From Blood and Magic

by Dave Skinner

  Brayson finished brushing one side of the horse and started on the other. As he ran his hand down the front leg, the animal stiffened and snorted. A feeling of pain came to Brayson.

  “What is it, girl?” he said softly as he dropped to his knees. He placed the brush on the ground and slid both hands slowly down the same leg. The horse snorted again as his hands reached just above the knee joint. Brayson closed his eyes. Waves of illness and a hint of odour came to him. He lowered his head and looked closely at the back of the leg where his hand was. He saw nothing obvious, but as he moved his hand along, he became aware of something under the skin. A bump.

  “Is something wrong?” Len asked.

  “There is something under the skin at the back of this leg.”

  Len came over and Brayson helped him down to the ground. Brayson stroked the horse’s leg while Len felt around. When he pushed on the bump, the horse snorted and tried to move the leg away.

  “There is definitely something under the skin that hurts her,” Len agreed. “Let me get a few things and we will see what it is.”

  Brayson helped him up and waited while he hobbled away. He was back soon with a roll of leather tied with a strip of rawhide.

  “My carving tools for fine work,” he announced as he unrolled it. Inside, it contained a number of blades of various sizes and shapes. He selected one and slipped the rough end into a wooden handle that was part of the kit. “If you will hold her steady, I will see what I can find. Bet is fetching an ointment and a clean piece of cloth.”

  Brayson helped him back down onto the ground and then stood and spoke softly to the horse. He projected a feeling of peace and well-being as he held her head and stroked her neck. He had never tried this before, but it seemed like the right thing to do. He heard Len grunt.

  “Well, will you look at that,” Len proclaimed. He held up a bloody sliver of something in his fingertips. “A piece of wood buried under the skin.”

  Bet arrived with water, ointment and cloth. Brayson continued to soothe the horse until they had finished their ministrations. Bet helped Len to his feet.

  “Let us hope that was the little piece of ornery she felt,” Bet said.

  “I think it is,” Brayson agreed. “She is much happier now. Her name is Winny, by the way.”

  They changed Winny’s bandage for the next three days as they travelled north. Her disposition was much improved; she stepped out lively and seemed to enjoy travelling as much as Brayson did. Nails came out of his depression about the same time Winny’s bandage came off.

  “I like these people,” Nails told him one day. “West is especially nice.”

  “I noticed you two were getting along.”

  “He’s been telling me about the Travellers” Nails said. “Did you know many of them entertain as well as trade? Bet is a puppeteer. He says she will do a show when they find an audience. I want to see it.”

  “I noticed the marionette hanging in the wagon. I thought it was something Len made and sold.”

  “West says there is a whole case of them in a compartment underneath.”

  The next day, they started seeing farms beside the road. If the farm was isolated, Bet drove the wagon up to the door. When there were a number of farms together, they would pull off the road, and Len would ring a large bell. Farmers would arrive, in most cases with their families, to look over Len’s wears. He made many household items like plates, bowls and spoons, both large and small. Sometimes they spent the night and Bet put on a puppeteering show. Nails watched every one of the shows. There was pure joy on his face every time. Brayson paid more attention to the bartering and the interactions with the customers. Len and Bet were pleasant to talk with, and they always expressed interest in what was happening on the farms and in the communities. Brayson noticed that they shared news they had picked up along the way. When they passed other Travellers going in the opposite direction, news was shared between them. Travellers were well informed about the world they passed through.

  There was a large encampment on the outskirts of Esterfolk when they arrived. It was just after midday, but they stopped with the other Travellers while Brayson and Nails went into town to see about a boat. There were several possibilities, but they finally chose one and Brayson used his acquired bartering skills to secure a good price. They left the boat with the seller to be picked up the next day and started back to the Travellers’ encampment.

  “I want to buy something sweet like a pie to share with West and his family tonight,” Nails told Brayson. “I noticed a baker on the way in. Let’s stop there.”

  They picked up a peach pie which Nails carried with great care as they headed back. They had travelled only a short distance when Brayson noticed the three armed men behind them.

  “There are three men following us with their hands on their swords,” he told Nails.

  “My hands are full. Can you handle them if they start trouble?”

  “Probably, but one might get past me,” Brayson said. “You should be ready.”

  “I am,” Nails said. Brayson looked at his friend and saw the scales on his exposed skin.

  They stopped walking and turned around. The men continued forward until they surrounded Nails and Brayson, two stopping in front while the other moved past them. Nails turned to keep his eye on the man.

  “Strangers have to pay a tariff to enter Esterfolk,” one of the men announced. The two facing Brayson pulled their weapons.

  “How much?” Brayson asked.

  “All your money,” was the response.

  “That is a problem,” Brayson said. “I might have paid enough for six ales but asking for all our money is stupid.” He could see that these men were not professional thieves or killers. They were in need of a bath, and their weapons were pitted and rusted. Whenever the speaker talked, Brayson smelt stale ale on top of the man’s body odour.

  “Six gold coins,” the man said.

  Brayson reached into his pouch and pulled a coin out. He held it in the palm of his hand.

  “One coin is the best I can do.”

  The man’s eyes went from the coin to Brayson and back to the coin. Indecision was on his face as his greed struggled with his thirst. Brayson could tell his thirst won, but before he could say anything, the second man spoke.

  “Not enough.”

  “Are you sure?” Brayson asked as he flipped the coin into the air and let it land back in his hand. Both sets of eyes followed its movement. “It is good gold. Check it.” He flipped the coin towards the men, aiming for the space between them. Both reached for it. Brayson’s sword slipped free as he stepped forward just enough to allow his sword tip to slash across both outstretched hands. The men wailed as various fingers and one thumb fell to the ground along with the coin, and they dropped to their knees clutching their bleeding hands. Brayson turned to Nails.

  “Time to go, I think.” Nails took a quick look at the men.

  “Is that your coin on the ground?” he asked.

  “Yes. They can keep it.”

  The man who had been facing Nails stepped to the side and sheathed his sword. With a clear path past Brayson and Nails, he darted forward, scooped up the coin and ran while the two injured men struggled to their feet and staggered after him, screaming, “Stop!”

  Chapter 25

  They said goodbye to Len, Bet and West the following morning. Brayson said goodbye to Winny also, and the horse nuzzled him to say thank you. They followed the road to town and bought supplies at a farmer’s market at the centre square before heading to the harbour. Their little boat was all ready and waiting for them. Nails rowed out into the lake and then hoisted the small sail while Brayson worked the tiller. They caught a good wind and reached the end of the lake in time for a midday meal.

  Ahead of them, a small, slow-moving stream, just large enough for their boat, flowed out from the lake. Grasses as tall as Brayson grew beside it. They finished their meal, dropped the sail and mas
t and pulled the rudder. Brayson stood in the back of their boat and used one oar to point them into the stream and then push them along. Nails used the other oar to keep them away from trees and branches that hung over the water. The stream was faster than it looked, although at some points it spread wider and became more of a marsh.

  “Lots of nippers,” Brayson said as he swatted a bug from his neck. “Hold the boat steady for a moment while I put my cloak and gloves on.” He noticed that Nails had his scales out.

  With his cloak on and his hood up, he grabbed his oar again and pushed them forward. Along with the insects, the marsh was alive with life. Fish broke the surface of the stream to gobble water skaters. The air was full of sounds as frogs joined the chorus of trills, buzzes, quavers and warbles. Birds swooped through the air, snatching insects in flight. Snakes and turtles rested on branches in and above the water. They passed a moose, knees deep in the stream, eating green shoots. It raised its head and watched them pass. Farther on, a large cat with a tawny-coloured coat lay stretched along a tree branch, and above it, a massive black snake slithered into a position that would allow it to drop on the unsuspecting prey. Nails pushed an overhanging branch out of the way and was rewarded with a copper-coloured snake dropping into the boat. It struck at Nails, but his scales saved him, as he grabbed it and tossed it overboard.

  “Try to stay out from under low hanging trees,” he advised.

  “I was trying to miss that spider web,” Brayson said, pointing. “Its owner was as large as your head.”

  The change from fast-moving stream to slow-moving marsh happened three more times before Brayson heard an almost undetectable cry for help.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked.

  “It sounded like someone said, ‘help me’, but I can’t see anyone. Whoever it is must be far away.”

  “There it is again,” Brayson said. He looked around. They were headed towards one of the webs that contained the head-sized spiders, and Brayson used his oar to back paddle. The bow of the boat swung away, just as he heard the sound again. It was definitely a cry for help. Brayson noticed that the spider he had maneuvered to miss was moving towards something caught in its web.

  “There is a sylph caught in there,” Brayson said. He twisted his paddle enough to move the boat closer to the web. “Can you grab the spider, Nails?”

  Nails’ arm snapped out. His hand closed on the spider, and he ripped it from the web and tossed it at a tree on the far side of the stream. Brayson dropped his oar into their boat, grabbed his knife and slashed it across the web, grabbing the sylph with his other hand as it fell away. Two more quick slashes of his knife and the little faerie was free of the web. Unfortunately, she was now stuck to his glove. Nails used his oar to push the boat into an island of grasses and held it there as Brayson eased his glove off and placed it on the central bench.

  “I will get you free, little one,” he said, “as soon as I figure out how.”

  The sylph was about twice as big as the distance from his longest fingertip to his wrist, and her wings, which were stuck to the strands of web in a spread position, were about the same in width. She wore a short skirt and a flimsy blouse, and hair the colour of South Lake water graced her head in small ringlets. She smiled at him.

  “Thank you both for saving me,” she said in a voice as small as her size. “I am in your debt.”

  Nails knelt in the bottom of the boat to help.

  “How do we get the rest of the web off her?”

  “I have no idea,” Brayson admitted.

  “The strands holding my legs, arms and wings are the ones that you must deal with,” the sylph told them. “My clothes are nothing to worry about. I can slip out of them once the rest of me is free. The webbing will burn, but do not put fire close to my wings, please.”

  A large hawk swooped between Nails and Brayson and made a grab at her, but Brayson’s hand shot up and knocked it away.

  “This is a bad place to work,” he said. “We must find someplace better.”

  Brayson pulled his pack closer and searched through it until he found his leather jerkin. He drove his knife into the bench beside the sylph and draped the jerkin over it like a tent. Then he placed his waterskin on one side to hold an edge. Nails followed his lead on the other side.

  “That should keep you safe until we find a good place to build a fire,” he told her. “Keep your eyes open for other birds, Nails.”

  Nails pushed them out of the grasses and Brayson maneuvered them down the marsh. A short time later, it gave way to an identifiable stream again and they found an island of dry ground. They pulled the boat up onto the island, and Nails built a fire while Brayson rigged the sail over the boat for protection. He removed his jerkin tent from over the sylph and pulled his knife. Nails arrived a few moments later with a short piece of burning branch and shoved the unlit end into the ground. They went to work on the webbing, starting with the strands on her legs. Brayson placed the blade of his knife down on the strand as close to the leg as possible, and Nails used the lit end of the branch to burn it away. They repeated the steps on the other side and then again on the strands that held her wings after they had dowsed them with water. They even managed to burn away the strands connected to her hair without singeing it, although Brayson was sure they would end up having to cut some hair to free it completely.

  “We are going to stand you up now,” Brayson told her. “Then we will free you from the glove. Your legs will lose some skin, but I think pulling them free is the only option.”

  “What about my wings?” the sylph asked.

  “Once your hair is free, we will pry my glove away from your wings a little at a time and cut it loose with a heated knife. Then we will only have the legs left. I can’t think of a better solution.”

  “I agree. It sounds like the only thing to do. Go ahead.”

  “Nails, will you go and heat your knife in the fire?”

  “Will do.” He got up and left the makeshift tent, returning after some time, holding the glowing blade carefully.

  Brayson lifted his glove and the sylph, bunched the extra glove material behind her and stood her on her feet. Starting at the top, he pulled the glove back. Nails placed his hand on the ground in front of her, so she had something to brace herself with. Using his small shaving knife, the sharpest blade he had, Brayson sawed through her hair. Then, he placed his knife against her wing and pulled at his glove until the web strand was visible. Nails touched his hot blade to it and it disintegrated in a flash, singeing a few feathers on her wings as it went.

  “I smell feathers burning,” the sylph cried.

  “When the web burns it singes them,” Brayson said. He could see anxiety written all over her face “Should we try something else?”

  “No. You can go ahead, as long as you agree to carry me around until they grow back.”

  Brayson sat back on his heels to consider that.

  “We are travelling south to Delta,” he said. “You are welcome to come with us if you like?”

  “That is fine with me,” the little sylph told him. “I hear the marshes around Delta and Marshtown are spectacular.”

  They continued to carefully free the wings. Nails had to reheat his knife two times before they were finished. The glove was only attached to her legs now.

  “There is one strand left on the back of your legs,” Nails told her. “Burning won’t work. It will have to be ripped off.”

  “I am surprised there can be so little subtlety in such a big man,” she said. “Just let me know when...yeow! That hurt.”

  “Thinking and talking about it wasn’t going to lessen the pain,” Nails said. “Your blouse and skirt are still attached to the web.”

  “I can feel that,” the sylph said as she pulled a tiny knife from a sheath at her waist. With two quick slashes, she cut her clothes away and stepped forward. She fluttered her wings and then beat them a few times, she rose a few inches from the ground,
but her short flight was anything but graceful. “Full, proper flying will be curtailed for a few moons, but at least I am free and not a spider’s meal. Thank you both for your help.” She bowed to them. “My name is Flitter, by the way.”

  “Well I didn’t think your name was Bashful,” Nails said.

  Brayson looked at his friend and saw that he was as red in the face as he felt.

  “Does my nakedness disturb you?” Flitter asked as she looked at both of their faces.

  “Well...you are a woman,” Nails said. “I have seen naked women before. It didn’t bother me then, but it seems to now. Perhaps it is because you are exceptionally attractive.”

  “Well thank you, young man,” she said. “My home is in a tree not far down the stream from here. If we can stop there, I can gather my clothes and other things, and we can be on our way to Delta. It would be best to be out of this marsh before darkness falls.”

  They got the boat back into the stream and arrived at the sylph’s home in little time. Flitter’s tree was on another section of solid ground beside the stream. To get her up high enough to reach her house—a hole in the tree trunk—she stood on Brayson’s shoulder as he stood on Nails’ shoulders, and then she climbed up his outstretched arm. She emerged sometime later dressed in a silky top, a short leather skirt, silky leggings that covered her feet, and carrying a pack. A tiny sword hung from her waist.

  Once they were back in the boat and floating downstream again, Flitter started to sing. She had a sweet voice, and Brayson found it relaxing to listen to her. Suddenly she stopped.

  “How do big-people address each other?” she asked.

  Brayson could not understand what she was asking, but before he could say anything Nails spoke.

  “We talk to each other like everybody else does,” he said.