Skillful Death

by Ike Hamill

  After a week, with his cuts healed and his body craving fresh greens and cooked meat, Constantine decided to work his way east. Back east, he knew where to forage for tasty ferns and sweet bamboo. Back east, he knew where to find flint, and steel, and decent wood so that he wouldn’t have to spend an hour making a pitiful fire no good for anything but producing smoke. But, back east, the words of the blind man still rang in his head. Constantine shook his head, back and forth, until the words faded.

  Constantine turned south, and worked his way carefully through scrubby alders and swamp maples, hanging with thick vines. The uneven ground made walking a process of leaping from berm to berm, grabbing the trunks and vines to steady himself. He made terrible time and regretted his decision to come this way. His hand landed on a vine that squished and hissed in his grip. Constantine spun his head to see that his hand gripped an enormous black snake. Curled around the trunk of an alder, its body was thicker than the tree it gripped.

  The snake’s skin rippled under Constantine’s fingers for a moment before he pulled his hand back in disgust. He wasn’t afraid of snakes, but they startled him. He was much more comfortable regarding them if they were on the ground and he had a big rock in his hand. Tracing the body of this huge snake up the tree, around and around, Constantine saw the head as it looped over through the elbow of a branch. The snake started back down. Its black eyes fixed on Constantine as its pink tongue flicked out and tasted the air.

  Constantine moved his legs and pinwheeled his arms as his balance fled faster than his body. He landed in a puddle and the snake wound around its own body as it descended from the tree. Most snakes were shy and would flee at the footsteps of a man, but people talked about the aggressive ones that lived on the west side of the forest.

  According to the loudest men, these snakes gained their size from a typical black snake. Their aggression came from interbreeding with vipers. Constantine never believed these stories. Vipers had big, prominent fangs to inject their venom. Black snakes merely had rows of rear-facing teeth so that things they started to swallow wouldn’t be able to back away. To Constantine, these differences indicated irrefutable evidence that the animals were fundamentally incompatible.

  His opinions evaporated in the face of this giant snake and the vertical slits of its black eyes. The snake yawned and Constantine saw rows of rear-facing teeth punctuated with two prominent fangs, glistening with sparkling venom.

  Constantine spun and ran. Hearing the snake’s hissing strike, he ducked. The snake’s sharp fangs brushed the tender new skin on Constantine’s back as he sprinted away in a crouch. He splashed through puddles and threw himself over muddy berms, stealing a glance over his shoulder as he ran. The snake dropped to the ground and streaked after him through the fern underbrush.

  As he scrambled away, Constantine’s eyes searched for anything—a rock, a log, or even a stick—with which he could defend himself. The snake’s head was bigger than Constantine’s two fists put together, but Constantine doubted if the snake could swallow something as big as a boy. The snake didn’t seem to shy from the challenge. It gave chase as Constantine ran.

  Constantine stumbled from the underbrush out to a road. He identified it as the Prystyl Road, and picked up speed as he turned east. The snake slowed when its body moved onto the dusty, hard-packed wheel ruts. It needed to grip the uneven forest floor in order to maintain momentum. Constantine got his first look at the full length of the animal, and his feet felt numb as his eyes took in the reality of the beast. It stretched a half-dozen paces down the road, and the tail of the snake hadn’t yet emerged from the forest. Its pink tongue tracked what its eyes might not be sharp enough to see, as it followed Constantine’s footprints down the dusty road.

  Constantine jogged backwards, maintaining his lead, and regarded the snake. He wondered how to cure the hide. He’d never tried to tan a snakeskin. Perhaps a solution of tallow, ash, and salt would keep the scales supple. He kept a syrupy reduction of the stuff back with his flints.

  The snake yawned again and Constantine saw the deep red darkness of its open throat. A boy might just fit down there, he thought. A thick branch, fallen from an oak, caught his eye and Constantine picked it up from the side of the road without slowing his pace. He slapped it flat against his palm to test its strength. The sound of stick hitting flesh made the snake pause and bunch, but it stretched back out and resumed its chase soon enough.

  Constantine let his feet slow and the distance to the slithering animal diminished. It seemed to smile. The nearer it approached, the wider its pupils became. Gradually, the black slits took up more than half of the gold-ringed eyes.

  Constantine raised the stick in both hands and brought it down to connect with the flat space between the snake’s eyes. It hit with a solid thunk and drove the big head down to the dirt. As Constantine raised the stick a second time, the snake shot forward with easy speed and struck out at Constantine’s leg. The boy swept his foot back as he brought the stick around and clubbed the snake on the side of its head.

  A knot on the end of the branch opened a small cut on filmy lid above the snake’s eye and Constantine was disappointed by the imperfection. He wanted to bash the snake’s skull, but leave the hide clean.

  The snake barely seemed bothered by the blow. The long supple neck acted to absorb the shock and it pushed the stick away as it struck again at Constantine’s other leg.

  The boy backed away and regarded the snake. Its body had caught up to the melee and gathered dangerously. Constantine feared the snake’s increasing reach, and pulled the stick back to rest against his shoulder. When the snake’s wide-open mouth struck again, he was ready. He swung the stick quickly and batted the snake’s head away before scurrying to safety.

  Constantine scooped up a handful of dirt from the road and trotted away, letting the snake stretch itself again to remove its striking advantage. When he felt the snake had straightened as much as it would, Constantine let it draw close again. He kicked dust at the snake, easily avoiding its half-hearted strike, and then threw his handful of dirt at its eyes. When it’s milky eyelids were covered in dirt, Constantine used his advantage to swing the stick again. He gave up his prohibition about ruining the hide and struck at the snake’s eye, the one already damaged. Again, the head moved easily away with the blow, but Constantine swung again fast, hitting it repeatedly in the eye.

  He drove the snake back and to the side. The stick’s rough bark tore at the snake’s eyelid and the snake turned and flicked its tongue to pinpoint the boy. Constantine pressed his advantage, hitting the snake again and again as his arms heated with the exertion. The boy grunted and panted with each blow, finally knocking the snake’s head to the ground where he could deliver his blows against some resistance.

  The snake’s final strike took him completely by surprise. It’s head fired out from the dust, appearing like black magic from beneath Constantine’s strike. It came at his leg, far too fast to be avoided, and its jaw flew open to reveal its glistening fangs. Constantine remembered those fangs, how they dripped with venom, and envisioned them sinking into the flesh of his calf.

  He swung his leg forward, just before the snake’s jaws closed and drove his leg past the hollow fangs. They closed on empty air around the back of his leg. The snake worked it’s supple mouth, trying to land its fangs, but Constantine’s leg was too deep, pressing the snake’s lips back into a comical smile. Constantine screamed as the needle-sharp back teeth pierced his skin and the snake tried to back away.

  The boy ignored the pain and brought his club down on the snake’s turned head. The snake’s jaw cracked. The teeth drove deeper into Constantine’s shinbone. The fangs gushed useless venom to the dusty road. The boy’s heavy blows connected with real damage. Black snake blood wept from a dozen lacerations between its scales. Red boy blood streamed down Constantine’s leg.

  The snake’s body spun and thrashed. The weight of the flipping muscle threw Constantine off his feet. He heard the poundin
g of approaching horses as he floated off the ground, hoisted by his leg. He beat the snake’s head with his gory stick. Upside down, Constantine finally saw the inside of the snake’s head as his stick beat through the skull and exposed its tiny brain.

  When the men rode up on their sweating horses, Constantine hung above their heads, dangling from the jaws of the dying snake. The men shouted as their horses shied, and pawed, and reared.

  The snake collapsed on itself and Constantine landed on a pile of its folded flesh. He grabbed its terrible jaws and bent them backwards to liberate his burning leg. He stretched them back to an impossible obtuse angle before they finally unhinged and the teeth pulled from his skin.

  The men’s horses were spooked, but one man with a thick black beard managed to slip to the ground and gather up the reins of his riding party. He held the four horses as the other men dropped to the road and approached the tangle of boy and snake.

  Constantine wanted his prize, and jumped up wielding his stick, ready to fight off the newcomers.

  The nearest man, clean-shaven with light hair that fell to his shoulders, raised his hands.

  “Ho, Forestling, we’re not going to hurt you.”

  Constantine shook his head and scrunched up his brow. Why did these men think they could do him harm? He just didn’t want them to try to take away his snake.

  “My snake,” Constantine said, unintentionally drawing out the Z sound like the old man, or perhaps like the snake itself. His bloody leg buckled, so weak that it was uncontrollable, and Constantine hopped to regain his balance on his good leg.

  Behind the men, one of the horses whinnied and reared, nearly dragging the bearded man off his feet. The tip of the snake’s tail had resumed flicking back and forth, apparently unaware of the death of its master.

  The man with the long light hair laughed and stepped closer to Constantine, nearly within the reach of his stick.

  “We’ll take the snake if we wish, young Forestling. You won’t live to see the moon if you don’t tend to that leg.” He pointed down to Constantine’s hanging leg.

  When Constantine looked down to see the blood dripping from his leg, he saw it mixing with the snake’s venom in the dirt. The mixture was foaming and congealing into a gelatinous mess. The man leaned forward and snatched the stick from Constantine’s hand.

  ♣ ♢ ♡ ♠

  Malcolm: I’m sorry to stop you again, but this is crazy. How old were you?

  Constantine: I think I was seven. I still had the knot on my head from where Sasha hit me, so I must have been seven, yes?

  Malcolm: I’ve heard you talk about Sasha before. Who was he? Your friend?

  Constantine: You’re not supposed to know that yet, but yes. Let me just think for a second to be sure. The Midwife branded me seven, then I got into the fight with Sasha, then the lion and the snake. Yes, it makes sense. Well, it’s in order, but there might have been more time between.

  Malcolm: So you could have been older?

  Constantine: Maybe a year or two, but no more than that. Let’s say I was less than ten.

  Malcolm: By ten, you’d fought both a lion and a giant snake. That town must have never heard of anything like you.

  Constantine: You’re getting ahead of my story, but at the risk of a double-negative, the answer is no. The town had certainly heard of something exactly like me.

  Malcolm: I don’t understand.

  Constantine: Then let me continue.

  14 THE PLUMBER

  DOM LOOKED BACK TO his hands to see what they were doing. They had none of his attention this day. The problem wasn’t the work. He loved plumbing new construction. When working on new construction, he had the ability to do everything absolutely perfectly. He need make no concessions. No, the problem wasn’t the work, it was the windows. The rough-framed openings of this new construction overlooked the back courtyards of three big dwellings. In the middle one, she worked.

  Dom didn’t know her name, but he could spot her form from three blocks away. The way her shoulders curved into her back would catch his eye. The profile of her calf stuck in his brain. The delicate taper of her fingers haunted his dreams. He took a deep breath in through his nostrils as if he could pick her scent from the wind, like a bear, after which he was named.

  His hands were spinning the tool inside the lip of the pipe, cleaning out any burrs. He’d worked the tool on the end of the pipe so long, daydreaming about the beautiful woman, that he’d created a dangerously sharp edge. Dom glanced over his shoulder and then smiled at himself. He was no apprentice; there was no master to spot his mistake. He could run as fast as his feet would carry him in any direction and he wouldn’t find anyone with knowledge about copper plumbing. That fact was his blessing and his curse. Being the only practitioner, he had no competition. However, with nobody else to prove his worth, he always had to fight to assert the value of his work. The homeowners would simply continue hauling buckets of water if they deemed his price too steep.

  This time when she walked by, he forced his hands to stop.

  He took a deep breath as she carried a pail of milk back to the dwelling.

  Dom set down his tools and brushed the debris from his clothes.

  Outside, away from the dust and smells of construction, Dom found a beautiful day. The morning’s mist melted away and the sun warmed the rocks of the path up to the pond. He circled the water to a sheltered ledge of granite where he could be alone with his thoughts. After some gentle stretches, Dom set his body to work. Through contorting his body and holding uncomfortable poses, he hoped to open his mind. Denpa, his master, taught him that when he could understand how all things and nothing where the same, he could achieve anything he desired.

  Denpa also taught him that when he could achieve anything he desired, he would reach the state beyond desire and achievement. This important caveat was lost on Dom, so he worked to open his mind.

  “Your exertion shows on your face.”

  The voice startled Dom, and he fell to his knees on the rock. He looked around and saw his friend, Pemba.

  “At least I’m trying,” Dom said.

  “You’re supposed to look like you’re not trying,” Pemba said. “First you look like you’re not trying, then eventually you won’t have to try.”

  “And I should take advice from you because…?”

  “Because I already have everything I desire.”

  “Which is nothing,” Dom said.

  “Exactly,” Pemba said.

  When Dom had first arrived in town, Pemba had been the only boy his age who would talk to him. Pemba seemed to take ownership of Dom after he rescued Dom from a terrible beating.

  When people had seen Dom for the first time they feared his bulk, his skin, and the terrible sounds that came out of his mouth. Pemba never seemed to care about any of that, and never seemed to care that for years Dom never answered him. Everyone else thought Dom incapable of speaking or understanding, but Pemba kept talking until Dom eventually replied.

  “Why aren’t you working?” Dom asked.

  “Why aren’t you?”

  “I’m taking a break to collect my thoughts. Besides, I can set my own schedule.”

  “Can’t we all set our own schedule? Who can prevent a man from mastering his own time?”

  “That’s very intellectual,” Dom said, “but you’re going to be fired from the mines. Precisely as you were fired from the bakery, and the mill, and the school.”

  “So it will be,” Pemba said.

  “You’re not coming back to live in my room again. I’ve told you that before. If you can’t pay your rent then you’ll live outside with the dogs and freeze until your toes fall off.”

  “So it will be,” Pemba said. “I’ve brought you some fish.”

  Dom loved fish. His master, Denpa, wouldn’t allow fish in the house. Denpa thought that eating fish was bad luck, so Dom had to consume it in secret.

  “I’ve found out the name of your girl,” Pemba said. He folded
his legs underneath himself and dragged his bag into his lap. From the depths of the bag he retrieved a woven box, which contained a hunk of fish wrapped in flatbread. He handed the food to Dom, who took it gently, with his hands cupped as if in prayer.

  “What is it?” Dom asked.

  “It’s fish, I told you,” Pemba said.

  “What’s the woman’s name?” Dom asked.

  “Which do you care more about, the fish or the girl?”

  “I will gladly shove this fish down your throat until you die, and then I’ll have neither the food nor the name. Would that answer your question?” Dom asked.

  “Not at all, actually,” Pemba said. He waited and smiled while Dom scooped the flakes of fish into his mouth.

  “Her name is Tara, and she’s a year older than me,” Pemba said. “She comes from the side of that mountain there.” He pointed off to the northeast where a ridge of mountains formed the horizon. “Do you see where that cloud looks like a finger? It’s pointing at the hill behind which she was raised.”

  “Who told you this?”

  “The speaker of the seventh sun breathed a smoky tendril into my ear while I slept,” Pemba said, waving his hands above his head. Dom frowned at him until he stopped. “My mom told me.”

  “How did she find out?”

  “I don’t know. How do moms find anything out? She probably talked to Chasa over the wall. You should take breakfast to her. She’s not seeing anyone here, and she’s not talking about being betrothed to anyone back in the mountains. I believe that she’s available for seduction.”

  “Tara,” Dom said, tasting the word.

  “Just make sure you clear it with your owner first.”

  Dom finished the fish and threw the bread back at his friend.

  15 CAUGHT AGAIN