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.”
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.
And I let him buy me.
Her hand wandered to the coin purse Crazy Raccoon had given her after the battle with the Cadejo. The weight of the purse made her feel safe, a feeling born from her many years scraping by with little to live on. Still, that safety had a price, and the price was the shame she felt at selling herself so quickly when the opportunity had been presented to her.
She finished off the last of her food and realised she had also finished her drink. Glancing over at the tables, she noticed a pitcher of beer close to Starving Pup. Hesitating only for a moment, she moved towards it.
When she reached him, there was a space free beside her travelling companion. Starving Pup was watching Crazy Raccoon dancing, or at least his eyes were on the older man, but the boy seemed deep in thought.
This could be the time to repair those bonds.
Yizel sat down beside Starving Pup. The boy noticed her arrival, gave her a smile, but then went back to watching the dancers without saying anything to her. Yizel reached for the pitcher, refilled, and took a drink of the warm liquid.
She was going to have to start the conversation. This was not something Yizel was used to, or good at.
“Not exactly your regular night at the Proving Grounds,” she said, unsure of exactly the expression she should be putting into this attempt at casual conversation.
“They mean well,” Starving Pup said.
And that was it. He did not offer anything more. The boy’s brow creased. This was unlike the young Bravador, it was normally him trying to encourage Yizel to speak. Something was on his mind. Perhaps it was the thought of battle that would soon be coming.
“We’ll be fine tomorrow. If we leave early, we can still take them by surprise.”
The boy did not react to her encouragement.
Alfrond’s empty sack, I’m really not used to this. “Have you found out much information yet? Do we know how many there are?”
Starving Pup looked uncomfortable and he rubbed the side of his head, still not looking her in the eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, Crazy Raccoon and I had a big talk about it earlier. Got a plan of action sorted out.”
The boy continued to watch the dancers, but Yizel could tell he was uneasy. It was also clear that he was not going to go into any more detail about the plan. Her eyes glanced to Crazy Raccoon, still dancing with his village woman, and she realised what was happening.
He’s been told not to talk to me. Yizel looked back at Starving Pup. The boy was weak. She had felt a bond with him when they were fighting together, he must have felt it too. But all it took was a few words from that fat fool and the boy is turned away from me, like everybody else. Blinded by the stories about that man and his mask. His fucking mask. The only difference between Yizel and both of them was the fact that she no longer wore one.
She said nothing, but refilled her cup once again and left the Bravador to his thoughts. As she settled back onto her original perch outside of the firelight, she realised she was being watched. Nothing hostile, nothing aggressive, but a bunch of young men sitting at the far end of the row of tables were looking in her direction and then whispering conspiratorially with each other. Yizel felt uneasy. T
he reason she had survived for so long in the City of Swords as a Shaven was because of how well she was able to blend into her surroundings. Now, she was the sole focus of the attention of these young men. Such attention tended to not end well.
Eventually one of them nodded at his companions, stood up, and made his way towards her.
Not wanting to give any ground, Yizel kept her eyes locked on him, draining her cup as he approached.
What does this idiot want?
“Hello. I mean, um, hello.”
“You said that already.” Yizel was unsettled by his greeting. She was used to people wanting to cause trouble for her. This was a different sort of attention altogether.
The young man smiled, reminding Yizel of Starving Pup’s grin. This villager, this Wildman, was older than Starving Pup, but still younger than Yizel. If she had to guess, she placed this man at the end of his twenties, possibly a year or two into his thirties. Like most Wildmen he had rich honeyed skin, and thick black hair. A small part of Yizel, one that seldom raised its voice, acknowledged that this man was very handsome, but such things had stopped mattering to her long ago. What was more important here was the fact that this Wildman clearly knew he was attractive, a quality Yizel had never appreciated.
He rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed, or at least putting on the act of being so. “So, so I thought I’d come over here and introduce myself.”
Yizel said nothing. She just continued to look at him.
“Well, you’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you? Don’t know how these things are normally done in the city.” He took a deep breath, glancing nervously back to his companions, then smiling at Yizel again. “Hello.”
“That’s the third time you’ve said that.”
The man rolled his eyes, and held out his hand. “Jorge. Jorge, my name is Jorge. I work the fields here. I thought I might get you a drink.”
“I don’t need a drink.” This was not true. Yizel’s cup was nearly empty, but she did not want to be beholden to this man.
Those Brave, Foolish Souls from the City of Swords: A standalone Yarnsworld novel Page 18