~ 40
Gale looked at Luis and ruffled the boy’s hair, leading him into the woods where the sun broke upon the leaves. Luis skipped about, plunging his knife into the trees and ripping back the husks to split the larva in half with his blade. Then he knelt down to where a patch of berries grew and plucked the red fruit. Tart juice rinsed his mouth as the berries crunched into splinters between his teeth.
“I think people fib about what they know about hiking” Luis said. “They want you to be afraid, because then they can control you through fear. I don’t believe there are that many poisonous things out here. It’s just a gimmick. These berries are delicious, and that tells me that they are made to be eaten. It’s like good meat versus spoiled meat. One tastes great, the other doesn’t because it’s not supposed to be eaten.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Master Luis” Gale said as he picked a few berries, ate one, and placed the others in his pocket. “You have a lot of wisdom for a young man.”
“It’s just common sense” he replied. Luis harvested another handful and plopped them in his mouth. “I don’t see why Fierro is hailed a hero. With you as my witness, there is nothing trying about the woods. Simpletons need men of artifice, like Fierro, to escape their dull lives. Everything is perception. People have no concept of life therefore want to live vicariously. It’s infuriating.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Master Luis.”
“Oh shut it, you’re flapping your lips. It’s bootlickery.”
“My apologies, sir.” Gale wiped his hand, trying to expunge the strands of sap and mushroom stuck to his palm. “I just have a great reverence for you. Your uncle speaks most highly of you, and has Sir James’ ear in regards to you. Both men conspire to bring you further up the ranks, and I want to be part of that avant-garde.”
“Really?” Luis turned back toward Gale and found his ponytail undone. His hair frizzled and sprung like thistles off a dingy brush. Sweat ran from his temples and darkened in his collar, widening the buds of stench forming under his arms. Luis hated looking at him, smelling him. Gale gasped for breath, wheezing like a soldier kept alive by a thoracic vent, and followed Luis on the leash of supervision. The boy kept ahead, preoccupied with picking herbs and other green sprouts, inlaying his gums with bract like the captain.
Sweat thickened on their backs as the day grew. Gale slapped the mosquitoes buzzing in his ears and Luis plaid himself in mud, then scratched his arms raw as it dried into cake. They staggered likes drunken stooges through a bar brawl, pummeled by gnats and biting insects, slapping back at the low hanging branches and scraping their shins raw against the hollow logs that caved under their step. Luis posted his hand against the tree, holding his side, as spit stretched like syrup from his lips. Gale fell as he tried to loosen his boots, then crawled in the mud till he came against a log. He removed his socks which sucked against his feet with sweat, and poured his canteen over the blisters.
“Get up” Luis panted. “We have to move.”
“We don’t know where we’re going.”
“Don’t be a shirker. We won’t find anything staying here. Let’s get a move on.”
“Go on ahead.” Gale shook the last drop from the neck of his canteen and ran the pus out of the abscess. He flinched as he touched the wound, rubbing it with a licked finger till the dead skin fell away to fresh tissue. Humor escaped him now that the phenomena passed.
“Give me some of your water.” Luis leaned against the tree and held his gut as the rings under his eyes darkened. Gale shook the canteen then threw it into the brush. Luis shuffled over and lifted the canteen to his lips, drawing a few dewy beads against his tongue, then hit the floor with his knees and vomited.
“Gosh mate!” The boy took the canteen and threw it at Gale, then bent further into the brush, retching berries in stews of green and red. Then Luis gave a choking grunt and fell to his stomach, flat as a scale. Gale got to his feet and took the boy’s ankles to pull him out of the shrub.
“You’re in a bad way, Master Luis.” Gale tugged the boy. “We’ll find and follow our tracks back home. Up now.” He dropped his ankles as the boy lay unresponsive. “Suit yourself.”
The beast rose from the foliage covered in the stag’s waste, like a hydra in a sea of blood. Gale stumbled as the beast threw the body aside, slapping a tree with a loud snap, shattering the bones, leaving him to hemorrhage. Luis’ pupils fluctuated then became fixed in death.
Breath stuck against Gale’s lungs like tar, when the beast bore down on him. His throat closed in a tourniquet of fear. The beast bit into his side, minting his tongue in blood, and scraped his fangs along bone. Gale spun to his belly and was seized by his ponytail. The beast reeled his head back, separating the muscles, and dragged him several paces before Gale clawed his fingers into a log and stopped the haul.
The beast cried in fury as Gale rose to his feet and ran. Flies slapped his cheeks as he dove below the branches, hearing nothing but his heart drumming out his boots stomping the slosh. Then gunfire rang in his ears like angels sounding a bell to the healing pool. Two poachers emerged from the woods. Gale dove into the hunter’s arms, collapsing him into the bush, when the other hooked his hand under Gale’s jaw and threw him off.
“Watch it, you fool” Cormac growled as he helped Bret to his feet. “There’re boars out here. We could have shot you through the bush. What’re you thinking charging like that?”
“Help me!” Gale clawed Cormac’s ankles, dragging his fingers down his shins and buried his face kissing his boots. “Thank you! Thank you!” he cried. Bret looked to Cormac, then saddled his rifle over his shoulder and lifted Gale.
“What’s all this rubbish?” Bret asked.
“That thing, it got the boy!”
“What boy?”
“The mayor’s!”
“The mayor?” Cormac asked.
“He’s mad” Bret said.
“No!” Gale yelled, trying to take hold of Bret’s arms when he shoved him off, then looked to Cormac. “The boy. The mayor’s boy.”
“Luis?” Cormac asked. “Don’t be bizarre. He’s with Fierro. We saw them leave together this morning.”
“We have to run!” Gale pulled Bret’s lapel, stretching the seams till the stitching ripped.
“Get your hands off me.” Bret shoved him back and levied the mouth of his rifle at his chest. Gale’s eyes darted between the two men who watched him scramble like a trapped animal. Somewhere the beast lurked, and these two buffoons stood around jibing while death loomed on the horizon. Gale couldn’t wait. He scrambled to his feet and lost a shoe running into the forest. The hunters followed him, shouting to stop, to think. He dashed every which way, spreading like pestilence, until his foot caught a log and Gale fell into the dirt. A hand clasped his shoulder and another lifted him by his shirt.
“What the dickens is wrong with you?” Bret yelled. “You take off like that again and we’ll leave you be.”
“Blimey ass” Cormac growled. “Do it again and we’ll let someone else find your bones. Now, we’re going back to town. And if there’s this creature like you say there is, we’ll shoot it along the way. Now up, or get your comings.”
“Give me a weapon” Gale said. He reached for the rifle when Bret drove the butt into his nose and broke it. Blood gushed out as the men pulled him to his feet and gave him a good shake to set his mind on the journey ahead, then pushed Gale toward the trail.
“We were supposed to come back with some game” Cormac said, packing dried salvia against his gums. Gale fell in behind them, watching shadows conjure in the forest and vanish. He reached out to the two men leading with laughter. One carried a hare hanging from a rope attached to his waist, and the other opened his knife carrier and whittled the grit out from under his thumbnail.
“Did you hear that?” Gale said. He leapt behind the tree and hugged the bark against his back. “It’s over there.” The men turned in the direction, gave it a short glance, then continued. Gale held his
breath, wanting to claw the soul from his breast, then caught up to the men and hid in the sanctuary of their shadows. An echoing crack rolled through the forest. Gale raised his eyes to the edge of the woods where a pair of trees toppled over into the horizon. Smoke curled into the air from the chimney tops like blackened worms rising through rain puddles. Gale felt alleviated as a third huntsman came toward them with a hand hailing the men.
“Hello” Cormac waved back.
“Where’s the sap?” Bram asked as he walked closer. The huntsman looked to one another then back to their colleague.
“Who?”
“The mayor’s nephew. I saw him leave this morning with that man.” The two cleared their throats and shuffled their feet like chickens burying scratch, then dipped their heads and brought them back to port.
“We didn’t know he went out with him” Bret said while Cormac grunted and spit in the bush.
“I told you so” Gale said. Bram looked him up and down. Dried blood hung on his lips, circling his mouth like a bull’s nose ring.
“Quiet you” Bret growled then turned back to his mate. “We saw Luis leave with Fierro this morning.”
“Then you didn’t really see it” Bram replied. “They exchanged the boy some short time after” he said pointing at Gale. “Where’s the boy?”
“He’s gone” Gale quivered, looking back toward the woods. “It came and then it just happened.”
“What came? What happened?”
“That thing!”
“That’s preposterous” Bret interrupted. “Clearly he abandoned him; he’s a defector and he’ll be tried for it. Now let’s just get him back to town.”
“Not so fast” Bram halted them with his palm. He took a map from his pocket and tapped the page with his finger. “Where’d you intercept him?” Cormac tapped one of the grids, then drew his hand back and looked at Bret who nodded. “Peculiar. There’s no game in that area. Must have been a stray that caught the boy. Let’s recover the boy.”
“We should take him to the constable first.” Bret began to walk on when Bram stepped in front of him.
“And have the remains picked to bits? No body, no crime. The mayor would want his body back by nightfall. Now turn around and get.” Bret locked his eyes with Bram and shouldered him as he passed. Gale sulked in Cormac’s shadow as Bram waved them to follow.
“I didn’t do a thing” Gale said.
“That’s for the constable to determine” Cormac pushed him. Bram topped the train, put his fingers into his mouth and whistled, calling his friend on the escort. The two hunters groveled as Bram and his friend Clavell marched them back into the woods with Gale. Gale dragged his feet, like a lame beggar, and mumbled and slapped his face with cries of despair.
“You ran when that boy was killed. Did the sun fall over one of your shoulders? Or was it in your eyes?” Bram asked.
“I don’t know” Gale moaned.
“Think! The sooner we find the lad the sooner all this will end. We know where we found you, and if you can give us some idea of his whereabouts, we can piece together a trail and recover the kid before nightfall. Make this transition as seamless as possible and we might throw you a few chips.”
“I don’t recall” Gale mumbled. “I don’t want to go. Don’t take me back there. Please, sir. I am begging you.” Bram walked on with the indifference of a lyncher, when Gale fell to the wayside like a dead animal and wept. Bret prodded him with the butt of the rifle, ordering him to his feet, while Cormac took him by his shirt and hoisted him up, shoving him ahead.
Gale brought them to the boy’s body by twilight. Luis lay folded at the base of the tree, gray, curled like an overgrown grub, with a slick line of blood grown from his ear. Bram and Clavell knelt down and lifted the his body when Cormac fired a shot. Birds and wood chip sprung into the air like springs uncoiling, while the two dropped the body to the ground and drew the rifles off their shoulders.
“What was that?” Bram called out.
“I didn’t see a thing” Bret yelled as he looked down his sights and scanned the treeline. Sweat ran in his palm and his muscles grew tense till the trigger clicked and the end of the musket popped with a billow of smoke licking the air. Another shot rang out in succession, when Clavell called a cease fire. Gale slapped the floor and netted his fingers across the back of his neck.
“There!” Clavell called as a roar broke from the tree line. The ground trembled as the creature tore through the woods. Gunshots cracked across the woodland as the animal screamed and hit the ground with a massive slam. Gale raised his head and saw a black bear putter through the leaves. Blood poured from its side and its nostrils flared something disharmonious, like the mouth of chicks squawking to be fed. Its breath fell out of rhythm and ribs slackened until its head dropped and eyes disengaged into a death fixed stare.
“Everyone alright?” Bram asked and the men sounded off. The hunters squatted beside the bear, lifting its paws, rolling its snout over to look at the size of its jaws and head, talking about stew, tugging at the fur and speaking of the value of a pellet or upholstering for their wives.
Gale looked from the bear to the boy stretched out across the path. Something about all this was obscure, the boy, the cavalry of men, even the bear lying dead in the center of its slayers. He cleared the greenery and sat on a patch of moist dirt, folded his hands over his eyes, and fell his face into his lap.
A roar ruptured from the black forest and the muskets clattered. The men collided, trying to hop to their feet from their huddle, engraving one another with scornful words. The first gunshot burst drummed out to the sound of flapping wings and men crying. Gale raised his eyes. Bram knelt beside an old rotted stump, packing his rifle, when it misfired and bit off the crown of his skull. Blood rose out like a crimson snake as he fell off to the side, spasming till the fount turned from a pulse to a trickle.
The beast rushed Cormac and collapsed him, dragging him by the arm, slamming his head against the tree, and beat into his ribcage till his lips collapsed for breath. Pellets whistled across the forest as the two hunters fired their rounds and ran behind the trees to reload. Gale sat in a daze as the beast circled around him, killing the men.
The beast tore through the laces of smoke, howling as the gunfire cried out. Branches snapped and shattered into chips as bullets soared through them into the skies and disappeared in the vault. He closed his eyes, readying his death, and sighed a breath of relief as the men fell into silence. Peace filled the void as he opened his eyes. The men slept around him, resting in the shade of olive trees. Gale felt the gates to his soul shut with his eyelids as breath stirred on the back of his neck.
~ 41
“Imbecile!” Sir James shouted, cracking the vanity mirror with a goblet of wine. He stomped around, kicking the rugs, and slapped the lampshades to the ground. Fierro remained against the wall with his hands holstered in his armpits. He watched Sir James pace, muttering a strategy to pacify the mayor of the bad news. The councilman turned back to Fierro with a cocked finger, then dropped it again. Fierro took a deep breath.
“What do you want me to do?” Fierro asked as he leaned off the wall and went to the window. “Me being there doesn’t mean this wouldn’t have happened. The only thing that it certainly means is that it wouldn’t have happened to Gale or those hunters. War taught me that a gun will go off no matter who is standing in front it. It’s not about who was shot, or why. It’s only about who was in front when it happened, because it was always going to happen.”
“Quiet!” Sir James hissed. He clawed the backrest of the couch, bowing like the condemned placing his head over a chopping block. “The mayor won’t forgive this. That boy was his protégé. How will we reconcile this? We can’t.”
“Give him his vengeance.”
“Are you mad?” Sir James pulled away from the couch and squared himself with the captain. “We will hang. You. Me. Everyone he thinks is involved. We will be strung up like a chandelier of corpses before the
day’s end.”
“Listen to me.” Fierro sat the councilman on the chair and walked over to the plaque overhanging the mantle. “He wants blood. So let’s give it to him. He has spent a night mourning his loss. I assure you, there is a token of hatred that will not be squelched until there is justice. But let us dictate what that justice is. We need to imitate zeal; his loss is our loss, his plea our plea, but his thoughts our plans. This thing, not person, is responsible, and it will have a bounty placed on its head to be hunted, killed, skinned, gutted, its head mounted on the wall and the body burned. Emotions create theatrics. Use it.
“Don’t wash. Wear dirty linen. Show that you are grieving, and nothing will console you, or the people, until the entity responsible for this is executed. The mayor is like a mirror; everything you have he will make his own. You know as well as I that his title is an imitation of offices he finds inspiring. So inspire him.”
“What if he rejects it?”
“Then manipulate him. Tell him you sent Gale as an aid, because you prize the boy with your best, and equate losing someone dear to him to losing someone dear to you. He won’t care whether the story we feed him is sewn from truth or stolen from a pasture of lies. He just needs something to prove he has sought requital.”
“And if it fails?” Sir James Walden eyes grew sharp like a serpents. “Who falls? You were supposed to take the boy, after all. What shame has there been that you neglected your duties and now the young Luis is gone. There will be no margin for grace, no tolerance. Whatever would fall upon you would be swift and irrevocable.”
“That may be so.” Fierro stepped face to face with Sir James. “But the arm of justice is just as reaching as stupidity. Remember, as a captain, if the ship goes down I will go with it; but so will the men under me. Remember your disposition, too, you salty bastard. We are on the same vessel.”
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