by Jags, Chris
“What…” he began, then his breath caught in his throat as the chained thing turned its head. He was looking upon the form of a man, roughly; but this creature was not human. A pair of bulbous, bloodshot eyes flickered across his own; Simon read both gnawing hunger and profound sorrow in their depths. Lank black hair framed features which were stretched, distorted: a nose which was a little too flat to its face, a jaw inhumanly long and bristling with ocher fangs, skin which had not seen sunlight for many years.
Clad only in a filthy loincloth, this pallid nightmare shuffled toward Aletta in a crouching squat. Manacles circled its wrists and ankles. It crooned hopefully, its expression desolate. Snuffling at the blood which had spattered the girl’s blouse, the creature whined, uncannily like a dog.
Revolted as he was by this deformed monstrosity, Simon realized with some astonishment that he wasn’t actually afraid of it. Even though he was now aware what the human corpses were used for, this thing seemed pitiful rather than threatening. Certainly it was not as alarming as a dragon, or for that matter the princess of Cannevish. As it continued to whine, plucking at Aletta’s skirt with grimy, maggot-white fingers, he discovered that he felt rather sorry for it.
Niu, on the other hand didn’t feel the same way.
“Simon,” she hissed, the first time he could recall her addressing him by name. “Get out of there!”
“What… what is it?” Simon wondered, staring as the girl tousled the creature’s mat of hair fondly.
“I do not know,” Niu admitted, voice rasping. “There is nothing like it in my homeland. But it is a flesh-eater.”
Yes, got that, Simon thought. “What is it?” he repeated, but this time his question was directed at Aletta.
“He’s a wendigo,” the girl said sadly as the creature shuffled and moaned at her feet. “My…” Her voice trembled. “…father.”
Simon considered that. “I thought your father was ‘coming back’,” he reminded her.
Aletta nodded. “And I pray to Vanyon that he is. That his curse may be reversed. Father tasted human flesh once and is now cursed to crave it. I have consulted doctors and oracles, herbalists and warlocks. But nothing has worked.”
“So you feed him travelers,” Niu interjected coldly.
“He is family,” Aletta said softly.
Simon contemplated the shivering, crooning thing and tried without success to imagine it as a man. “Why not let him go?”
Aletta peered over her shoulder. “What?”
“You’re killing for him anyway. Let him go, let him fend for himself. Then the burden is off you.”
Both Aletta and the wendigo contemplated Simon seriously. For the first time, Simon realized that the creature could understand every word he said. He wasn’t sure why that unsettled him – after all, the wendigo had been a man once – but the idea was unnerving all the same.
“Don’t you dare even think it!” came Mother’s cry from above. “Don’t you dare unleash that travesty! It would devour us, Aletta, us! Our neighbors! Children, Aletta! It would eat children!”
Simon realized he hadn’t thought his suggestion through, but he wasn’t sure how to retract it. Aletta moistened her lips, thinking.
“Would you leave us be, father?” she asked softly. The wendigo nodded, once, peering up into her face with woeful eyes.
“Simon,” Niu urged. “It is time for us to go.”
Simon nodded. He was curious as to how the scene would play out, but on the off chance Aletta took his advice and released her father from his bondage, he didn’t want to be anywhere nearby.
“Yes,” he said simply.
Leaving Aletta to her decision, he climbed the stairs back into the cabin. Niu’s face was grim. Aletta’s mother had clawed her way back up into her rocking chair, where she was folded inelegantly with her legs all askew. She sneered at Simon but said nothing.
“Have you finished interfering?” Niu asked.
Feeling somewhat foolish, Simon nodded.
“Good.” Slipping behind the older woman, she took hold of the rocking chair and, with a sudden burst of energy, shoved her toward the hatch and upended her. With a shriek of astonishment and terror, Aletta’s mother tumbled down the steps, a flailing ragdoll whirlwind, to land in a disjointed heap at their foot. Aletta screamed. Niu slammed the trapdoor into place and locked it.
“What are you doing?” Simon gasped, grabbing Niu’s arm as she rose. “That thing… it will eat them!”
“I believe I will be able to sleep at night,” Niu said coolly.
Sick at heart, Simon absorbed the confusion of shouts, curses and pleas from below. It was half in his mind to spite the handmaiden and make at least an attempt to break the lock, until his eyes brushed the dead green stare of the body on the counter.
“It’s not right,” he said numbly.
“And yet you decided it, the moment you suggested that she free that monster.” Niu shouldered her traveling bag. Someone, no doubt Aletta, was already drumming at the underside of the trapdoor. “And it may be that the lock will not hold them forever. We should be on our way.”
Feet dragging reluctantly, Simon allowed himself to be swept along in Niu’s wake. He didn’t like leaving Aletta to such a potentially horrible fate. Niu seemed to guess what he was thinking; once they were out in the daylight, she cast him an exasperated glance.
“A pretty face does not mean a good heart,” she admonished. “She is as much of a monster as her father.”
Simon nodded unhappily as they crossed the yard and passed into the shadow of the forest once more. Niu’s expression softened slightly.
“They will probably escape,” she said. “Let us just make sure we are nowhere nearby when that happens.” She nodded northward. “We can travel much faster now. Your home awaits.”
“Home awaits,” Simon repeated dully. But what awaited at home?
VI
Past Saber Bend, the northward journey was comparatively uneventful, although it was slow going. Niu had managed to obtain some food from a farm on the village’s outskirts. With their last encounter fresh in his mind, Simon eyed the homestead with a suspicion he did not enjoy feeling and made no complaint about Niu’s methods. The handmaiden returned with buns, cured fish, and some dried vegetables along with two flasks freshly filled with well-water. The family had not appeared to be cannibals, she’d joked, but Simon had been too hungry to feel guilt.
“Your food is so bland,” she’d complained, and then, after a few sips of her water flask, “I miss paiyoshao.”
The word had been unfamiliar. “What’s that?”
“A hot drink… very hot. Flavored with only the most potent of spices and peppers.”
Simon couldn’t even feign understanding. “It sounds horrible.”
“Perhaps to the uncultured,” Niu answered stiffly, and they didn’t talk for some time.
Try as they might to avoid traveling upon the road, it quickly became inefficient not to. Simon worried that they would never make the trek in time to warn his father; Niu cautioned him that even at their fastest speed, there was no chance whatsoever of reaching his village before the King’s soldiers did, and to steel himself for the worst. Her pragmatism upset Simon, but he couldn’t deny the wisdom of her warning. Whatever awaited, he knew this would be no joyful homecoming. Thinking on it turned his heart to lead.
The two of them got into the habit of using quieter roads and tracks where possible, slipping into the trees whenever they heard carts or horses. This wasn’t a foolproof plan, and more than once they were surprised by foot travelers. Niu kept her hood drawn low to disguise features which couldn’t possibly have been mistaken for those of a local woman. Simon, who had no cloak, just hoped for the best, avoiding eye-contact but not looking as though he were avoiding eye-contact. So far, there had been no trouble; possibly because they are waiting for us in Brand, Niu had suggested. Why expend manpower searching the countryside when they know we are coming directly to them?
/> Her words stung Simon, although he didn’t believe she was chastising him for his decision, exactly. On the contrary, she seemed impressed by his loyalty to his father. Still, her constant reminders that the journey was likely to end in tragedy and disaster were starting to get him down.
Just outside the hamlet of Silverton’s Hollow, the two fugitives accepted a ride from a farmer, whose cart was heaped high with hay. This was a risky move, but Niu, worried that she’d been detected ‘acquiring ‘ two loaves of bread and a cheese wheel, had been anxious to leave the tiny community behind quickly. She judged the farmer to be ‘a bit of a simpleton’ and hopped into the back of the cart. There, she and Simon had split their bread and cheese in comfort and, even if they weren’t traveling significantly faster than they would have afoot, they could at least massage their aching limbs and tend to their blisters.
Cannevish’s range of weatherworn northern mountains was soon visible on the horizon; they loomed nearer and nearer as the day progressed until, by nightfall, they dominated the skyline. Just beyond them lay Brand. The farmer, blissfully unaware as to the identities of his passengers, had dropped them off in the foothills just outside the town of Vanyon’s Parade. Simon had no idea how the settlement had earned its name, unless the God of the Afterworld had indeed once led a procession through the narrow valley which twisted between ancient peaks.
This was a chokepoint; the divider between Northern and Southern Cannevish. There was no other path through the mountains, unless you were a goat, and there was sure to be a guard presence at either end of the pass. Simon hoped Niu had a plan to deal with this inevitability because he had nothing. Without the handmaiden, he had to admit, his head would have long since been adorning a spike outside the palace in Vingate.
He and Niu had now spent three nights sleeping under the stars, albeit since that first night, disappointingly clothed. This fourth evening, as they wandered the overgrown outskirts of Vanyon’s Parade, dusk settling about them like a shroud, Niu noticed a tumbledown old barn hunched in a long unattended field. Far though it was from the comforts of an inn, the idea of a roof over his head as he slept was a great relief to Simon. He hadn’t been sleeping well, alternating between bouts of worry for his father and expectation that at any moment a patrol would stumble across their makeshift camps. Jumping at every nocturnal sound, certain that he was about to lose his throat to a prowling predator, did not improve the quality of his rest.
The barn turned out to be completely dilapidated. Simon wasn’t convinced it could withstand a dedicated rainstorm. He half expected it to collapse when he forced open the sagging door. Caved-in chunks of the gambrel roof let in enough moonlight to see that the structure was overrun with foliage within as well as without. Hay had been stored here once, although there was little evidence of that now. In the darkest corners, slimy ash-grey fungi smothered the walls, while a few runty saplings dotted what once had been a floor.
Niu spread two blankets, which she’d acquired at the wendigo-cabin, out on the sickly yellowish grass and sank down on hers, fumbling in her bag for the last of the bread. This she divided with Simon, who paced restlessly as he ate, worrying about the trials and tribulations ahead. He was about to ask Niu, for perhaps the twentieth time, if she thought Minus’ men had harmed his father already when she spoke.
“Bread,” she said, picking at it without enthusiasm. “How can you eat so much of it in this kingdom? It is so heavy.” She sighed as she downed her half. “It is a concept I will not be bringing home.”
Simon suspected she’d anticipated the direction of his thoughts and was attempting to distract him. Weary as he was of her criticizing the local cuisine – she took every opportunity to point how much better-prepared food was in Jynn – he decided to play along. He knew so little about Niu and her homeland; if discussing the handmaiden’s birthplace could take his mind of his own troubles, he was willing to participate in the diversion.
“What do you eat in Jynn?” he asked.
A visible pang of homesickness crossed Niu’s dark eyes. “You would not have heard of the food that we eat in Jynn,” she said. “There is no official trade between our people. Your king and my emperor may exchange gifts…” Here her voice grew bitter. “…but the fruits of these exchanges are not enjoyed by the people.” She attempted to smile. “But perhaps one day we will sit across from one another in a dining house in Sindhai and I will treat you to stir-fried watercress with oyster sauce.”
She was right; Simon had no idea what she was talking about, but he thrilled to the fact that she was including him in her future. “I’d like to try it. Tell me more about Jynn.”
Her face took on a moody cast as she shrugged one shoulder. “What is there to tell? Jynn is a great empire. It is more…” she struggled for a word. “…colorful than Cannevish. Our food is varied and our festivals plentiful. Our lands are fertile and our cities are cleaner. We have many great generals, poets, dancers and actors. Our people are neither so repressed nor prudish.”
Simon, thinking of the barely-there gossamer wrap which Niu had been wearing when he’d first met her, imagined a land where all the women dressed with similar abandon and hastily planted himself upon his blanket to disguise a distressing redistribution of blood.
“It sounds wonderful,” he said thickly.
Niu toyed morosely with a crust. “Not so wonderful.”
Simon took a breath and ventured to ask a question he’d been suppressing for days. He cursed himself even before his lips began to move; he knew the question was rude and invasive and would likely be treated as such, but as with many of the idiotic decisions he made, he couldn’t seem to help himself.
“That… that first night,” he said tentatively, “When we slept on the island…”
Niu raised an eyebrow.
“There was a… drawing… on your…” How not to appear indelicate?
“I am aware,” Niu said, her expression unreadably neutral. Simon flushed.
“Well,” he said, “I’ve wondering about it.”
Niu’s lips quirked. “Of course you have.”
“Sorry.” Simon squirmed as she studied him. “I shouldn’t have…”
“I told you, my people are not so embarrassed by such things as yours. It is called a tattoo. It was a present.”
Simon blinked. “A present?”
“Yes. To my lover.” Her lids drooped.
Stop, Simon told himself. Stop before your offend her. “And where is he now?”
Her tone sharpened. “I do not wish to discuss it further.”
“Sorry,” Simon repeated, casting about for a change of subject. “My mother used to tell me that Vanyon would never allow me into the Afterworld until I learned to control my mouth.”
Niu rolled her eyes. “You people and your Afterworld.”
Simon frowned. “You don’t believe in the Afterworld in Jynn?”
“We have a saying. ‘Those who cling to dreams of a world beyond death will never hold themselves accountable in this one.’” She smiled slightly. “It sounds better in my language.”
“But – but that’s nonsense!” Simon had rarely felt so indignant. “The Afterworld exists to counter the misery we suffer in this one!”
Niu smiled wearily. “Let me ask you something about your Afterworld. How do you picture it?”
The answer was clear to Simon; he’d been taught what to expect nearly from birth. “Vanyon Afterlord brings us to his Great Hall, where we are reunited with our lost loved ones, where we drink and make merry…”
“And in this world, you will be essentially the same person as you are now?”
Simon scowled. “Of course.” What sort of question was that?
“Does it not make you wonder,” Niu mused. “What manner of gods would tear friends and families apart, denying them a chance at true happiness in this world, only to reunite them exactly as they were in a second world? What point would there be?”
“To weed out those who haven’t ac
cepted the Afterlord into their hearts,” Simon said heatedly.
Niu made little attempt to disguise a fit of silent laughter. She tossed an uneaten crust aside. “Forgive me,” she said at length as Simon fumed. “Jynn is a nation of scholars. We are never taught such nonsense there.”
“So you don’t believe in Vanyon? Or Lesquann the Worldbuilder?” Wounded, Simon was up and pacing again. He’d never heard tell of anyone who dismissed the Twin Gods – Lesquann, who’d created the world and continued to maintain it, and her brother – by far the more popular of the two - who governed the fate of the people, both before their deaths and after. While Lesquann enjoyed limited popularity, Vanyon was universally revered. He was, after all, the deity one had to impress to earn themselves their eternal reward.
“I am not of your kingdom. These names mean nothing to me.”
Simon pursed his lips. Her attitude seemed incredible to him. “So what do you believe in Jynn?”
“We believe the world is the result of an accident in the heavens.”
“An accident?” Simon was horrified. “But… that would mean no one was in control!”
“Yes. That is exactly what it would mean.”
Incredulous, Simon was set to protest further, but Niu held up a hand. “Hush. What is that?”
“I don’t hear anything,” Simon said grumpily, without listening. “You can’t mean to say…”
“Hsst!” Niu interrupted. “There! There again!”
“The wind?” Simon offered carelessly. He wasn’t paying much attention. What kind of misguided, backwards culture was Jynn? Even if Niu had misplaced her faith in some false foreign god, he would have found that easier to accept. But the world, an accident? That mean that the kingdoms of men – and men themselves - were also an accident. Impossible!