Pieces: Book One, The Rending

by VerSal SaVant

  CB’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. His shoulders slumped as he stumbled forward, nearly falling into a chair.

  "CB, are you alright?” Wudrick asked as he walked over to brace him, but CB waved him off.

  "Fine, fine, I'm fine,” he said, then gasped for a few short breaths, then fell forward into Wudrick’s arms. After a few moments of Wudrick fanning him, he regained his composure and spoke. "If we do this everyone will be convinced I’m as wacky as they already think you are.” CB said with a hint of humor. Wudrick noticed a glimmer of rebellion flicker in his eye.

  "You're with me, then?"

  "Like you said, 'What have we - er, the lad, - got to lose?'"

  Upon hearing these words, Brindle rushed in excitedly, grabbing both males by their pullovers and jerking them in the direction of Tyter's room.

  “What is it now?” CB groaned.

  "It's nearly high noon. We'd better get the lad out to the well,” Wudrick replied, with an almost meditative voice.

  As the two males went into the room and untangled the twisted cot cover from Tyter’s body, Brindle took her first look at her youthful hero since he became ill. He was lying restlessly on his back naked. Seemingly of their own accord, her eyes went directly to his rod. She had never actually seen one before. She was surprised at how rigid it was as it protruded upward in an arch pointing towards his head, reminding her of a hard, dried, stalk of the veget plant just before its rebirth in spring - but in miniature.

  She felt she should look away, but she didn’t. It entranced her. But when Wudrick called for her to retrieve another cot cover from the other sleeping room, her trance was broken. Flushing with embarrassment, more from her thoughts than her deeds she quickly diverted her stare, then raced into the hallway, and quickly retrieved a cover from Bourg’s cot. When she returned, she held the cover into the room without actually looking in, herself, but, oh, how she wanted to.

  "Well, bring it here!” CB ordered.

  Brindle hesitated, then deciding it was Fate, that she should see what she would see, she stepped into the room as ordered. The caretender had just finished wrapping Tyter's naked body in another light weight cot cover. Brindle felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. Still, she couldn't help but stare. There was only a slight lump where the stalk had been. "What happened to it?" she wondered, then vowed to herself that when Tyter recovered from his illness, she would find out.

  The two males made a hammock out of the remaining cot cover and carefully fit it under Tyter, who was limited in his thrashing by the covering already wrapped about him. It was a typical funeral wrap, and it gave Brindle a sick feeling as she watched CB at the foot of the hammock, and Wudrick at the head, carefully, carrying him out the door in slow procession.

  Several westerners, being unsatisfied in their own minds that Bourg wasn’t actually hiding right there in his own hut, had remained clustered just outside the door and were working themselves up into searching the hut invited or not. So when the caretender and his assistant carried out the wrapped youth, whom they perceived to already be dead, they were more than willing to allowed them to go about their business molested. And since it was traditional for the body of the deceased to be washed before burial, nobody questioned why they were heading toward the well at this time of water scarcity.

  Besides they were all on the single-minded mission to find the western wellkeeper. So it was that the funeral party had not ventured far from the hut’s door before several of the braver, or perhaps more foolish, among them burst into the now vacant hut and rummaged about in search of Bourg. Though Fate knows there were very few place a fellow his size could be,

  “Look!” CB silently rejoiced, “there’s no one left at the well. They’re all searching for this young one’s guardian. I wonder why?”

  When they reached the well, the two males lay Tyter down on the already hot Nuttinnewian sand. Brindle knelt beside them. Together they waited for something to happen. Moments later there was a loud commotion in front of the Center House porch. Three males were standing at the foot of the porch step. The big, burly male in the middle was obviously Bourg. The other two males, of much lesser stature, had him propped tightly between them.

  "I found him! I found the wellkeeper!" one yelled with excitement.

  "No, I found him! I saw him first!" shouted the other.

  Within moments a whole throng of people surrounded, and crowded in against, the three males. Soon, everyone was shouting, "I found him! I found the wellkeeper! It was me. I found him!” "Silence!” Pentalope roared. Her voice rose high above the claimant chorus. Everyone fell silent and looked up to where she was standing at the second story privy room window, with her hair wrapped in a towel and her hands cupped over her totes. The sill of the small window was just high enough to reveal nothing below her navel, which was a great relief to the faint of heart. “Bring the wellkeeper to me!” she commanded, then watched briefly as the small group disappeared beneath the porch roof as they guided Bourg into the house.

  Pentalope sensed something was wrong, but she didn't take time to try to figure it out. She wanted - she needed Bourg under her control before Loden's rebels could steal him away and twist his mind to their foolishness. Already, a small band from the east was closing in on Center House to see what all the commotion was about.

  "Hurry, you fools! Hurry! Or, Veget help you!” she cursed. "Must I do everything myself!" (It wasn't a question.) "Fleetra!" she called over her shoulder. "As soon as that wellkeeper is in the house, don't let anyone else in. No one! Do you understand?"

  "Yes, ma'am - only the wellkeeper. But what about the one's who found him. They'll be expecting their re-....”

  "I said no one else! Keep half of those claiming a reward to guard the front door. Have the other half go around to the back door. They’re not to let anyone in - not anyone. Do you understand?”

  "Oh, yes, ma'am. You have stated your desires most succinctly."

  "Good, then stop standing there staring at my nakedness! Go make those dim-witted fools obey my desires. Hurry!" Fleetra's body burned with embarrassment. She hadn't been staring at Pentalope. Had she? There was no time to think. It would be rotten veget to chew, if she and the others didn't obey her commands immediately.

  Pentalope quickly dried herself off with another towel. She planned to make a stunning impression on the western wellkeeper who had already demonstrated his high esteem toward her position as the duly elected mayor. But that wasn’t enough. She wanted more - his complete and absolute personal devotion.

  Pentalope found her mantle of many pieces in her closet where Fleetra had diligently hung it. How drab the rest of her clothes looked beside it. Wrapping her arms about it, and pressing her body into it, she was enveloped by a strange sensation which filled her mind with undaunted confidence. However, as she tried to lift the mantle from the hanger, she found it to be too heavy for her.

  "Blast!" she cursed and threw herself down on the cot. She had never even thought to question why Fleetra had no trouble tossing it about, while she could barely move under its weight. She would have called her seamstress for assistance, then, but she couldn’t afford to lose Bourg to the people of the east, and she was sure her one and only trusted servant would see to it she didn’t.

  Still, Pentalope wouldn’t feel confident until he was safely secured inside the house, if even then. As soon as she had released the mantle, doubt began to creep into her mind. What if she couldn't win him to her side? After all, he and Loden had been co-workers and, supposedly, very good friends for a long time. She thought of Wudrick's secret room down the hall, and contemplated locking him up in there. But how could she do that? The male had the strength of ten.

  Maybe she could bribe one of the caretenders into giving him a sleeping potion, which would keep him slumbering until she had the rebels - all of them - banished. Then, when he awoke, he would have no option but to do the Honorable Mayor’s bidding. Yes, that’s it! She would get that caretender
who grew up with Wudrick. What was his name? DB? KC? Whatever. She would, then, tell everyone the wellkeeper was so dismayed to discover that his fellow wellkeeper was in truth a traitor, that he needed to spend some time alone - totally alone - to get over the shock of it all.

  But how would she be able to keep his involuntary respite a secret? Even in a half-sleep he would have to be fed and watered to keep up his strength. She, certainly, wasn’t going to perform such a disgusting, menial task. But who could she trust? Fleetra? Maybe. Mardrith? Never! Wudrick? He'd probably turn green with guilt until he confessed the whole business to someone else - to Solly Forbal for sure, and she’d just love the chance to stir up trouble for her. She’d surely tell Loden, who’d gather together some of his crazy fellow rebels and destroy Center House just to rescue him.

  And what about the people of the west? Who would be their wellkeeper? And whatever will she tell Bourg’s charge, the young wellwalker, about his guardians sudden disappearance? What if he refuses to go into the well without him at the crank? Who else would be stupid enough to go down there? She supposed she could order Wudrick to do it, but what if he got his short, fat body stuck, then where would Pentalope be? Without water, that's where - and without water, she would be without power.

  It was obvious, even to herself, she didn’t have the answers to resolve these problems. It was all so confusing. She never felt confused like this when she was cloaked in her mantle. She rolled over and sat up on the edge of her cot. The mantle glistened in the darkness of the closet, drawing Pentalope to it. Carefully she slipped under it, draping it about her shoulders, while it’s weight remained suspended by its hanger.

  Immediately, her doubts faded as the lust for power, once again, rushed through her body. The problem with Bourg was no longer overbearing. Destiny was on her side. It was as simple as that. She didn't have to know what to do. She would do what she would do, and Fate would just have to work out the details.

  ***** ***** *****

  Rap! Rap! Rap! The door of Loden's hut reverberated, then swung open, and Joudier stumbled through it. Dampy dashed in around him calling out very excitedly, "She's got him! Mayor P.’s got him all locked up tighter than the portal of her scrawny old birthing cup. Nothing we could do! Nope, nothing we could do! Yep, tighter than a....”

  His words were cut short as Old Sledge stepped around Joudier and glared down at him.

  “Is it true?” Loden asked Old Sledge, more for truth than confirmation.

  "I’m afraid so. She’s got him inside Center House, and the place is surrounded with western males acting under her orders to let absolutely no one enter.”

  "True as the day follows the night - and vice versa!” Dampy added excitedly, still determined to be the messenger.

  "What happened? Where has he been? Is he alright?” Loden inquired, genuinely concerned for his longtime friend’s well-being.

  "Nearly dead! I hear,” Dampy chirped.

  "What?” Loden, who had been half-sitting on the eating room table, jumped to his feet.

  "Shut up, Dampy!” Old Sledge barked. Then in a quieter, consoling voice, he spoke to Loden. "We don't know what happened, not for sure, anyway. But there is something very unusual about the whole situation."

  "What do you mean?” Loden was not comforted.

  "Well, I don't know what I mean - for sure."

  "Then tell me what you do know ‘for sure’."

  Old Sledge straightened out his tired, old body and cleared his raspy throat, then paused a moment to recollect what he had seen and heard. His eyes moved back and forth as if searching the memory files in his brain. Then, as if to announce he had finished putting his thoughts in order, he cleared his voice, a second time. After, another brief pause, he finally spoke.

  "The unofficial rumor has it that while searching for him, a group of westerners came across a peculiar sight in the Great Northern Veget Field.”

  "What sort of peculiar sight?” Loden inquired impatiently.

  "Well sir, now I'm about to tell you, as I understand it, but don't forget, I didn't actually see it for myself."

  "I understand. Just tell me what you’ve heard.” Loden was wrought with anxiety by the slow pace of Old Sledge's storytelling. Still, he knew that in the end this crusty, wrinkled old fellow would give him the most accurate account he could hope for, short of being there himself.

  "It was a path in the veget field - a long, straight path cut right across the rows. The whole swatch of plants had been broken and crushed as if someone, or something, had rolled a giant boulder right through it."

  "There’s a giant boulder in middle of the Great Northern Veget Field?” Loden asked, perplexed.

  "No, oh no, that’s just it,” Old Sledge shook his head and chuckled. "But not even big old Bourg could have caused so much destruction in so little time." He noticed Loden didn’t find any humor in this, and continued without further delay.

  "You see, the crushed plants extended northward about a hundred rods from where it was first discovered - about midway into the field. Some boulder!”

  Puzzlement filled Loden's face. "Then you’re saying there was a boulder?" he confirmed, trying to get the events straight in his mind.

  “If there was, it would have had to have fallen from the sky, rolled a hundred yards, then lifted back into the sky. For there was no boulder, neither large nor small to be seen in the vicinity.”

  "But, you just said....”

  "Oh, I meant, if there had been a boulder, it would have had to be really big. But there wasn't any big boulder, or anything like a big boulder. No sign at all as to what could have caused all that destruction. That's what made the searchers pretty nervous - naturally."

  "Makes me nervous just hearing about it,” Dampy offered, with an eerie intonation.

  "Hm. An intriguing tale I'm sure,” Loden interrupted. "But does it have anything to do at all with Bourg?"

  "Well, sir, I'm getting to that. Despite all their fear, they were more scared of not winning the reward for finding the wellkeeper, so they grabbed up dried veget sticks and jagged stones and anything they could find to defend themselves. Then they slowly crept forward - not down the center of the path, mind you, but along the edges, among the stalks, just in case whatever caused the first destruction should pass that way again."

  Old Sledge paused and cleared his parched throat. Loden handed him the cup of veget juice from which he had been sipping. "Ah, thank you, sir, very kind of you," he said, then took several long swigs, nearly, but not completely, emptying the cup.

  Swallowing hard, he handed it back to Loden, who, by now, had given up any thought of rushing the old fellow in his story telling. He figured it would go faster if he quit interrupting him by trying to speed him up. Wiping his lips, he continued.

  "Well, just about the time they felt halfway fearless, they were frozen in their tracks by a frightful growling sound, arising from Underearth, not twenty rods in front of them in the midst of a small clearing. It was straight out of a children's rhyme, it was. The creature was making such horrid snarling sounds, they were ready to turn tail and run. When all of a sudden the creature sat straight up from where it had been hiding under dirt and dried veget leaves.”

  “All the searchers took off except the two closest ones who were too scared to move. Then one of them came to his senses and realized the creature they feared looked a lot like the wellkeeper they were searching for. Still, a little spooked, they didn't go over to him right away. They just called his name and, what do you know, he turned and looked at them. Despite the dirt clods and dried leaves stuck to his hairy face, they recognized him to be Bourg for sure. The prospect of their fortune to find him first overcame the two searchers and they dashed forward, not caring anymore about boulders or creatures, or whatever had made the mysterious path. ‘Bourg, are we glad to find you. Everyone has been looking everywhere for you,’ they yelled.”

  “However, Bourg just sat there staring at them as if he didn't recognize them.
Then he glanced back over his shoulder, as if he thought they might be talking to someone else. It was then, when he turned away, that they first saw the red stream of life-fluid trickling from the back of his bushy head onto his shoulder. A jagged rock on the ground behind him was covered with the same."

  "For a couple of moments all they could do was stare at the wellkeeper. Then Bourg's big hands suddenly reached out, slipped right up under their pullovers and grabbed them both by their dangling pods.”

  "Yeoow!” Dampy moaned in the background. "Imagine, those big old hands of his wrapped around your - uh? Oh.”

  "Please show some constraint!” Loden suggested quite firmly. He motioned for Old Sledge to continue with his story in his own way. Everyone else in the room was quite taken by the tale, which was unfortunate, for now Old Sledge was playing to an audience and would, therefore, be obligated to insert subjective embellishments. All of which did little to give Loden the plain facts he desired.

  Joudier placed his hand over Dampy's mouth to help his little buddy stay out of any more trouble.

  "Please, continue, Sledge,” Loden said in the same gently demanding voice.

  "Er, yes sir. Well, once he got hold of them fellows, he jerked them down to the ground beside him and stared, first into the eyes of one and then the other. 'What's a borg?' he asked them, like a child might inquire at his first spotting of a vegie worm."

  "What?” Loden exclaimed.

  "Yep, the two searchers did some pretty fast explaining, but none of it appeared to mean anything to the giant who had a rather firm grip on their future children. Still, they must have made some impression, because he released them and grabbed the side of his head. When he saw the life fluid on his hand, he jumped to his feet, staggered a couple of steps, then began to totter from side to side."

  "Well, the searchers were of no mind to give up their reward, so they each jumped up and grabbed Bourg on either side to steady him. For they had no desire to have to carry him back to Center House either - as if just the two of them could. So they were very pleased to find the big fellow willing to let them guide and support him back out of the veget field to Center House. Now, as it turns out, your friend and fellow wellkeeper hasn't the slightest idea who he is or where he is.”