them. “A harrowing, if not hurried, tale concerning Sorra and Necrya, the Two Mothers.”
“I’m sorry, but what exactly do those two pompous givies have to do with this rotting imprint,” Raoul bitterly
asked. Oderheim gasped in surprise. “I say , young sir, please watch yourself. That sort of slanderous offense will not be tolerated in Pinewood. I imagine if Freud had heard you just then he wouldn’t have been able to contain himself and violence would ensue.”
“He apologies , I assure you,” Clayton said, giving his companion a warning stare. “Now tell us, sir, what does the story say about our predicament?”
“In the beginning,” Oderheim continued. “T here were two sisters, this we all know from our learning days. One was Sorra, the mother of all that was good and pure in existence, and Necrya, her malevolent sibling whose only desire was for chaos and wicked deeds. Together they lived and ruled over everything, constantly quarreling over how much influence each held over life itself.”
“And they continue their squabbling to this day,” Raoul growled. “We all know the stories.” “Much more than stories in the minds and hearts of those who call Sanctumsea home,” Oderheim told him. “Even you much have felt their presence in times of need or want.”
“Hardly,” Raoul scoffed. “Mayor Oderheim , please, go on,” Adelaide pleaded quietly. Her face was turning milky white and her lips quivered in uncontrollable misery.
“According to Longstreet’s tale,” the mayor progressed, “Sorra bore a son whom she named Acryptus. For his first birthday, she bestowed on him a seed, which he planted in the earth and tended until a tree started to grow. Sorra cautioned Acryptus to always treat the tree with love and tenderness, so only good fruit might be yielded. He did so for many years, and as he learned the ways of kindness and compassion, his tree bloomed without tarnish. But as he lived the life his mother taught him, his cunning aunt watched from the shadows, plotting away. It wasn’t long before she began whispering alternate ideals into her nephew’s ear, whenever his mother’s focus was elsewhere. Now and then, as he gave into his aunt’s suggestions of malice and greed, a single leaf would fall from his precious tree. Any and all things done in her favor rewarded him with earthly pleasures, but little peace or modesty. As he became corrupted and unjust, the tree slowly withered away.”
“Did Sorra do nothing?” Clayton asked. “How could she let her son go so wrong?” “Ah, Mr. Hogg, as you should reme mber, Sorra does not control us,” Oderheim reminded him. “She merely illuminates our path with a gentle light. What we decide is up to us.”
“So what happened next?” Adelaide pressed him. “After years of succumbing to bad judgm ent, his health started to decrease,” Mayor Oderheim morbidly replied. “The tree twisted and knotted itself so terribly that all hope seemed lost. As he lay on his deathbed, his senses failing, he managed to utter one final sentence before expiring.”
Oderheim then fell silent, as if in deep contemplation. “Well, rot it? Raoul barked out. “What was it?” The old man smiled and shook his head. “I’m afraid I do not know,” he admitted. “You see, that is where the story ends. It seems Longstreet never finished the story, or at least not in the draft that I received.”
Raoul jumped to his feet, cursing aloud and scuffing up the carpet. “Is it p ossible to make contact with Longstreet?” Adelaide sharply threw at Oderheim. “Have you heard any news on his whereabouts?”
“What about other Red Hands on the run?” Clayton inquired. “Have you met any besides us these past ten years?”
Oderheim sat in deep contemplation, folding his hands against his mouth before struggling to his feet. “I know you all have many questions to be answered,” he began, “but I am a tired old man, and you all have traveled quite far these past few days. If you will permit me my rest, I swear on my life to answer as many of your questions as I have knowledge for first thing tomorrow morning. We have a tavern in town where you will find food and drink, as well as four rooms prepared by your guides, Boras and Puck. Anything Pinewood can offer is at your disposal. And now, my dears, I bid you goodnight.”
With that, Oderheim escorted them back outside. Freud Blankis was waiting for them as the door slowly shut behind them, locking itself with a series of loud clicks and thuds.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Quite the gentleman, isn’t he?” Freud chuckled. “To be sure,” Clayton said.
“I must say he was pretty rotting set on asking us to leave,” Raoul said, “especially when we had questions to be answered.” “Well, he’s a tired man,” Freud replied. “He needs sleep, as do we all. In fact, once you four have eaten your fill, I encourage you all to retire to your rooms and get some rest. It is seven hours to sunrise and half the town is already put to bed.”
As he spoke, Freud turned to face one of the passing buildings. It was nostalgic to behold. The timber walls were coated with rich sap residue that glimmered in the light of a cloudless moon. Lorb light danced behind the stain glass windows, accompanied by the sounds of playful laughter and harmless goading.
“What is this place?” Clayton asked. “This is somewhere to loosen one’s belt, let your beard grow , and drink off a day of frustration,” Freud heartily responded. “Inside here, you will find enough Honeydrop, TOX pellets and even a givie or two to supply the whole of Amber.”
“TOX, you say?” Raoul inquired.
‘We never had such a place in Havendale,” Adelaide remarked. ‘I don’t think any village around us did either.” “Such libations aren’t always welcomed outside of town,” laughed Freud. “We believe our visitors should be pampered and plugged until them can take no more. Just think of it as more ways to enjoy your newfound security. Welcome, my friends, to The Lambshead.”
The air inside the tavern was thick and stifling. Every floor, wall, staircase, and ceiling appeared to be completely hewn out of wood. Various carvings depicting magnificent hunts, inebriated brawls, and uncensored fraternizing littered the beams and pillars that kept the establishment intact. A solitary bar stood opposite from the door. The bartender, a portly gentleman with wisps of golden hair padded down around his sweaty head lazily moved behind it, restocking as he went.
Sitting in a nearby corner was a young woman. She wore the traditional clothes of Pinewood, but had considerably altered them to appear more sensual. The sleeves of her robe had been removed and her pants were hiked up to just above her knees. The bottom half of her shirt had been cut off to reveal a lean, taut midsection. Her short, shaggy, auburn hair had bright, pink tips, which was a common method of coloring in the givie profession, or so Clayton had heard. She must have been a couple years older than him, but looked strikingly young for her age. He found it extremely difficult to take his eyes off her.
“ As you can see, my fortunate Red Hands, we have food and drink as well as pleasurable entertainment,” Freud informed them. “Anything you order is on the house, compliments of Mayor Oderheim. I recommend a bottle of our finest Honeydrop. I’ll have the barkeep scrounge one up for you.”
“Sounds good to me,” laughed Finn.
“I’ll just have a Cinnamon Cider,” Adelaide announced. “Make that two,” Clayton said.
Freud looked momentarily puzzled.
“My friends, I don’t understand, I was led to believe you all have had a long, harrowingjourney.”
“We have,” Adelaide replied. “So,” Freud continued, “a fter taking you in and offering you our finest stock, you deny our hospitality? Is what we have not good enough for you? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No!” Adelaide exclaimed, taken aback. “W e certainly do appreciate all you and Oderheim have done for us; I just like to have my wits about me.”
“I certainly hope not,” Finn whispered seductively in her ear. Adelaide laughed and gave him a playful jab in the ribs with her finger.
“ I see. Any particular reason why you wouldn’t trust us completely?” continued Freud. “Maybe we haven’t proven our worthiness to you, eh?”
“It isn’t a big deal if she doesn’t want to drink, plugger,” Raoul growled, taking a stand directly in front of Adelaide. “Stop trying to guilt her into it.”
Freud continued smiling, his ja
w hardening as if he had no choice. His hands were clinging to his belt, twitching and squeezing. The intent of violence was growing in his eyes.
“You misunderstand me,” he gr owled. “I’m merely suggesting you all might enjoy one of our stronger beverages better on account of the trouble we went through preparing it for you. Don’t get in my face for that. You won’t do well.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Raoul growled.
An awkward second of silence passed before Freud took a step back with a sigh. “ Well, personally it makes no difference to me,” he declared. “I would just have figured that given how kind we have been to you since your arrival, a small glass of our best Honeydrop wouldn’t be too much to offer.”
“Well Mr. Blankis, that is quite kind, but I just don’t drink that stuff,” Adelaide stated. “I’m sure you understand.” “Perfectly well I assure you,” he replied. Adelaide heard a hint of a sneer in his voice, though none of her companions seemed to notice. She wondered how something as small as what they each preferred to drink could irk him so badly.
“ Now,” he went on, “if you all will excuse me, I have the duty of checking the town boundaries each night. Your rooms are upstairs, the first four you see. Hot baths and clean towels are available, and your breakfast will be served promptly at eight o’clock over at the bar. I expect Mayor Oderheim will call for you sometime around eight thirty. I bid you all good night and pleasant dreams.”
With that he departed, slamming the door roughly behind him as he went.
“Did we offend him in some way?” Adelaide asked. “I don’t know , and I don’t rotting care,” laughed Finn. “You all can sip squirm beverages until the sun comes up. There’s a cup of Honeydrop with my name on it. Do I smell roast beef and baked bread too? Is anyone else hungry?”
“I could eat,” Adelaide remarked.
“Food sounds good to me,” Clayton joined in. “What about you, Raoul?”
Their companion shrugged. “ All I can think about is that rotting bath and bed,” he told them. “I think I’ll get some sleep. See you all in the morning.” With that he grabbed a nearby bowl of TOX pellets and marched upstairs.
The Acryptus Tree Page 10