by J. Thorn
—Edward Jaithe
Chapter 10
“If I may, sir.”
Jaithe straightened up in his chair. He waited for an objection from the council. When none came, he motioned for the man to continue.
“Word comes from me cousin, marooned and fated with ‘nother Commonwealth. The correspondence in my hand, from his quill, bears witness to the council and its duty to prevent such a situation.”
“Continue, Toman. We have no time for elaborate teasing.”
Toman squinted while the parchment crackled in his hands. “The words seem to be of an origin beyond my reckonin’. Might I ask Master to share their voicin’s?”
The remaining members of council held still, waiting for Toman to hand the letter to Jaithe. Jaithe glanced around the room before clearing his throat. His hands shook the parchment as he read. “As for corn provision and contribution from the Naturals, we had nothing but mortal wounds, with clubs and arrows. As for our hogs, hens, goats, sheep, horse, or what lived, our commanders, officers, and Naturals daily consumed them; some small proportions sometimes we tasted, till all was devoured.
“Then swords, arms, pieces, or anything we traded with the Naturals, whose cruel fingers were so oft imbrued in our bloods that what by their cruelty, our leader’s indiscretion, and the loss of our ships, of five hundred within six months after the officer’s departure there remained not past sixty men, women, and children, most miserable and poor creatures. And those were preserved for the most part by roots, herbs, acorns, walnuts, berries, now and then a little fish. They that had starch in these extremities made no small use of it, yea, even the very skins of our horses.
“Nay, so great was our famine that a Natural we slew and buried the poorer sort took him up again and ate him; and so did diverse one another, boiled and stewed with roots and herbs. And one amongst the rest did kill his wife, salted her, and had eaten part of her before it was known, for which he was executed, as he well deserved. Now, whether she was better roasted, boiled, or carbonadoed, I know not, but of such a dish as salted wife I never heard.”
Several sobs and cries emanated from the entrance to the cave, from those women attempting to eavesdrop on the council’s meeting. Jaithe held up one hand. “I believe that to be enough passage for all here, and even those not present with their entire selves, to garner enough of the report to deem it a fair warning.”
Toman stood, his back straight and a single tear sliding down his weathered face. “As you speak, Master Jaithe.”
Jaithe waited for Toman to sit before calling for the status of perishables in the Commonwealth. All listened as the list stopped short of its desired length.
***
The flame struggled to clear the chill of remorse in the cave. Abbot dipped the wooden spoon into the porridge, stirring it evenly as she stared into the black abyss. A few ragged cloths lay scattered about, scented with the memory of her dead husband. A figure broke through the light at the mouth of the cave and floated towards her.
“I am sorry,” said Bourne. Abbot said nothing. “Jaithe said he sacrificed for the Commonwealth, for the council, for us. He died with honor.”
“He died.”
“Can I stir your porridge or fetch you water?”
Abbot spun, her scowl searing Bourne’s soul. Cascading tears burned red streaks into her face from eyes to chin. Her eyelids swelled, pushing the sockets into dark slits. She lifted the handle of the pot and threw it. An echoing jolt raced through the cave as steam lifted off the warm mixture sliding down the pitted wall. The scent of the discarded onion mixed with the mossy aroma of wet stone.
“He has abandoned us in this forsaken place,” Abbot cried, fighting to get the words through her sobs. Bourne nodded, hoping to weather the torrent of grief before trying to comfort her. “I curse Him and the Ways.”
Bourne placed an arm around Abbot’s shoulder and guided her down onto a wooden stool. The women’s aprons dusted the floor of the cave, knocking fine dust particles into the speckled air.
“As you should. He abandoned you. He abandoned Anas. He has left us all to die.”
Abbot reached for the medallion on her chest, her fingernails filled with months of dirt on a set of bony, clawed fingers. She wrapped them around the chain and yanked it from her neck. Abbot stepped away from Bourne and threw the medallion towards the back of the cold, dark, cave. It bounced off rocks with a metallic clank before coming to rest in the belly of the beast.
“I want to go home.”
Bourne pulled Abbot to her chest and smiled. She wrapped her arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “Sit tight, my love. Our time be comin’ fast. For now, we follow Jaithe and serve the Commonwealth.”
“For how long?” Abbot asked.
“Not long, not long.”
Chapter 11
“Should we consider a return?”
“No.” Jaithe shuffled through a worn sack, searching for more than its contents.
Kelsun placed his hands on his hips. He handed Jaithe a dagger, handle end first. “Then we sit and dance at the beckon of the werowance?”
Jaithe spun and knocked an iron kettle to the floor. It rolled to rest on a stone leaning against the wall of the cave. “We keep searching for it. We must find refuge before it’s too late.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Jaithe glared at his nephew and shook his head. “We must be back at dawn, no member of council the wiser.”
“I understand.”
“And lips must remain closed.”
Kelsun gestured to a mouth sealed with exaggeration.
“Gather a satchel and meet me near the fire at dusk.”
Kelsun skipped from the cave and out into the blinding white haze of wind-blown snow squalls.
Jaithe waited until the boy disappeared before knocking the kettle to the side and pulling the leaning rock to the floor. He removed a tiny wooden box, the stain rubbed clear on the edges revealing the swirling grain of the ancient oak. Jaithe brushed the fine gray dirt from the box and held it closer to his face. Two gold hinges sat on the back with a gold clasp securing the lid on the front. He twisted the clasp, holding his breath as if it might crumble like clumps of wet sand. The hinges opened silently until the back edge of the lid rested on the side of the box, and Jaithe placed a hand inside, his fingers brushing against the soft felt interior. He pulled the amulet out and held it in front of his face. The jewels shot daggers of light across the wall of the cave as it twisted in his hand, the carved leaves glittering like the foliage of the harvest time.
Jaithe took a piece of rawhide from his pack and slid the end through the top of the amulet. His shaking hands tied the string at the top, providing enough room for him to stick his head through the mystic noose. He glanced at the cave entrance once more before raising the amulet into the air and placing it on his chest.
The dank walls of the cave shuddered, and then wept. Water streamed from the unseen ceiling in waves, drowning the fire at Jaithe’s feet. A warm but stagnate breeze erupted from the depths of the cave, stealing his breath as it passed, and he smelled decay and tasted death. The sound of distant bells grew as if a thousand crows were crying their warning. The cacophony swelled on the wings of the phantom wind.
Jaithe collapsed. His head slammed off the ground, bringing momentary confusion and darkness. When he opened his eyes again, his heart lurched in his chest.
The sky flew under his feet. The stars winked at him and streaks of light rushed towards his face, each one veering to the right or left. He looked up into the face of the Moon Goddess, now looming over his head. Jaithe felt solid ground under his feet as the force dropped him. The enormous face of the Moon Goddess shrank, reforming into the silhouette of a woman. The curves swelled and contracted until she stepped towards him through the blinding light.
“He has already destroyed the Rose and the Cross, and He will destroy you as well.”
Jaithe shook his head and blinked. The voice emanat
ed from a place close to his ears, but rang with the hollow echo of forgotten time and space.
“I am a messenger of the Ways. When the time comes, I will be ready.”
The voice laughed, the rumblings of it ringing inside Jaithe’s head like an avalanche. “What are you willing to sacrifice to find His favor? Your life? The life of your children? Your descendants?”
“I am but a drop in the Great Sea. However, each drop combines to create the tides: powerful, creative, and destructive.”
A blinding light flashed in Jaithe’s eyes, and he placed a hand over his face until it subsided. When the dancing motes left his field of vision, Jaithe noticed that his surroundings had changed yet again. Now he stood on the precipice of a cliff. The stars continued to flicker and dance as they had for all time. Below, more stars came to life, artificial and temporary. He saw structures; many appeared to be stacked on top of another. Dazzling rays of blues and reds dashed between the artificial monoliths, while sounds of foreign origin echoed from below. Rolling mountains surrounded the valley, holding the village beneath like porridge in a bowl. Jaithe shook his head, unsure whether to stare or run.
“Is that what you desire?” the voice asked.
Jaithe turned from the edge of the cliff and locked eyes with the voice. The female silhouette that had formed from the Moon Goddess stood before him. Her black hair danced about her face, strands licking the tops of her breasts. The woman’s black eyes pierced an oval face, darkened by the life of the Sun God. The curves of womanhood etched an outline on the night sky, but they had not yet completed the metamorphosis from childhood. A triangular tuft of black hair covered her womanly feature and sat atop a pair of long, thin legs. Jaithe’s eyes met hers and then traveled down to her toes. He drank of her beauty, the physical form exciting his mind and body alike.
“Maybe it is you that I desire,” he replied.
“That is the folly of your kind. You are blinded by greed, power, beauty.”
Jaithe could not move, and yet he could not turn away from her. “Why did you save my life, only to be destroyed by Him?”
“You will be the cornerstone of a new empire, whether you desire so or not.”
Jaithe felt a vibration entering the soles of his feet and creeping up his legs. He turned from her and watched as the village in the valley smeared away, like a child running a hand across a painted canvas. When he turned back to her, the beams of the Moon Goddess engulfed her form. The light retreated, absorbing the female silhouette.
“Seek me out, but do not pursue.” The voice filled Jaithe’s head. He closed his eyes as the intoxicating tone brought a wave of relaxation. When he opened them again, the sensations of his cave rushed in like water over a fall. The fire crackled, the logs still brown but not yet turned to ash. He felt a flutter on his chest underneath the amulet. Jaithe removed it and secured it in the wooden box. He replaced the stone to cover its hiding place and resumed gathering supplies for his exploration with Kelsun. The faint scent of heated oil teased him, fading as quickly as the setting sun.
***
Kelsun waved at Jaithe as he approached, hopping from one foot to another like a dog on the hunt. Jaithe glared at the boy as he approached.
“Your satchel is packed?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Kelsun.
“Do I need to remind you of the secrecy of our rendezvous?”
“You just did, Uncle.”
Jaithe frowned and looked towards the caves. The Sun God had dropped the hills, and the Blackened Day had passed, but it would be many days before the Dark Time loosened its grip and the Sun God renewed life. He saw flickers of light protruding from the cave mouths, those fortunate enough to have something to burn. The few structures erected in the village center stood, leaning with black eyes and smokeless roofs. Jaithe stared at the mouth of his cave. He could almost see Shella tending to the children, oblivious to the responsibilities that lay ahead. A shrieking wind rattled the bony trees and lifted clouds of snow from the thatched roofs of the structures. Jaithe pulled at the lapels of his coat and dropped his chin to his chest.
“The one who saved me.”
“The princess?”
“Yes.”
“That is who we seek?”
“I hope.” Jaithe turned and followed the trail worn by men into the sleeping forest. The path looked grey in the dying light, a ribbon of darkness jutting out from the white cover. He glanced over his shoulder at Kelsun and shuddered at the boy’s youthful exuberance. Jaithe could not remember his own sense of optimism at that age.
The two walked in single file well into the night, following Polaris as it winked in and out of the spiny tree tops. They stopped twice, once to urinate and once to adjust their satchels, before seeing the first signs of the Naturals’ camp. When they crested the hill overlooking the ring of campfires, Jaithe held his hand up and stopped. He watched the steamy breath of Kelsun float past and dropped behind a ragged boulder perched on the edge of the hill.
“Breath into your hand.”
“They cannot see that up here.”
Jaithe grabbed the boy by the collar, eyes boring holes through his. He released him when Kelsun hid his exhalations in a closed fist.
The Moon Goddess appeared as a sliver of light like the curved blade of the enemy across the Great Sea. She floated above the trees, bowing to the unwavering position of the star of the north. The wind fell silent, and the crisp air bit at the men’s faces. Jaithe shook his hands, fighting the numbness creeping inward from the tips of his fingers. He ignored the empty rumblings of his stomach.
Several figures exited a tent and floated like ghosts across the camp. Flowing skins hid their legs, but not their tracks. The distance framed the scene in utter silence.
“Now what?” asked Kelsun.
Jaithe closed his eyes, placing his hand where the amulet had sat earlier in the evening. He opened them and pointed to the third tent from the left. “That one,” he whispered.
Kelsun followed Jaithe down the hill, pausing to let the trunks of the trees conceal their presence. The light of the fires grew, but the occupants of the camp held their silence. Kelsun’s foot slipped on an unseen stone, and he fell onto his side, knocking the contents of his satchel into a clamoring jumble. Jaithe stopped, his breath caught in his throat. He glared at Kelsun, shaking his head back and forth. The boy caught his balance and jumped behind a tree, hiding everything but the evidence left in the pristine white powder.
Jaithe paused for a moment, his gaze locked on the tents. With no evidence of an alert, he continued down the hill until the ground leveled. He saw two or three mounds surrounding each fire, most likely guards on duty. The cold had forced them inside bed rolls, which would dull their alertness. Jaithe removed a dagger from his belt and held it up to Kelsun. The blade reflected the light of the camp in the boy’s eyes. As Jaithe took another step, he heard the snap of a twig coming from under Kelsun’s boot. He turned to the boy, ready to deliver a silent reprimand when he felt hands on his arms. They spun him around in time to see Kelsun bound behind his back. Jaithe felt the pain of the blow to his head long enough to realize it would hurt even more when he awoke.
***
“Release him,” said Shyla to the man on her right. His shaven head reflected the meager light of the Moon Goddess, while the other side of his head trapped the blaze from the fire. He lowered a long spear, the point held at the base of Jaithe’s throat. “Approaching our hunting camp at night was not a wise decision. You are lucky not to be removing arrows from your chest.”
Jaithe looked at Kelsun, who sat next to the fire, rubbing wrists swollen from the bindings. “Why are we not?”
The princess lifted one eyebrow and smiled with an open mouth at the expressionless men surrounding her. “Okine must have sent you,” she replied.
Shyla motioned to the guards and spoke words in her tongue, ones that outran Jaithe’s ability to translate. The hunters lowered their weapons and sloughed back to tent
s and bedrolls. An older hunter with streaks of gray streaming from his temples sat outside of earshot but within the range of a bow, not letting the princess out of sight. Jaithe watched him watching them.
“Your father’s finest?” he asked.
Shyla blew a kiss to the grizzled warrior, forcing an eye roll from the man. He kicked at the dirt with bare feet and snarled at Jaithe.
“He is too old to agitate and too loyal to give us privacy. I trust you will use simple words of your tongue, ones that I will understand?”
“You are doing fine so far.”
Kelsun sat in silence, unsure as to his role in the conversation.
“Your son?” Shyla asked Jaithe.
“Kelsun,” he replied.
The princess bowed to Kelsun, mocking the rituals of her own people. Even in the dark night, under layers of hides and furs, Jaithe felt the pull of Shyla. He closed his eyes and placed both hands in the dirt.
“Should the werowance learn of your arrival at the camp, he would certainly order you flayed in offering to Okine.”
“I know the risks.”
“Apparently not well enough. The Moon Goddess rises, stealing moments of my dream world. Speak to your appearance.”
Kelsun looked at Jaithe, his eyes and ears locked and anticipating a reply that he did not receive.
“I had a vision, and I think you were in it,” Jaithe said.
The princess giggled, stifling the noise with a hand over her mouth. The old hunter looked up, shook his head, and lay back down by the fire.
“Go on,” the princess said.
Jaithe hunched over as if the act of craning his neck forwards could prevent others from catching his words. “We are bound together by a force greater than man. I have seen glimpses of the future, but have no way of interpreting it. I cannot take these to the werowance for fear that they may lead to the demise of the Commonwealth.”