The Yarnsworld Collection: A fantasy boxset

by Benedict Patrick

  “I told you to get out,” Rosa said, eyes never leaving her husband, but some small part of Arturo was warmed by the fact he saw her following his advice.

  Arturo did not move, and Tomas began to drink. Rosa stroked her husband’s hair, whispering to him.

  Eventually realising there was nothing else he could do, Arturo turned to leave.

  “How did it happen?”

  He turned back to look at Rosa. She continued to stroke her husband’s hair, but her face was hard.

  “What did this to him?”

  Arturo hesitated as he thought of how to explain that night.

  “Have you heard of a Cadejo?”

  Rosa, eyes on her husband, shook her head.

  “It’s a demon dog. Its breath causes madness.” That was all the explanation Arturo thought was needed.

  “Is that what happened the woman? The other one who is with you. Is that why she does not wear a mask? Because she’s mad, too?”

  Arturo was confused. “No. No, there’s nothing wrong with her. She just doesn’t wear a mask.”

  “Did nobody else get hurt?”

  Arturo could see where this was going, and his heart was heavy. He glanced at the doorway, at the crowds in the centre of the village. He could see them laughing, could see Crazy Raccoon enjoying the attention. He wished he could be there.

  “No, nobody else. Just Tomas.”

  It was possibly one of the bravest things Arturo had ever done, to look Rosa in the eye again after that. Her face was one of shock, mixed with confusion.

  “How? How did it get to him, with so many swordfighters close by?”

  Arturo did his best to keep looking at her. “It came at night. It lured Tomas away. He left the safety of the fire.”

  “Why?”

  “It was a child. It pretended it had a child, and the child was being hurt.”

  “And Tomas was the first to run to help.” It was not a question. Rosa was speaking as if she knew that was exactly what her husband would have done.

  Arturo felt his cheeks burn with shame, but continued. “Our leader, the big man, he knew it was a trap. We all found it difficult to listen to him, to believe him. Tomas decided he didn’t want to risk being wrong, and ran after the child.”

  Rosa’s face had softened, she was crying again. “You went after him?”

  Arturo hesitated. Not quickly enough, he thought. But then he nodded. “Yes. Yes, I was first to find him.”

  Rosa was nodding, looking back at her husband, her face a mix of smiles and tears. “You foolish man,” she said, stroking her husband’s face again. “You beautiful, foolish man.”

  She didn’t look back at him, and Arturo thought this possibly was the best opportunity to leave. However, he hesitated once more, the laughter coming from outside seeming an ill fit with the darkness of the cottage.

  “We will save you,” he told her. Rosa turned slowly to look at him.

  “He risked everything to find us,” Arturo said. “He wanted so hard to protect you all, to protect his family. We will not fail.”

  Rosa nodded again, her eyes lowering. “Do you really think you can? There are only three of you. Procopio has dozens of men. Tomas believed in finding Bravadori. Not all of us thought it was worth risking another life for.”

  Arturo pondered this. He must have gained some wisdom in his time in the city, because he didn’t answer straight away. “I will try. For Tomas’ sake, and for honour, I will try.”

  With that, Arturo left Rosa’s home, making his way back to his companions. As he strode, he felt purpose return to his steps, felt a renewed confidence. Not every story of the Bravadori began well. Vengeful Badger lost everything before he put on the mask. Perhaps… perhaps this situation with Tomas was meant to be Arturo’s moment of truth, when the storytellers in the taverns would speak in lowered tones, hinting at absolute failure, but then rising in excitement as Starving Pup stormed and broke the bandits in their hideout.

  There was commotion in the group ahead of him as Arturo walked towards them. Crazy Raccoon broke away from the others, striding towards him, a grin plastered over his face.

  “They’re throwing us a party. Starving Pup, they’re throwing us a party.”

  The joy on Crazy Raccoon’s face and the general frivolity of his statement seemed such a stark contrast to the dark mourning of Rosa’s home, that Arturo found it difficult to comprehend what Crazy Raccoon was saying.

  “What? Sorry?”

  “A party, my friend. The good people of the village, to show their respect to the visiting Bravadori, are throwing us a genuine party.”

  Arturo was confused. “Shouldn’t we be planning what to do next?”

  Crazy Raccoon stepped back and looked Arturo in the face. The older man was disappointed. Clearly Arturo’s words had taken the joy from the situation for him.

  “Listen, boy. You’ve got to think about what this is like for these people. Most of them, they’ve never seen a Bravador before, and now two are here in the village. Can you imagine what that’s like? What about you? Who were your heroes when you were growing up?”

  Arturo’s face reddened. He obviously couldn’t mention Crazy Raccoon as one of those names. “El Elephante. I liked the tales of El Elephante.”

  Crazy Raccoon nodded, sagely. “Ah yes. One of the popular ones, one of the originals. I had you pegged as a Roaming Iguana man, but I guess you never can tell. El Elephante, yes.” Suddenly, Crazy Raccoon grabbed Arturo by the shoulders, his eyes wide with excitement. “Can you imagine how it would feel for you if El Elephante walked over that horizon, straight into your village? That’s what we are to them, Starving Pup. We are their Elephante.”

  Arturo glanced back to Rosa’s home. He did not feel like El Elephante. He felt more like the Black Shepherdess, bringing death and promising failure.

  “Look,” Crazy Raccoon said conspiratorially, “I’ve been here before, to these sorts of places. This is normal. This is part of the process. These folk, they don’t just need to get rid of the bandits. They need to feel joy again. Let them have some joy tonight, let them celebrate the Bravadori.”

  “Now,” Crazy Raccoon continued, “we should have a little chat with the good Father, see if we can work out our tactics for tomorrow.” He indicated with his head towards the priest, who was patiently waiting for the pair some distance away.

  Arturo glanced behind Crazy Raccoon. The crowd of villagers that had gathered still remained in the middle of the village. On the edge of the crowd, Yizel stood as well. She was staring at the Wildfolk, but otherwise not participating.

  “We should get Yizel over,” Arturo said.

  “What?” Crazy Raccoon had not seemed to have even considered the option.

  “Yizel. We should get her, if we’re going to talk about what we’re going to do about the bandits.”

  “The Shaven? No, we can do this ourselves.”

  Arturo was not surprised by Crazy Raccoon’s reaction. He, like most Bravadori, had proved he was not a fan of Shaven in general. Arturo also suspected that Crazy Raccoon was particularly irritated by Yizel, but had not worked up the courage to ask the older Bravador why. Instead, Arturo had distanced himself from Yizel, anxious at approaching her for fear of Crazy Raccoon’s reaction.

  “I don’t know,” Arturo said. “You should have seen her, that night with the Cadejo. She was magnificent. I don’t even know if we’d have been able to chase it off without her.”

  Crazy Raccoon raised an eyebrow. He clearly wasn’t convinced.

  Arturo pressed his idea. “I mean, it was her who brought the fire to me. And she stood by my side, as we chased it off.”

  To his surprise, Crazy Raccoon grabbed Arturo roughly by the shoulder and pulled him close.

  “No, listen to me. Listen well. You do not want to be associated with the Shaven.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “No. No, you don’t know what you’re talking about. She is Shaven. She is useless.”

&nb
sp; Arturo, pulse quickening, wanted to grab the Bravador’s hand and pull it from his shoulder. He had a lot of respect for Crazy Raccoon, but in this he knew the older man was wrong. “No, you don’t understand. She fought with me. We chased off a demon. She’s better than you think she is. Maybe she shouldn’t be a Shaven at all.”

  Crazy Raccoon’s grip tightened on Arturo’s shirt. His grip was beginning to get painful, but Arturo would never admit that out loud. Crazy Raccoon leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing. For the first time since Arturo had met Crazy Raccoon, he felt a sense of danger. He realised that if this skilled swordfighter decided to attack him, there was no chance he was experienced enough to defend himself.

  “You listen,” Crazy Raccoon said. “The Shaven are a disease. She is not here to help you. She has already ruined her own life, and if you let her, she will ruin yours as well.”

  There was true anger in Crazy Raccoon’s eyes. Still, despite his growing fear, Arturo shook his head in defence of Yizel. “No, that’s not true. She stood with me, fought with me.”

  “Did she attack it herself? Did she even draw her sword?”

  Arturo furrowed his eyebrows. Had she drawn her sword? Arturo could remember her passing him the fire. He could remember using the fire himself to fight off the dog. Yizel had been close, but what exactly had she been doing?

  “I…” Arturo did not know how to finish that sentence.

  “Have you asked her yet?” Crazy Raccoon said, not giving Arturo time to speak. “Have you found out why her mask was taken?”

  Arturo opened his mouth to speak. He had considered asking her, especially when they had worked together to drag Tomas’ stretcher across the Wilds, but had never quite summed up the courage to do so. He was worried at how he would react if she had done something truly unspeakable.

  “The last Bravador I helped to shave did bad things to children. Children, Starving Pup.”

  Crazy Raccoon paused, watching the thoughts play out on Arturo’s face.

  “We’ve got this. We, the only Bravadori here, should have a talk about what we’re going to do tomorrow.”

  Arturo looked again at the crowd in the middle of the village. He looked at the black-clothed figure that stood alone, apart from them all. He looked away.

  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe, just for this, we should have a talk amongst ourselves.”

  Crazy Raccoon slapped Arturo on the back, mirth returning to his voice, and he led Arturo away from the crowds. “Good lad,” Crazy Raccoon said. “Good lad. Let’s sort out a plan of attack, and then let’s enjoy ourselves.”

  The priest, who Crazy Raccoon introduced as Father Morales, beckoned them both to follow him, leading them towards the church. Arturo entered the building’s copper doors sheepishly, taking one last glance at the lone black figure in the village behind him.

  The inside of the church was dim, and sparse. The building appeared to be maintained as well as the villagers could, and the marble statue of the Queen that dominated its alter was in passable condition, but the pews and flagstones had been worn by time and were in dire need of replacement.

  The priest, engaged in conversation with Crazy Raccoon, led them through the main building, towards his own quarters at the back. They came to a gated corridor, and although Crazy Raccoon and the priest walked past it to get to the priest’s chambers, Arturo stopped, caught by the chill that ran through him as he stared into the blackness at the end of the chamber.

  Crazy Raccoon turned to see Arturo staring down the passageway.

  “What’s down there, Father?” Crazy Raccoon asked.

  The priest stammered. “J-just the wine cellar. Somewhere to keep the produce of my small vineyard, and somewhere safe for the women and children to retreat to if the worst should happen.”

  Arturo’s eyes narrowed, and his hand moved towards his blade. The priest was clearly uneasy about the attention his cellar was suddenly getting.

  Crazy Raccoon must have sensed this too, as he took a candle from the corridor wall. “Don’t mind if we take a look, do you?”

  The priest did not answer. He was sweating, looking nervously between the two Bravadori.

  The older Bravador nodded at Arturo, letting Arturo take the first step through the gate, into the black of the cellar, both of them drawing their rapiers.

  “No need for this, gentlemen, no need,” the priest muttered, coming up behind them.

  “We’ll be the judge of that,” Crazy Raccoon muttered, as they walked forward, descending as the floor sloped down.

  The cellar did not go far, about half the length of the church’s main hall. However, Arturo gasped as the candlelight illuminated something at the end of the cellar. There, in the darkness, was another statue, with unlit candles and the bodies of small animals laid before it. However, this was not an icon of the Muridae Queen. Arturo had never seen an image of her before, but the wrinkled face that stared out at him from above the folds of flesh carved from the wood could be none other than the Mistress of the Wilds.

  Both Arturo and Crazy Raccoon turned back to Father Morales. The priest had continued to sweat, the sheen on his forehead glowing yellow in the candlelight.

  “Care to explain this, Father?”

  The priest was gripping his robes, wringing them, giving the Bravadori a worry-poisoned smile. “This? This is nothing. This is nothing.”

  “Nothing? Worship of the Mistress has been forbidden in the Wildlands for generations. You can imagine how finding something like this in a holy building might make us a little suspicious?”

  The priest’s nerves cut through his attempt to smile. “This is nothing unique to Calvario. It isn’t the same for us, out here, so close to her kingdom. Not the same, even for the true Wildfolk who live in the big cities. We worship the Great Mouse and his Queen, as all good people do. Do you blame us, though, for doing a little to appease our dangerous neighbours? We worshipped the Mistress since the beginning of time. Allow us this little monument, so we can sleep well in our beds at night, not fearing her retribution.”

  Crazy Raccoon glanced at Arturo, eyebrow raised. Arturo felt unnerved by the sight of the enemy of the Muridae standing before him, her ancient, many-mouth body venerated in secret.

  “It doesn’t sit easy with me, Father,” Crazy Raccoon said, shaking his head, “but what you’re saying makes sense. Guess we can turn a blind eye to all this, as long as it doesn’t get out of hand.”

  The priest let out a nervous laugh. “Truly, the Bravadori of Espadapan are as kind as they are brave. Come, come to my rooms, let us try some of last year’s wine, and let me tell you what I know of Procopio’s operations.”

  Crazy Raccoon followed the priest out, returning to his earlier carefree banter.

  As the candlelight faded, Arturo followed, taking one last glimpse at the carving of the Mistress behind him.

  In the half-light, Arturo could have sworn that a second figure stood beside the wooden carving, a cloak of blackness against the wall of the cellar. He blinked, and realised it was just the statue’s shadow, nothing more.

  Following the sound of Crazy Raccoon’s laughter, Arturo ran to catch up, leaving the false idol in the cold darkness of the cellar.

  When night fell the celebrations began, but Yizel distanced herself from them. It was not a grand affair, as parties go. She got the impression most things in Calvario were not as grand as life in the city. She certainly knew that Crazy Raccoon would not be impressed with the party, except for the fact that it was all about him. The villagers gathered what few tables they had from their homes and arranged them in a row in the centre of the ring of houses. The tables were laid out end-on-end like an old-fashioned banquet hall, but because the tables were of different shapes and sizes it gave the whole affair a ramshackle appearance. Add to that the various oddities of crockery and tableware, it was certainly not grand. Turkey and goat was abundant, and many dishes involving corn - which seemed to be the staple food of the village - were laid out in bowls. When
night fell, fires were lit, and musicians began to play. There did not seem to be any true mariachi in the village, no musical Knacks, but Yizel had to admit the musicians were not unskilled. After beer was drunk and food was eaten, smiles began to grow on faces, faces that seem to not be used to wearing such expressions. Men asked women to dance, and soon a merry procession of celebrants made their way around the bonfire pits, jumping vaguely in time to the plucking of the guitar strings.

  Yizel saw Starving Pup eat his fill, noticing he was deep in conversation with the village elders, particularly the old priest. Crazy Raccoon was there also, but quickly became distracted by a plump middle-aged woman who was giving him a lot of attention. When the music began to play Crazy Raccoon was one of the first to dance, hands pouring over his newly acquired companion. Neither of the Bravadori had spared Yizel much attention since they had arrived in the village.

  She sat on the edge of the bonfire light, perched on a wall of one of the nearby houses, close enough to see the celebrations but far enough away that she did not have to partake of anything she was not interested in. She had managed to procure herself a small plate of flatbread and turkey, and some kind of root vegetable which had been boiled into jelly, and Yizel contemplated the events of the last few days.

  I thought I’d changed things. Attacking the Cadejo - how long has it been since I’ve done something like that? Since I’ve risked my life with no thought of reward, just to save others? Standing there beside Starving Pup, I felt… I almost felt like we were standing together as equals. I almost forgot I’d been shaven, I forgot he was a Bravador. All that mattered was that somebody was in trouble and we had to work together to help them.

  But now…

  Yizel looked again at Crazy Raccoon as the fool danced around the fire, his hand clearly nestled on his companion’s bottom.

  I let him get too close. When Tomas was injured, I should have spoken to Starving Pup. We bonded together on the battlefield, it should have been me who consoled him for losing his friend. Instead I let Crazy Raccoon get his ear, and he poisoned him against me.