Trail of Pyres

by L. James Rice

  Solineus guided the girls and nudged the goat’s butt to keep from tripping over her as they wound between tents and through people who worked, cleaned, and haggled over prices. It was amazing how life moved on despite the tragedy these people suffered, riven from their homes, many losing loved ones. Of course, that was what he’d done. He’d lost his memories, so in a sense, he lost everything, but in a matter of days he’d taken two girls and their family as his own, made alliances, and even found himself falling for a woman. Not that the Trelelunin would ever feel the same, just because she looked human didn’t make her so.

  Might as well as fall in love with a perfect vision in my dreams.

  Thunder rolled, and he glanced to the south. The sky was blue above, but thunderheads billowed black on the horizon. He prodded the goat and smiled at the girls. “Let’s get a move on before we get drenched.”

  The walls of the Choerkin tent whipped in strong gusts by the time he and the girls found their way. They ducked inside happy to be dry. Ivin and Roplin sat at a table with an older woman, staring at him, but Lelishen wasn’t here. “Looks like we got a good one blowing in.”

  Ivin stood and waved him to the table. “Solineus Mikjehemlut, this is Tedeu, head of the Ravinrin. The girls are Alu and Kinesee.”

  The girls curtsied and spoke in unison. “Nice to meet you, m’lady.” Kinesee added, “And this is Tengkur, my goat.”

  Solineus bowed his head before making his way to a chair. “If we’ve met before, my pardons. I hit my head when the Resten went under and remember very little.”

  “So the boys were telling me. No, we’ve never had the pleasure since before you started walking, though I’ve known many of your kin. I do hope more find their way to the mainland.”

  The flap of the tent opened and Puxele slipped through in front of a broad-chested man. His head was bald but a shaggy red beard stretched from his chin to the middle of his chest. He made his way to the table with muscle bound strides and slammed a bottle on the table. “Choerkin, Choerkin, Lady Ravinrin.” He nodded to each before looking to Solineus. “And who the hells are you?”

  Roplin said, “Solineus Mikjehemlut, of Clan Emudar, this is Polus Broldun.”

  “Solineus—“

  Solineus smiled. “The one who gutted your Lord Priest.”

  The man’s eyes snapped wide, but he chuckled. “Dunkol was a whoreson, a son-of-a-bitch who won’t be missed by many. But he was kin, you’d do well to watch your words.”

  “I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else. All things under the sun where they can be seen.”

  “Well enough.” Polus’ voice was bass and raspy as he grabbed the cork on the bottle and popped it. “It’s been decades since Broldun and Choerkin sat at the same table, we’d best drink, mmm? Glasses? I’ll start.” He took a drink from the bottle and wiped his mouth before Joslin nabbed the whiskey and poured for the remaining group. “Now, why the Hells am I here?”

  Roplin said, “My brother Ivin, Solineus, Tudwan Ravinrin, and a Trelelunin woman will be riding to Sin Medor to meet with the Hidreng. We’d like to invite you along.”

  “A sad godsdamned day when I’m the Broldun picked for talking. I’ve kin elsewhere, if we send word.”

  Ivin said, “I don’t think we want to keep the Overseer waiting.”

  “Mmm. Every Tek I ever met was a fly’s breath from a coward. I’d say let ‘em wait, but no one ain’t ever accused me of tact.” He chuckled and held his glass for Joslin to pour. “I’ll ride with you any damned day you like, but a question has to be answered first. What the hells are we looking for from the Hidreng?”

  “That’s what we’re here to decide on, I think,” said Ivin.

  “Mmm. What’s the best we hope for, what’s the least we take? I might lack in tact but I ain’t stupid. If they offer up our settling, but we bow to their whims, what then, mmm?”

  Solineus was loath to admit it, but the man had a point. They were like drunks spurring their horses into the woods; they needed to stop to think or some branch would knock them to their asses. In this case, the branch bore an edge. Solineus said, “What’s our goal? To take Kaludor from the demons and return home. That’s what we ask for time to do.”

  “And what, they feed our women and children as we sail back and forth?”

  Ivin said, “We feed our own, we’ve fisherfolk—“

  “Mmm, a Hidreng ship sails into that bay of yours and leaves with a mess of fish, whose fish are those? What makes us worth those fish?”

  Solineus caught sight of Lelishen entering the tent and smiled. There was no way around their lack of cards to play, and the one they had was blind. He said, “The threat of war with the Edan.”

  “And what makes you think the woodkin give a goat’s shit about us? No offense to this fine critter here on the table.”

  Kinesee grabbed Tengkur by a horn and pulled her back to the ground, blushing.

  Lelishen said, “The threat might be enough, for a time. The Hidreng have opportunistic neighbors to the west and south, pulling men from their borders, let alone the Eleris, would invite trouble. We’ll make sure the Overseer realizes we’re aware of their weakness.”

  “Mmm. What’s our fallback? Bastard gives us two months, six, a year to skedaddle, what then?”

  Roplin said, “Soon as we finish these talks, Lelishen will speak with the Edan. We won’t know what we can manage until then. A temporary truce, anything to keep the peace for now.”

  “Mmm. That’s the best we got?”

  Solineus said, “I reckon so.”

  Roplin asked, “Will you speak for the Broldun?”

  Polus threw back his drink and waved an empty glass at Joslin, and quaffed another, shaking his head with a grin. “The plan is half-assed and still bloody in the middle, and you’ll hate me more than you already do for saying it, but I’m in.”

  Solineus fought a grin. His head lacked a single memory of a Broldun except the one he killed, but he was having a hard time disliking this one. They stood and raised their glasses in salute.

  Roplin said, “To new alliances and old.”

  “Mmm. To survival!”

  “Survival.” Solineus couldn’t argue the sentiment. For the time being it wasn’t the most they could hope for, but it might be the best they could expect.

  Thunder crackled and heavy rain drummed the tent’s hide, driven by a gust. All the more reason to sit, finish the bottle, and discuss possibilities.

  4

  The Insiders

  Serupt of Mereun was a man of fortitude and will, and so he rose to power beneath King Priest Yemuun. His wars fought and won, and his lands bountiful, Serupt enjoyed the conqueror’s peace he’d wrought, resting, feasting, growing comfortable. Comfort led to complacence, complacence led to weakness, and Yamuun removed his head so the next to take Serupt’s seat would not grow soft. Always prune the weak and withered, lest it bring rot to the entire vine.

  –Codex of Sol

  The first week on Herald’s Watch surprised the skeptic lurking within Eliles. The first day was wailing and weeping and long faces, but by the third day, folks explored the island, searching for supplies and finding ways to entertain themselves. Eliles was certain as all the Seven Heavens the joviality folks exuded was to convince themselves and others that all was well, and the reason they kept busy was to keep their minds from the losses, but it was better than sorrow and pity.

  Every one of them seemed as settled with their choice to stay as a person could expect, considering they lived on an island which no longer had a night. Still, despite seeing folks around the island, people were hanging with their own little groups more often than not. With so few people on a small island, it didn’t seem right.

  Not that Eliles had been a socialite in Istinjoln, but she talked to more than three people. Could be that folks stayed away from her, she couldn’t blame them if they did; how comfortable could a person be around someone who could ignite an island?

  Jinbin, Ar
tus, and Seden were her touchstones to this tiny society. It was high time for everyone to gather and see what tracks their thinking made. Artus Choerkin was the natural choice to organize the meeting, and she let him get to it.

  On the eighth day Eliles stood in the Salty Frog, nerves fidgeting as she leaned against the bar trying not to tap her foot. Seden bustled in the kitchen, the smell of fresh-baked bread wafting to tease Eliles’ nose, but the soup she whipped up with gull eggs, fish, and hot peppers made her question the woman’s sense of taste.

  “Relax your bones, child.”

  Eliles figured Seden could be old enough to be her mother, in her thirties, but “child” felt awkward. Maybe just her nerves. “I’ve never been much for people.”

  The woman’s grin mocked her. “You don’t say.”

  “Obvious?”

  “I’ve seen you share more words with your fires than a person… Do they talk back?”

  “No.”

  She dipped a spoon in the soup and sipped before sprinkling salt into its bubbling waters. “Then it’s a right fine idea to gather folks for a talk. Open a few windows.”

  Jinbin strode through the swinging doors with a smile. “Seden! Feed me!”

  “Your stew is festering in the alley out back.”

  Jinbin glanced to Eliles. “She loves me.”

  Eliles said, “Only when you bring ale.”

  Jinbin sighed. “The greatest keg of ale ever isn’t so far out. So, I assume you called this merry meeting?”

  Eliles sat at a tall table with a high seat for a better view and to not feel puny. “Feels like a mistake.”

  “It got me here, how big of a mistake could it be?” He slid a stool to her side. “Don’t answer that.”

  They sat and jabbered about nothing of consequence as people filtered in. The earliest arrival was Wilu and her three boys. The matron was in her late forties, but the way she moaned and groaned you’d swear she pushed the century mark. Reinus was her eldest, mid twenties, with a bushy beard and beady eyes. Barold was in the middle of the brood, a couple years younger than the eldest, but he did his damndest to look the same, hair, beard, and attitude. Kavlin was the youngest, nineteen, and a mama’s boy without a twig of whisker on his chin. They took a seat as distant from Eliles as they could find.

  Poluk and Osele, Markile and Talyu, and Voelim and Feru, sauntered in next, three muscular men used to labor, judging from the callouses on their hands, paired with their wives. Where the men were similar with their bulk and dark hair, the ladies were unique. Osele was pretty enough to catch most any man’s eye, but it was her golden hair that stood out, while Talyu was stout with black hair, her face a constant growl one couldn’t call attractive, and Feru was skinny as a reed with red hair and an easy laugh. Each couple had lost children to Shadows of Man, whether Taken or killed by them. Eliles figured it was a sorrowful bond which could hold them all together. They meandered to a long table, talking to themselves and acknowledging no one else in the room.

  The Mangin family arrived wicks later, rounding out the group, minus Artus. Kork lorded over his kin, a giant man with scars up and down his arms from fighting fish and nets and gods knew what else, but his wife, Lonisin, was his match, at least when it came to intense stares. When Eliles first took stock of the pair, she wouldn’t have guessed them as doting parents to four girls and a boy. Nor would she have guessed their children to be anything but homely, the brutal truth be told, but she was wrong. Deleu, Grelen, Litu, Murees, and Vrom, the lone boy, were all in their twenties and according to Artus, not a one more than a year older than the next. As with every group, they moved to their own table and staked their ground.

  Artus arrived last, and he moved straight to Eliles’ table. His voice boomed as he turned to face the room. “My gratitude to one and all fer comin’. We’ve all been muddling our way ‘round this island keepin’ to ourselves, but it’s time we start gathering more often.”

  Kork spoke up, his voice a deep bass. “You think some Choerkin blood makes you our leader?”

  Artus’ head swiveled, and Eliles knew it’d be a short fight despite Kork’s size if the fisherman pushed hard enough. “Ain’t no leaders here, not yet no how. Now, we’ve all been good about sharing supplies and such, but might we all agree it’d be right and fair to share information? And combine our efforts with supplies, and folks volunteer what they’re good at.”

  Jinbin piped in, “I drink like a sailor after six months at sea, and that with a hangover.” Leave it to the monk to get a chuckle from the room. “I’ll be making beers and ales and bringing them here to the Frog. I ain’t promising quality, not at first at least, but it’ll be free to everyone who does their part. Get too drunk, and Seden will take a wooden spoon to your head.” Eliles smiled; Artus must’ve had the monk primed to be the first joiner.

  More chuckles, and even Kork’s gaze lightened. “Ale will make drawing the oars more pleasant. We’ve got more fishing boats and nets than a man can use, and there’s plenty of fish in them waters. The family and I’ll keep the Frog with fresh catch, so long as someone scales and cooks ‘em.”

  Artus bellowed, “Excellent! What else have folks to offer?”

  Osele said, “Talyu and I thought we saw two donkeys yesterday while outside town. We’re thinkin’ they might be the team from Goman’s mill.”

  Seden said, “A mill team? We’ve scrounged a winter’s worth of whole grain, and once we get crops growing… Bread for all.”

  Poluk said, “Aye, and I worked the mill as a boy, and I can work it again. A couple younger backs might be useful.”

  Wilu said, “My boys could use the work, there and anywhere else when they ain’t fishin’ with their pa. I always liked the garden, the dirt beneath my nails. I’ll see what my aching bones can manage; was a day I could grow a tomato in a snow bank.”

  Artus said, “And I’m sure there’re plenty of other duties which’ll crop up. No doubt Seden’d appreciate help in the kitchen and the like. Eliles, any thoughts?”

  She felt every eye in the tavern and swallowed hard once seated on the public anvil. “I… Has anyone seen anybody outside our group? Might be some folks stayed behind, hiding.” There were murmurs as they looked to one another, but no one spoke up. “I think we should spend some time rummaging through stuff left behind. Tools, clothes, oil, wood… Use a map and mark off areas searched instead of our random wanderings. Collect everything in a warehouse?”

  Rienus said, “Now, why should I give up what I find? That don’t feel so right to me.”

  Artus said, “I don’t think anyone’s sayin’ you can’t claim a few things.”

  Eliles pointed at his hip. “You find an ax, it’s yours. You find a dozen, bring the extras to storage. Keep things in reason, share in reason.”

  Artus said, “Speaking of ax heads, keep an eye out for a pedal grindstone. It’ll come in handy. Anyone experienced with the smith’s anvil?” Everyone stared at him. “Might be I learn a little somethin’ about a forge then.”

  “Thank you, Artus.” Eliles said, “It’d be wonderful if we all got together here at the Frog, or wherever, once a week? Just to share information, talk, get to know everyone. Make sure we’re all well and have everything we need. The Watch used to be a small island, it’s now a big city for so few people.”

  Kork said, “First night of every week?”

  There was a consensus and Artus smiled, catching the eye of everyone in the room. “Done. So, let’s make sure we all keep Seden with plenty of food to feed us with!”

  “The Frog will be open every day to use the stoves even if I’m not here.”

  There was laughter and shouts of “Seden!” as she wheeled a cart with an enormous bowl of soup into the room. A dozen loaves of bread circled its base with cups of butter. The smell of pepper overpowered the scent of fish, and Eliles couldn’t believe she looked forward to a meal that came from the water.

  5

  Profiteer

  The Court, the long
and the short,

  Abort! Retort!

  a Bouncing purse with coins a jingling,

  dirt, grime, and filth commingling,

  the faces of kings and queens,

  other vanities otherwise forgotten.

  Rattle, tink, and bounce, wearing each other’s edges,

  wiping away smiles and doughty pride,

  eternity Gone long after they laid down and died.

  –Tomes of the Touched

  Meliu juggled three loaves of bread, her tongue dangling over her lower lip as she smiled, but not for long lest she drop profit in the dirt, then held them out to entice the merchant.

  Ximdin (Shim-din) stood in front of a sturdy but impromptu tent that housed his business as well as his family, with a small table sitting out front displaying forty or so simple candles, and a half dozen flare wicked for telling time. He did his best to ignore her, staring at passersby or the dirt, anything not to have to admit he was short on coins. It was a familiar reaction; sales were slow today, and she was pulling out her best tricks to catch people’s attention, and even discounts failed to move her goods. “Two for nine Songs? A better deal than you’ll get by the gates.”

  Ximdin grimaced, his mustache drooping past his chin. He’d been a good customer the past week, but his coffers were shrinking as his wares disappeared. Folks still wanted candles for light and keeping time, but he was running short of materials, plus the fool didn’t like raising prices and gave too many away. “I’ll just take the one, all I can do today. Maybe tomorrow. If’n you come across some tallow or wax you let me know, you hear? Unless you want to trade?”

  She shook her head, but didn’t explain her prayers made candles useless. Meliu took his coins and sighed, slipping a Song back into his hand. “You’re a good man, I’ll take four until things get better.” Then she dug into her haver and tossed him a biscuit with a wink. Damned if she wasn’t a fool too, but it was still break even after she’d talked the baker down a bit more. The supply of copper and silver was drying up with the fisherfolk and the few merchants by the surf, like this chandler. Most days she didn’t make it much further, but today she still had five loaves and eight biscuits. Of course folks were rationing, several still ate on their loaves from two days before.