by Jeffrey Hall
“It’s good thing I’m not going there now, then.”
“Oh?” said the Far-hand.
“Moso seems to have gotten lost. I plan on finding him.”
The Far-hand laughed and threw her arm around the boy. “Small things like him are easy to lose. My only hope is he hasn’t fallen into a Leg Hole.”
“The Leg Holes at least have a bottom,” said Wish, and without another word he was hurrying down the stairs, back into the Fangmoran morning where the great fire rose like a tyrant stepping over piles of sanguine clouds, awashed in the blood of twilight. The juice of defeat.
The Lavender Light looked simple in the morning, slumbering in the blanket of shadow tucked over it by the Knotted Mountains. No light twinkled from its windows. A lone strand of smoke lazily passed through one of its chimneys as if it was a stray creature slowly trying to catch up with its pack. There was barely any sign of the revelry that no doubt pervaded it the night before save for the cloudy, reeking puddle beside its door. If it had been affected by the attack on the city, Wish could not see the place’s injuries. Its violet walls stood tall and unscathed. The door was still intact and functional, more than he could say for many of the buildings he had passed since reentering the city. Wish might have thought it nothing but another inn that dotted the Fangmoran streets if not for his history with the place. If not for his partner’s.
He put one hand to the door, and his other to the hilt of his machete. He took a deep breath and tried to prepare himself for what could awaited him on the other side.
He pictured Moso’s tail tacked the wall, or worse, but quickly shook his head to dismiss the thought. The monkey would deserve it if Wish found out he was the reason why Rive found the location of his family.
With his mind clear he pushed aside the door and was immediately hit with that familiar, awful stench. The one of stale beer, vomit, and blood. The one of burning spices used as a feeble attempt to mask the potent stench in the first place. The normally rambunctious place was quiet. The same Chassa Wish had seen keeping the body parts that Lavender tacked on his wall now swabbed the floor of the place, scrubbing to erase some dark stain that pooled in the middle of the floor. Beside him a dead cara cat swayed gently over one of the leg holes, its eyes gone, providing dark avenues into the red workings of its head. Two patrons still lingered beside the keg on the other end of the tavern, their arms thrown over one another as they sang some jumbled tune defiled by the alcohol and whatever else pervaded their blood. The Treeback bartender paid them little mind as he ran a cloth over the keg, humming the same tune his customers attempted to sing behind him.
When the door swung shut the four occupants raised their heads. The two patrons stopped their song. The Chassa and the Treeback let their rags hang at their sides. Immediately Wish felt their eyes tearing at him like nail-less claws attempting to pull him apart.
“An odd time to slake your thirst, friend,” called the Treeback. “Your first beer before the great fire even finishes stretching is the surest way to a foul day. Might be able to conjure up some tea if you’d like—”
“I’m here to see Lavender.”
The Treeback furrowed his brow. “Seems you’ve gotten your hours mixed. Lavender’s room isn’t open.”
“Then open it for me,” said Wish, boldly. It seemed the longer he was on this job, the shorter his patience had become. Especially when it came to his supposed partner.
The patrons chuckled. One of them raised his cup. “Did you hear that? A bold boy here to come making demands of Lavender.”
But the Treeback and the Chassa did not find as much amusement in Wish’s response.
“He’s not seeing guests right now,” repeated the Chassa, and when he spoke his voice was strangely low.
Wish eyed the door way to Lavender’s room from across the tavern. It was closed, but was it locked? “When will he be open again?”
The Treeback shook his head. “Not for many hours. The Gibbon needs sleep.”
“Then I’ll wait,” said Wish, stepping to one of the high tables that had been built between the beams that kept the place upright. He felt the Treeback and the Chassa relax.
“You’ll be waiting for a long time.” The Treeback turned his back and started washing the keg again. “How about you have some of that tea—”
Wish darted from his resting spot, avoiding the lunge of the Chassa as he sprinted towards Lavender’s door.
“Wait!” shouted the monkey, but Wish was already past him. He kicked the center of the door as hard as he could, letting the days of frustration fuel his strength. The door burst open, splintering the wooden lock that held it shut.
And there on the other side was Lavender, sitting upon the table he always conducted business behind, nude from the waist down, a thin, colorful snake wrapped around his chest and arms like some strange garment. But that was not what grabbed Wish’s intention.
It was the snake’s owner. A Pangolian woman in a red robe made of spider silk sitting upon the table next to Lavender, her legs crossed, her tail in her lap as she gingerly stroked the tail of her rainbow serpent.
It was the same woman that had approached Moso during their venture into the Striped Streets only days ago. The same one who, with the help of her snake, had taken the monkey’s ear.
“You!” shouted Lavender, the Gibbon’s throat bubble throbbing with fury.
Yet beside him the woman casually smiled and put out her hand as if to invite Wish in.
“Welcome, Wish. We’ve been expecting you.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
Also by Jeffrey Hall
The City of a Thousand Faces
The Nation of Madness
The Golden Sea and Other Tales from Chilongua
Lost Lore
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my friends and family for always understanding and for being my mountain. Special thanks to my cover artist for bringing Chilongua to life, Noah Frase, my editor, Tamara Blain from A Closer Look Editing, for uncovering a story beneath all the typos and misused words, Colleen Sheehan from Ampersand Book Interiors for making the typography pop, the Terrible Ten (times two and change these days) for their wisdom and feedback, and to the countless writers who have inspired me along the way. You rock.
Thank you to the forest, and the thousands of magazines, books, and articles that have led me to you over the years. Your unimaginable creativity is a muse beyond words, and for that reason alone you must be preserved.
And last but not least, a huge thanks to you, reader, my fellow creature, for entering Chilongua with me. You are the fulfiller of dreams!
Jeff
About the Author
Jeffrey currently lives in a suburb of Massachusetts with his wife and two young sons. He has been writing fiction since 3rd grade and doesn't plan on stopping anytime soon. When Jeff isn't exploring different worlds through the written word, doodling, or spending time with his family, you can find him playing basketball, reading, trying new restaurants, and thumbing away at a videogame or two.
Find out what's happening down the hallway and receive a free novella which originally inspired the world of Chilongua by signing up for his mailing list at www.hallwaytoelsewhere.com