tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44225230240706324742024-03-07T23:02:06.866-08:00JASHANDAR'S WAKE - BOOK ONE: THE HAPPENINGSAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-49733732911974714242012-07-17T14:10:00.003-07:002012-08-02T17:24:17.703-07:00BOOK DESCRIPTION<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.7pt;">In the Words of Good Living, the holy text by which Amian
disciples live their lives, Owndiah promises each of his followers a peace that
surpasseth all human understanding. And when Brine the disciple leaves his
homeland and travels to the desert monastery of Valley Rock to serve Owndiah
and to walk in the footsteps of Amontus, he thinks he will obtain this peace.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> He is wrong—<i>Dead</i>
wrong.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> It is only after
ten years of trying—and all but giving up on the ineffable goal—that God
decides to call. It happens as Brine is reading a mysterious letter from his
homeland, feeling the presence of God envelop him so sweetly, so <i>utterly</i>, that there is no other way to
interpret the sensation. Owndiah wants Brine to go home, wants him <i>back </i>in the Kingdom of Jashandar. Could
the peace that surpasseth all human understanding be <i>there?</i> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh the
woodsman—ardent recluse and current subject in the Kingdom of Jashandar—would
have to say yes. For even though Jaysh knows nothing about monasteries or
prophets or powerful feelings from his dreams, he knows a lot about peace. He
knows it comes from living in the hills and valleys of the kingdom and from
spending time with a scroungy, little cat-like creature named, Zeph. Or at
least he <i>used</i> to know this.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Here of late,
Jaysh’s life has been less than peaceful. Ever since the Kingdom of Jashandar
began to wake, tranquility is hard to come by. There are disfigured animals,
defiled rivers, that large and voiceless creature <i>peeking</i> at him from the bushes…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Jashandar is a
mess.</span></div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-54353324841317568912012-07-16T08:46:00.002-07:002012-07-16T08:50:05.079-07:00CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE<br />
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<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Brine
broke into a trot. “Hey! Hey, Jaysh! Wait up! Can I walk with you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> His brother craned his head back at him,
but his pace never slowed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Hey, thanks,” Brine said, offering a
smile as he drew beside him. “It’s just that I feel like we haven’t seen each
other in…,” he trailed off, partly to catch his breath and partly to do the math,
“…well, in eleven ages or so, I imagine. And when we finally do get together,
we have our meeting with father, then the burial, then <i>more </i>meetings.” <i>Then
your unexpected disappearance from the castle</i>, he thought, but did not say.
“And now it looks like we won’t see each other until after the missions. And
who knows how long they’ll take. Depending upon what we find in the Harriun,
Godfry thinks ours might take weeks.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Speaking to the woods on his right, Jaysh
said, “Tha’s what Iman said.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “See, that’s what I mean,” Brine agreed,
feeling this was going much better the second time around. “We need to talk.
Catch up on things.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Ah’right,” Jaysh said, eyeing a row of
noble firs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “All right,” Brine said, smiling broadly.
“We’re on the same page, then. That’s a good starting place—<i>great</i>,
actually…,” he trailed off, taking time to think. “So, um…so how’ve you been,
Jaysh? Have you been well? Well in His eyes, I mean?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh nodded. “Yeah,” he said, shrugging.
“I reckon that’s about right.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Good, good. Good. You, um….you look
well,” Brine said, studying the back of his brother’s head as his brother
studied the back of the royal gardens. “So are you excited about the missions?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Not really,” Jaysh said, spitting a
stream of saliva from the side of his mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine frowned. “Oh, uh…me…me either. I’m
actually a bit nervous about mine.” He lowered his head to the infamous
flagstone path, watching it veer out of the grass on his left and carry on
beneath him. “I know it’s silly,” he said. “I know we’ve been at peace with
Lathia for nine or tens ages and nothing has happened since then, but I just
have this feeling…,” he grimaced and checked Jaysh’s expression, but Jaysh
either hadn’t heard him or didn’t care. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Stepping onto one of the flagstones, Brine
said, “Godfry told me I was being paranoid. He said Counselor Sneel was certain
to hire the best and the brightest from his homeland and that we’d be in good
hands, but…but I’m not sure I trust Sneel.” He glanced again at his brother.
“Have you ever spoken to him?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh was tracking what appeared to be a
brown blur as it bounded out of the trees. “Huh-uh,” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yeah, see,” Brine said, making another
grimace. “I just think that’s kind of was odd, you know? Everyone else is so
warm and inviting, and yet no one introduces me to him—or to <i>us.</i> It’s
almost like the other counselors don’t want to talk to him, either. So he keeps
to the shadows and…,” the scene from the anteroom came flashing back to his
mind, that stooped head bent from the shoulders, those sleepy gray eyes
sweeping over the boards, “…he’s a bit quiet,” Brine said, not yet willing to
reveal his hallucination. “What do you think? I mean, from what you’ve seen of
him?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh seemed to emerge from the world of
trees looming on his right and said, “I cain’t rightly say.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh,” Brine said, lowering his shoulders.
He was disappointed—<i>oh, yes</i>—but not surprised, not after what he’d seen
on the night of their father’s passing, the way Serit and Mums prodded Jaysh
into the anteroom, the way Jaysh had stared at everyone as if they were death
incarnate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine said, “Well, I don’t trust him. I
don’t know why—I don’t have a good reason,” <i>besides the way he shifts across
a room without ever moving his feet</i>,<i> </i>“—but I don’t trust the man.
And it doesn’t help matters that he’s leading us into the <i>Harriun</i>.” He
shivered minutely. “Do you remember those awful lessons from elementary studies
about the sand and the boles and all the <i>things</i> that lived there?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh turned his head to check a piece of
woods behind them. “Member what now?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “The lessons,” Brine said, somewhat
curtly. “About the Harriun.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Lessons,” Jaysh said, speaking as though
he’d never heard the word. “I doan’ think so.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine jerked his head at his brother, just
managing to stop the shocked retort from forming on his lips. Jaysh had to be
funning with him—<i>had </i>to be. He was older than Brine by two ages and,
therefore, the lessons would have been fresher in his mind than little
brother’s. Not to mention <i>these</i> were the sort of stories that one did
not easily forgot. They were the sort of stories that made you lock your doors
at night and sleep with all the candles burning in the hall. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “You don’t remember?” Brine said again,
unable to believe. “You don’t remember Master Kurik telling us about the <i>Place
of Bad Trees?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh seemed to make a pensive face, but
Brine couldn’t tell if he were reflecting on their teacher’s name or simply
peering into the fir needles. But it had to be the latter, didn’t it? It just
wasn’t possible that he’d forgotten the man who oversaw the temple lessons,
coordinated visits from specialist in the field, and had the worst breath of
anyone in the world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As Brine recalled, the halitosis wasn’t so
bad if Kurik remained at the front of the temple and addressed the class as a
whole, but Owndiah forbid you raised your hand and ask a question. It would
have been better to excuse yourself to the privy and stick your nose in the
slop bucket than to allow Master Kurik to bend beside your pew and breathe his
smelly answers in your face. Not that Jaysh had asked a lot of questions during
their lessons, but even so, how could he have forgotten Master Kurik and the
place of bad trees? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>But he has</i>, Brine realized in
horror. <i>He has no idea what I’m talking about. It’s like the krysts all over
again.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “What about Reets’ stories?” Brine asked,
skipping to something more recent, something that stood out even more vividly
than elementary studies. “You remember the story about loggers, don’t you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Loggers?” Jaysh asked, speaking without
interest. “What’d they do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “They…they <i>died</i>,” Brine said,
staring nervously at the side of Jaysh’s head and wondering if his brother was <i>purposefully</i>
messing with him or if he really <i>had</i> gone insane during Brine’s leave of
absence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As much as Brine didn’t wish to lean
towards the latter, he was having trouble accepting that Jaysh would feign
ignorance over such a trivial topic. His brother might be doing it to have a
bit of fun with Brine—<b>relive the good old days, right Rugs?</b>—but Brine he
didn’t think that were the case. Since observing Jaysh as he entered the king’s
anteroom with Serit, Brine had the distinct impression that his brother was <i>incapable</i>
of feeling, which meant that humor wasn’t an option and that this wasn’t a
joke. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Tree fall on em?” Jaysh asked, lifting
his petting-hand and scratching at his beard.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “No,” Brine said, his voice a whisper. In
his head, he could see the bedtime scenario as clearly as he could see the leaf
bits hanging in Jaysh’s hair. He and his brother were lying on their
beds—blankets over heads and noses peeking out—and Reets was sitting at the
foot of Brine’s mattress and recounting one heart-stopping tale after another. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Fendly sent them to push back the boles,”
he said. “Sent them to cut back the Harriun and expand Arn’s Promise to the
north.” He paused for a moment, waited for the rest of the tale to come back to
Jaysh, and then sighed painfully as it became apparent this would not take
place. “They all disappeared,” he said at last, “somewhere in the boles.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Almost absently, Jaysh said, “Din’t come
out, huh.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “No,” Brine said, “they didn’t.” Then,
nearly choking on the spit he’d somehow forgotten to swallow, he said, “But
there were some that <i>did </i>come out. Or there were <i>stories</i> about
them.” He opened his mouth to speak the tales, then stopped. Did he really want
to do this a third time? Did he really want to hear how Jaysh had forgotten yet
another memorable event from their past? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>But I have to know</i>, he thought. <i>If
he’s truly suffered a head trauma and it’s affecting his judgment and ability
to rule, then someone needs to help him, right?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i><b>Or stop him</b>,
the fire voice chortled.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Or stop him</i>, Brine thought, unaware
that the belly-fire didn’t sound half as offensive as it had before. <i>If he’s
unstable, he’ll need stopped. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>“Reets used to tell us
about the trappers,” Brine said, watching closely his brother’s reaction.
“After so many ages, the legends lose their power, he’d tell us, and then some <i>blame
fool</i>,” he made quotations with his fingers to indicate Reets’ word choice,
“would decide the legends were false or that he was indestructible, and then
he’d venture into the boles for a look-see. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Most would vanish like the loggers of
old, but on occasion, there were those who escaped.” Brine paused to frown at
his brother’s blatant look of disregard, then said “The field hands would find
them, the men and women in the Promise. They’d find them crawling out of the
sands on their stomachs…naked as fish and…and caked with gore…” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh slowed his mastication, gave the
hint that he might speak, then did not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine shook his head in frustration. “You <i>honestly</i>
don’t remember those stories?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Glancing over at him, Jaysh said, “Nope.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “How can you—I thought you…I thought those
stories were the reason you and Iman <i>went</i> to the Harriun.” He was
nodding his head. “Yeah. I remember. It was right after Iman moved in with us.
He’d heard about a handful of Reets’ stories and decided he <i>had</i> to have
a look at the place. The advisers were against it—<i>forbade </i>it, actually.
But the two of you went anyway, snuck up there early one morning and had a look
around.” He shot a suspicious look at his brother, patches of red forming on
his cheeks. “At least that’s what you told<i> </i>me.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> No longer staring at the rear of the
garden, Jaysh wrinkled his nose and said, “Did I?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine leaned towards him. “<i>Yes! You
did!</i>” he said, unaware that his voice had risen to a shout. “Because right
after your <i>alleged visit</i>, you and Iman started scaring me off with
whatever-it-was you saw there. Instead of running away from me, you’d start
screaming for <i>me </i>to run, screaming that it had followed you home and was
hiding in the bushes, screaming until I went crying to the castle!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And they had, too. Even though the baffled
expression on Jaysh’s face had not changed and he gave no indication he
remembered, Brine sure did. The memories were fuzzier now, black and white,
colorless and frayed, but they were still easily accessible in his mind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He could see both boys looking up from
whatever game they’d been playing—pull-the-arms-off-bugs was a personal
favorite, as was make-mud-with-your-spit—he could see himself shuffling
tentatively towards them from the kitchens, and then they’d immediately look to
the nearest clot of foliage and the nightmare would begin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Sometime it was a copse of maples or a row
of evergreens, other times it could be a patch of sedge or a clump of firs, but
the result was always the same. Both boys would pretend to listen, at which
point Brine would stop dead in his tracks and stare horrified in the direction
of their attentive stares, and then Brine would hear them muttered about how
they could hear it, asking the other one if <i>they </i>could hear it, too. And
when the other said they could, both sets of mouths dropped open, both pairs of
eyes would bulge, and they’d start jumping up and down and making the worst
faces Brine had ever seen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>There it is, Brine! It’s in the bushes!
It’s in the bushes over there! You better run, Brine! You better run! It’s gona
get'cha, Brine—It’s Gona Get'cha! <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i> Once, in the throes of his passion, and in
order to add incentive to Brine’s pace, Jaysh had pitched a chunk of flagstone
at his brother heels—just to scare him, of course—and had ended up striking him
in the back of the head, knocking him unconscious and painting the lawn red
with his blood…but that had only happened the one time. For the most part, they
only screamed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And Brine had responded, bolting across
the grounds with all the speed and power his tiny legs could muster, face
twisted in anguish and eyes leaking tears. And if a row of decorative shrubs
got in his way or a bed of thorny roses or anything else for that mater, he
ploughed right through them, low-lying branches whipping his cheeks, briars
tearing his arms, trunks bludgeoning his toes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Sometimes he’d find Godfry or Mums and they’d
walk him back to the garden and give the boys a piece of their mind, but
usually they were busy with the business of the kingdom and Brine was forced to
bury his face in the apron of Miss Trueaxe, the head maid, and she only stood
there, waiting for him to release the sides of her dress and allow her to
continue with the chores. She didn’t give <i>care one</i> about him or Jaysh or
anything else that happened in the garden and, for the remainder of that day,
neither did Brother Brine. He’d retire to his room to read, or he’d find Godfry
in the library and read with him, and then, the next day, he’d forget his
trauma and try the garden once more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Directing his face to the bright blue of
the sky, Brine said, “What was it you called it? A soul-tease or a mole-sleaze
or something with an <i>ies</i> on the—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Skullries,” Jaysh said, appearing to
speak to the flagstone beneath his feet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Yes!</i>” Brine said, whipping towards
him and brandishing a finger. “<i>That’s</i> what it was. <i>That’s</i> what
you used to scream at me!” He looked down, mouthing the monster’s name like a
dirty word in the presence of his God, and felt his old fear pounding in his
chest. It was as if the beast’s name were a wicked incantation summoning demons
from the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">land</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Time Forgot</st1:placename></st1:place>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He felt the ground pounding at his feet,
saw the nearest gate looming in the distance, heard his own ragged breath
tearing at his ears. But most of all, he felt that old terror knocking on the
walls of his chest, that cold certainty that at any moment the skullries would
land upon his back and start tearing at his throat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Skullries,” he whispered; then thought, <i>If
I had a coin for every nightmare with that name booming in the background, or
for every time I woke up with that word forming on my lips, my brother’s hoarse
screams still echoing in— <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He spun towards Jaysh, indignation in his
eyes. “So you <i>do</i> remember.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh lifted his head and gave it a timid
shake. “I think Iman tol’ me,” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “So <i>he</i> remembers?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Maybe,” Jaysh said, turning to the wall
of foliage. “Maybe not.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine let his eyes dart to the side,
considering what his brother meant. Then, shooting his eyes back to Jaysh, he
said, “You think he made it up?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh shrugged as if he didn’t know. “He’s
like that.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Yes, he is</i>, Brine thought, looking
back down and watching the irregular plate-like stones veered off to the left.
His brother continued in a straight line and Brine followed beside him, still
unsure what was more upsetting: the fact he’d been lied to by these thugs or
the fact he had no idea what to expect in the Harriun?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i> <i>The latter</i>, he finally answered. <i>As
awful as it was to believe in a skullries and to believe I was marching to its
lair, at least I knew its name.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Now, with one eyewitness a mush-minded
hick who couldn’t seem to remember what he’d done the day before, and the other
a blithering narcissist who’d lie to his own mother for a few loose coins,
Brine didn’t know what to expect in the Land of the Bad Trees. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his
brother stop. He did the same, looking up and finding himself at the edge of
the garden’s east side, the place where the groundskeepers stored the unsightly
items needed for maintenance; A mound of flagstones heaped to one side, a
birdbath on the other—halfway through a new whitewashing—a sack of fertilizer
beyond that, horse apples from the smell of it. Beside the pile of irregular,
disc-like stones, a rake leaned against the shoulder-high wall, a scythe beside
that, a shovel on the ground. The handle of the shovel had been shattered to
splinters, the look of a handle that had met with a rock or root that simply
would not budge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh stepped over the shovel and propped
his foot on the pile of flagstones. As gently as he could, he shifted the
cat-thing so that his thigh supported her weight. He cocked his head back to
the trees. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>For someone who claims not to be
worried, </i>Brine thought, studying the intensity of Jaysh’s stooped brows and
steady gaze, <i>he sure acts worried. </i>Brine turned and joined in his brother’s
inexplicable search, hunting the motionless boughs to the north. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>“What’s back there?” he
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh turned his head and spat a stream of
hot, black fluid on the flagstones. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>You don’t say?</i> Brine thought
mockingly. Instead of having his question ignored a second time, he retrieved
his seeing lens from its pouch and had a look for himself, directing the circle
of glass at the wooded swath and taking in the details. Among them, he spied a
few anomalies—a touch of blue here, a glint of sun there, maybe something
moving through the undergrowth—but there was nothing so troubling as to offer
Jaysh distraction. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> Although, now that I think about it, </i>he
wondered, <i>was there anything blue and glittering back there in the trees
when we— <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Hello, there!” someone cried from behind
him. “I say, Sam’s Boy, is that you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine turned around, directing his monocle
at the caller and finding a daffodil-yellow gown and a long white beard
hobbling along the path. He smiled warmly at his old teachers, an involuntary
reaction even after all these ages, then turned back to face his brother. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Hey, I have to go,” he said, “but later,
after I meet the others, maybe we—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But when he’d turned around, his brother
was already gone. And in his place, there were only the flagstones. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> A heaping pile of thin, flat rocks.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">The further adventures
of Jaysh and Brine will continue in<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">JASHANDAR’S WAKE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">BOOK 2<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">UNCLEAN THINGS</span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-83824666407248088722012-07-16T08:45:00.003-07:002012-07-16T08:45:24.350-07:00CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">“Oh.
Right…,” Brine muttered, standing there with his mouth open as he watched his
brother backing away. Brine had meant to say more, had meant to tell his
brother that it was good talking with him, or that he looked forward to see him
again, or that he wished him well in His eyes. But as he searched the place in
his mind where he stored good intentions and pithy sayings, his attention was
drawn to a tiny blue flame instead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The flame wasn’t in his mind, and it
wasn’t in the garden either. The flame was in his belly, way down deep at his
core. And it was growing larger with every step his brother took, its heat
rising in Brine’s mind and setting his good intentions and pithy sayings
ablaze. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The disciple’s hands clenched into fists,
the one on the flute nearly shattering the hallow shaft. He’d left all the
people he’d loved and come all these leagues home—risking his life in the
Desert of the F’kari <i>and</i> the forest of the Shun—and now big brother
couldn’t even find it in his busy day of vine-chewing and cat-petting to give
him a few moments of conversation?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And yes, until Brine fulfilled his
spiritual purpose, he was going to be here anyway, regardless of how his
brother behaved, but it still irked him that Jaysh wouldn’t at least <i>try</i>
and make friendly; especially when the yawning gulf between them was <i>his</i>
fault—<i>all</i> his fault. <i>Jaysh </i>had done the picking. Jaysh had been
the bully. So why, then, wasn’t Jaysh the one making amends?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In answer to this, Brine thought about
what Iman had told him a few nights back, and about the way Jaysh held that
cat-thing pressed to his chest, and about the way Jaysh had moved onto the Hill
and started sleeping with the dead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Because something’s wrong with him</i>,
Brine thought, feeling the muscles in his arms as they relaxed. He thought
about Iman telling him that Jaysh had lapses in his memory, telling him that
Jaysh had forgotten about the two crystal statues that had shared the castle
with them as boys.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>With his temper in decay,
Brine watched his brother shrink a little further in the distance and tried to
remember what good Amians were to do with their anger. Because there was no
question that he was angry, even despite his brother’s obvious mental
deficiency. Brine was harboring <i>much</i> anger towards his brother, and that
was as much a sin against Owndiah as acting upon it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He opened his fists and relaxed his arms,
reflecting on his Wogol studies and trying to think on the life of Amontus and
what the great prophet would have done. <i>What was it he was always saying
about the misdeeds of others?</i> Brine wondered. <i>That you cannot control
them</i>, he thought, giving his head a nod.<i> That you can only control
yourself.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Inhaling until the soft place at the base
of his throat ached from the strain, he thought, <i>And what could I have done
to help ameliorate the animosity between me and my brother? </i>He exhaled
until the same soft place began to hurt. <i>I should have never left, </i>he
concluded.<i> If I’d really wanted to have a relationship with my brother, then
I should have stayed and patched things up. I didn’t have to leave to find
God’s purpose. I could have stayed and searched for it here. I could have
communed with Owndiah </i>and <i>built a relationship with Jaysh…Couldn’t I? <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>He was pretty sure the
answer to that question was <i>yes</i>, which would explain why he hurt so much
at the moment, the hurt softening his face and relaxing his muscles. Jaysh
might have been the aggressor then, but he wasn’t now. He was just broken down
and disturbed, and Brine had given up on him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i><b>What a crock</b>,
another voice said.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>Brine<i> </i>flinched and
drew the flute closer to his chest. It was the voice from earlier, the one
Brine had pushed away as it tried tormenting him with the imagery of the
kittens. In a way, it sounded like his own voice—the word choice, the tone—but
at the same time it sounded wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i><b>This is not your fault</b>,
the new voice said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine was still staring at the back of his
brother’s head, pupils still fixed on him as he fled across the garden, but he
was no longer <i>seeing</i> him. He was seeing, instead, the place at his core
where the blue flames flickered. <i>Because that’s where the voice is</i>, he
thought. <i>That’s why it sounds funny. It’s crackling with fire and roaring
like a furnace.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>Instead of disagreeing with
him, the fire-voice said, <b>Rugboy</b>, <b>you can twist this if you want, you
can lay down on the ground and let him wipe his feet on you, but you <i>aren’t</i>
the one to blame here. You aren’t the one who chased him with dead animals and
horse apples and it wasn’t you who left him bleeding on the ground in <i>this</i>
garden! That was him, Ruggy! <i>Him! </i>He did that! So yes, you left! You
packed your things and you headed south, but what were you supposed to do? <i>Stay?</i>
Let the monster get another ten ages of picking?</b><i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>No, </i>Brine thought, ashamed to hear
himself agree. <i>No, I supposed it had to happen. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i><b>You <i>supposed</i> it had
to happen? What’s wrong with you, Rugs? <i>Of course</i> it had to happen. The
man’s a monster. He’s a little quieter now, a little less aggressive, but he’s
still a monster. Or did I miss the part where he <i>atoned </i>for his crimes?
Did I, Rugs? Did I miss the part where he searched you out on that first night
back and gave you a big teary-eyed hug, sobbing like a baby and begging your
forgiveness? Did I miss that?<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>Brine stood with his mouth
open, not trusting himself to answer. Not trusting himself because those were <i>his</i>
words. Those were the things he liked to tell the villagers living in and
around the Rock when they came seeking a mediation with a spouse or neighbor,
the line of reasoning he used to show that a spouse or neighbor wasn’t truly
sorry until they proved their remorse with a change in behavior.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <b>Cause talk is cheap, ain’t that right,
Rugs? <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>I…I don’t know about that</i>, Brine
answered, finding it very hard to argue with something that knew him inside and
out.<i> Jaysh just needs a little space. And I can appreciate that. Back when I
left, I needed several </i>leagues<i> of space, a whole desert full of space.
But that doesn’t mean he won’t come around, and it doesn’t mean we can’t repair
what was damaged.</i> <i>We’ll have to sit down and talk a good deal, and we’ll
need to take a few trips into the woods. He </i>likes <i>the woods. And I’ll
probably have to take an interest in his other hobbies, but I don’t see why it
wouldn’t work.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i><b>So, it’s time and forgiveness,
then?</b><i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>Brine thought about this
even longer, almost certain he was being set up for the fall, but unable to see
how. At long last, he said, <i>Whether you like it or not,</i> <i>it is scribed
in the Wogol by the prophet Amontus, and </i>dictated<i> by the one true God,
that time and forgiveness are the healers of all wounds. </i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The fire-voice paused, cleared is burning
throat with a crackling cough, and said, <b>What time, Ruggy? What time are you
talking about? <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><b> </b> If Brine didn’t feel like he were being set
up before, he certainly did now. Thinking hard about his answer, he said, <i>I’m
talking about time in general. Regular time, I suppose. What nonsense are you
talking about? <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i><b>Me, </b>the
fire-voice said, <b>I’m talking about all the time <i>you don’t have</i>, Rugs.
I’m talking about how this is more than Jaysh throwing your favorite books in
the fireplace when you were a kid and no one doing anything about it. This is
more than Jaysh knocking you cold with a chunk of flagstone and leaving you to
bleed to death in the garden. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> If I’m not mistaken, this is about the
powerful feeling from your dream and about the spiritual purpose from your God,
about the two of you resolving your petty differences so that when the time
comes to rebuild temples, you aren’t squaring off in the corner. Or is that
what you want to happen? After all these ages of waiting, you want to miss your
purpose because Brother Weirdo needs time to <i>warm up</i> to you? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine didn’t even bother to respond. He
was too busy watching as, in his mind’s eye, he and his brother suffered
through one awkward council meeting after another, Brine raising an issue and
his brother getting up in the middle of his sentence and going to the window,
Brine discussing the finer points of his argument and his brother staring at
the city and stroking his hideous pet.
<i> </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The fire-voice, curt and heartless though
it might be, was ultimately correct. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-59020917128682492192012-07-16T08:44:00.002-07:002012-07-16T08:44:23.782-07:00CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">“Good
morning, Godfry,” Brine said, turning to the shadow and raising a hand to his
eyes. “I didn’t expect to see you until—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine started. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In the east, the mid-morning sun was
peaking over the gray stones of the castle and turning the newcomer into a
featureless silhouette. But even without the details of color and texture—or
the use of his trusty monocle which was lying in his lap—Brine could see it
wasn’t Godfry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He could see the split in the man’s
trousers where Godfry’s robes should be and he could see the absence of a beard
where one should have been spilling down the man’s belly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh, I’m—I’m sorry,” Brine said, still
squinting unflatteringly, “I thought you were—”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Can yeh keep <i>playin?</i>” the
silhouette asked, somewhat urgently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I, uh…sure,” Brine said, raising the
flute to his face and noticing, with some alarm, that the man was jerking
spastically. “What should I pl—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Jus <i>play—play somethin!</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine did, but not before rolling to his
feet and taking several steps back from the man whose silhouette was now
jerking about like an enraged epileptic; head rocking, arms jumping, legs
dancing in place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine hadn’t noticed this before—not in
his temporary state of confusion—but now it was all he could see. The man had
either gone barking mad or he was being attacked by a swarm of killer bees. In
either event, Brine was starting to think a trip to the nearest guard might be
in order. The jittery stranger might be a harmless fan of music who’d heard his
favorite song and wandered over for a better listen, or he might be a raving
lunatic who’d decided to live out his dream of cutting up a flutist while they
played <i>Marching up to Glory</i>. Since Brine didn’t know which scenario was
true, he decided to compromise…playing the tune <i>while</i> retreating to the
kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> His music played, his feet backpedaled,
and the activity levels of the shadowy stranger slowly approached inertia.
Brine took a few more steps back—just-in-case steps, he told himself—but they
proved entirely unnecessary. The longer Brine played, the calmer the stranger
became. It was almost as if he were a wild beast from depths of the Harriun and
the ghostly tones were soothing his savage nature. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The man’s head stopped jerking, his arms
grew calm, and although Brine wouldn’t have believed it had he not seen it with
his own eyes, the man appeared to be settling into a gentle bobbing motion that
reminded Brine of a slow dance between two lovers…<i>And wasn’t there something
oddly familiar about that dance?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He thought that there was, and with the
sun now on his right side and the man’s details slowly gaining in clarity, he
saw several other features he thought familiar as well, like the coppery tint
of the man’s beard, the matted locks of his hair, the grassy stains on his
breeches.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine stopped playing and lowered the
flute. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Jaysh?” he asked, not needing his brother
to confirm with his mouth what he had already confirmed with his eyes. And it
was a good thing he didn’t require such confirmation, because his brother
couldn’t have answered even if he tried, not with the thing in his arms
thrashing about like a fish and threatening to break his grasp. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine took a step back, both eyes bulging
at the cat-sized monster that had previously blended with his brother’s backlit
form, now attacking Jaysh with savage fury. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Can yeh—!</i>” Jaysh yelped, unable to
finish his sentence as he wrestled with the beast. He didn’t need to say more.
Brine understood exactly what he wanted and quickly began to play, watching as
the flailing cat-thing slowly went slack. Needless to say, Brine continued with
the song well after the beast had placed its head in the crook of Jaysh’s elbow
and closed its citrine eyes. And even then, he stood studying her for a very
long time before directing his attention to his brother. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Is she <i>okay?</i>” he whispered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh shook his head. “Dunno,” he said,
staring down at her. “She doan’ use’ly want nothin to do with people.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Shifting his look of concern from pet to
brother, Brine said, “What do you think she <i>wanted?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> His brother thought about this, then shook
his head again. “I doan’ think she’d hurt yeh,” he said, his eyes focused on
the animal in his arms and not on the cuts on his forearm or the tears on his
sleeve. “We was jus walkin along, like always, an’ she jus went mad, clawin an’
bitin, tryin to get out’a my arms. She did once’t—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine stiffened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “—but I caught up with her an’ drew her
back.” Jaysh looked back the direction he’d come. “Funny thing was, after we
come over the hill, an’ she could see yeh over here playin, she calmed right
down. Jus lay there in my arms like nothin happened. Weren’t ‘til yeh quit
playin that she went mad.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Pretending to adjust the position of his
sandals, Brine took another step back. He’d seen the animal the night his
father passed away, but he had not seen it well. The chamber had been dark and
the pet-thing had remained coiled in Jaysh’s arms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Now, however, seeing her in the light of
day—and in full flail, no less—he’d gained a new respect for this…well,
whatever it was. With shredded skin for ears and a nub for a tail, he’d found
the thing to resemble no classification of animal with which he was familiar. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Still trying to place the beast, he
half-suspected some evil wizard had pieced her together, a theory that only
blossomed in his mind the longer he surveyed the scars on her body. <i>Is it
worth it?</i> he asked himself<i>. Is bonding with the man who made your life
miserable as a child worth tolerating this horrible-looking
animal—Horrible-looking </i>and <i>dangerous? </i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine thought about that for a long time.
The previous night, as he excused himself from the anteroom and retired to his
chamber, he’d mentioned something to Jaysh about catching up on the past and
trying to repair the ten ages they had spent apart. At the time, with the grief
of his father’s passing fresh in his heart and the decision to stay as adviser
fresh in his mind, it had seemed like the right thing to do. Clearly, his God
had a purpose for him in this land and, based upon what he’d seen so far, that
purpose likely involved the revitalization of the temples, an act which would
prove infinitely more simplistic with the assistance of the ruling magistrate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> His holy purpose aside, though, wasn’t
forgiving others an Amian’s responsibility? Was it not written in the Wogol
that he should love his enemies and chase after those who forsook him? Knowing
full well that it was, Brine forced a smile and said, “So what’s her name?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Zeph,” Jaysh said. “I calls her
Zeph.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Zeph, huh.” Brine felt out the name for a
moment, tracking down the connections it made in his mind. “Is that short for
Zephyr,” he asked, watching as Jaysh only frowned. “Like the light breeze?” he
added. “Here and then gone?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh glanced to the west and wrinkled his
brows. “Doan’ think so,” he said. “Fer as I know, it jus means Zeph.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Okay. Zeph it is,” Brine said, returning
his attention to the beast and feeling his smile start to slip. He was running
out of things to say and he knew it. He pointed at the lines of scar tissue on
her back. “So did Zeph have an accident or something?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh leaned forward and gave the marks a
look. “I reckon she did,” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine waited for an elaboration, but when
none came, he said, “What do you…um…reckon it was?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Doan’ know,” Jaysh said. “She jus come
like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Sill scrutinizing the rippling lines,
Brine said, “And <i>where’d</i> she come from?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Found her down round—<i>I wouldn’t touch
her!</i>” Jaysh said. Brine jerked back the hand he’d been extending towards
the creature. “She doan’ like bein’ woke up,” Jaysh said, “or touched.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh, I—I see,” Brine said, sounding
reluctant and a little afraid. He studied the thin lines of the creature’s
eyelids and wondered how close he’d just come to loosing one of his fingers. He
wrapped the hand around the flute and lifted his eyes to Jaysh, watching as his
brother assessed his cargo a little longer—a just-in-case stare, Brine thought—and
then lifted his eyes as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The brothers stared at each other. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Behind them, an old door—or possibly a
gate—squealed on its hinges; Someone in the castle going about their daily
business. But in the greenery of the garden, the Brothers Denbauk continued to
stare, staring until the act became something that might get one’s ears boxed
in the right kind of tavern. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I best get,” Jaysh said, glancing at
Zeph. “She sleeps better when I walk.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Does she,” Brine said, aware that he’d
omitted the inflection and his statement sounded like an accusation. In order
to recover, he offered a weak nod and said, “I suppose she would.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yep,” Jaysh said, and walked back into
the garden. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>So much for reliving the good times</i>,
Brine thought. But even as he thought the words—even as he watched his brother
easing deeper into the unkempt grounds—he couldn’t claim to be <i>entirely</i>
disappointed. And it wasn’t that he didn’t <i>want</i> to talk to his brother.
It had more to do with the fact that they simply had nothing in common and
nothing more— <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Iman! The Missions!<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>“Oh, hey! Jaysh! Jaysh, I
forgot.” Brine sprinted after him. “Have you seen Iman?” he asked. At the sound
of their childhood friend’s name, Jaysh flashed him a guarded look and Brine raised
a placating hand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh, you’re fine. He’s not mad,” Brine
said. “You just might let him know you’re back. He’s been looking for you.
We’ve <i>all</i> been looking for you actually. I mean—” he winced at the
implications of that last statement and studied his brother, looking for signs
of injury or irritation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Fortunately, though, Jaysh made no display
of either emotion. He actually appeared enthralled by something behind the
disciple, something moving in the trees at the rear of the grounds, possibly
the same animal that had eluded Brine’s gaze earlier that morning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “What I meant,” Brine said, still puzzling
over his brother’s stare, “was that we just wanted you to know the council
wasn’t upset with you—Well…,” his face broke, his Amian training applying a
mental slap to his face for this attempt at deception, “…Mums was upset, and
Serit too—<i>But</i> only at first, and <i>never</i> with you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine shook his head. “They were upset
with <i>Iman</i>, not you. And Mums, she was going to be upset no matter what.
I’m sure you’ve heard her theory about Jashandar reverting to Drugana, so of
course she wasn’t going to be happy unless we all set out for the south. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “And Serit…well, you know Serit,” Brine said,
offering a polite grin so he didn’t have to come out and call their
pseudo-uncle a spineless coward. “He has some issue with the kryst and the
histories, something to do with the integrity of the Sway Mission. But I didn’t
catch all of it. I had to step out to the privy and by the time I came back,
Iman had…had him…” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine frowned and looked to the edge of
the garden, searching for whatever it was that had his brother’s attention. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Is something back there?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh continued to stare for several long
moments, then finally shook his head, his eyes never leaving the maples and
firs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Maybe he’s looking for kittens?</i> a
voice cooed in Brine’s head. Out loud, Brine said, “Well, anyway, no one was
really <i>happy</i> about the missions—except maybe for Reets.” He gave his
best what-do-you-expect shrug. “But everyone was given the opportunity to step
down from their positions, even Mums and Serit. Iman made that perfectly clear.
No one had to stay unless they wanted to. And it wasn’t as if any of them had a
better idea, so…,” he trailed off, unsure of what else to say, “…so was that
why you left?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Eyeing the trees along the back of the
garden, Jaysh said, “Had to get more vine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh,” Brine said, staring at the bulge in
his brother’s cheek, this one every bit as large as the one he’d seen three
nights ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh said, “Iman’s sendin me into the
Sway tomorruh.” He nodded slowly. “Vine doan’ grow there.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>So you </i>are <i>going</i>, Brine
thought, hoping his wide expression did not betray him. The other popular
theory regarding his brother’s disappearance—aside from the one centering on
his fear of Mums’ reprisal—was that the new king had finally seen the error of
his ways and had decided against the missions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>Because everyone knew the
missions had not been <i>his</i> idea.
Jaysh, with his tattered pants and muddy shirt, his matted hair and
leaf-flecked beard, just didn’t have the look of a planner. Iman, on the other
hand, was a notorious planner, or perhaps <i>schemer</i> was the more
appropriate word. Needless to say, no one was surprised when—as Iman circled
the roundtable and detailed the king’s strategy—the king had sat in the garden,
running his hand along his pet-thing’s back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Instead of mentioning this to his brother,
Brine mustered a rueful grin and said, “The Sway mission…wow.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> His
brother nodded. “Yep.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I’m going on the Harriun mission,” Brine
said, and when his brother failed to comment, he added, “I mean, Godfry and me.
And the Lathians. They’re going, too,” he said, looking over his shoulder.
“They’re actually supposed to arrive today. And when they do, Godfry and I are
going to meet them. We decided that since Balthus already knows them, and since
we’ll be traveling with them for quite awhile, it would be best to introduce
ourselves. Maybe get to know a few of them, so it’s not so awkward later.” <i>Like
it is right now</i>, he thought<i>.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh continued to stare. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> With a nervous grin, Brine said, “You
don’t have to worry about that, do you. You already know Serit.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh glanced at him, then back to the
trees, but in that flicker of eye contact, Brine thought he saw something
there, some semblance of emotion his brother held in check. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I gota go,” Jaysh said. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-70419327915841963892012-07-16T08:43:00.000-07:002012-07-16T08:43:06.479-07:00CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Now
admittedly, in the days of his youth, the royal gardens had been infested more
so by squirrels and birds than anything else…Well, there was the army of
kittens living in the pile of flagstone on the east end of the ground, but
aside from the kittens, there were only the birds and the squirrels and the occasional
rat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Snakes were so rare as to be nearly
nonexistent and only slithered onto the scene once a cycle or so, and usually during
the hottest of the growing seasons. Most of them were garter and black snakes, with
a venomous copperhead making an appearance every other age, but they were never
very large and they never came in pairs or groups. They came one at a time to
the gardens and the boys dispatched them with little, if any effort. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> When the boys were young, they reported
the serpents to the groundskeeper (a portly, not to mention, grumpy man by the
name of Mister Sheffer), and the groundskeeper would kill the poisonous ones
and relocated the rest. When the boys were older, however, Iman and Jaysh dealt
with the legless beasts and they were not so discriminating. Being wild and
fearless—and not a little bit bloodthirsty—the boys paid no heed to the shape
of the serpents’ head or to the color of their scales. If they found a snake in
the garden, that snake received a flagstone greeting and its dead body was hung
from the nearest tree, a warning to any of its snaky friends that might think
to trespass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As Brine crept deeper into the overgrown gardens,
he found himself wondering if this ploy might have backfired on the boys. He
found himself wondering how many of the <i>snaky
friends </i>spied their dead brethren dangling from the boughs and made a
promise to themselves to return one day and settle the score. He hoped that
wasn’t the case, but who was to say about a snake. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Wait
a moment</i>, he thought, reflecting on his Wogol studies, <i>wasn’t it God who
said that the followers of Amontus were protected against serpents? That we could
handle the legless dirt-eaters without fear of reprisal?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine thought about this a while longer,
then decided that he’d <i>also </i>seen passages
in the Wogol about not <i>testing</i> the
will of God. He remembered reading that to test the will of God meant to kiss
goodbye any provisions on the part of the Almighty. But then he was left
pondering whether or not it was testing the will of God to take a midnight
stroll through the tall grass of a garden.<i>
<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>In
the low and booming voice that Brine imagined for his God, he heard Owndiah
answer, <b>ONLY IF YOU KNEW THERE WERE SNAKES WHEN YOU BEGAN…SO DID YOU, MY
SON? DID YOU KNOW?<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> Kind of?</i>
Brine squeaked, feeling much worse about his chances. In truth, had he
suspected there were serpents lurking in the grass—or had he suspected the
gardens were now a snake <i>paradise</i>—he’d have stayed in bed and counted
sheep. But at the same time, could he claim <i>total </i>ignorance about the
garden serpents? Could he claim not to have known about the thing in the sky
that was taking the shepherds…? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Ahead of him, the darker outline of sedge
and cattails materializing from the gloom and he spied an opening in the reeds to
the north where he’d be able to see the sun reflecting off the water once dawn
finally broke. He departed the flagstones and ran to intercept. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>Taking his first step from
the flagstones, he thought, <i>But wasn’t it Reets who always said you could
find snakes around water, because of the fish and the frog eggs. He was
probably talking about the Leresh and the Mela, but if it were true about those
rivers, then isn’t it safe to assume that </i>any<i> place where fish and frogs— <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <b><i>GET OUT!</i></b><i> </i>he screamed,
dropping in the knee-high grasses. He hadn’t quite made it to the breach in the
cattails, but he dropped down none the less, no longer caring about the sunlight
on the water or the threat of slithering death, but wanting nothing more than
to assess Miriana’s theory. He brought the flute to his tightly pursed lips and
blew like a pyromaniac trying to start a fire. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><b><i> </i></b>In his haste, he
misjudged the distance between the mouthpiece and his mouth and felt his upper
lip tear between the wood and his teeth. Fresh blood tainted his tongue, but he
didn’t let it stop him, nor did he hesitate when it occurred to him that he
didn’t know what to play. It didn’t matter, not so long as the noise was long
and loud and wonderfully distracting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> So far, he had that criteria covered. He’d
made only a smattering of attempts at the note-holes and already the sounds
coming from the instrument were those of a stray dog whimpering to be let in.
But what did he expect when his lips felt like granite and his fingers felt
like participants in a poorly-planned fire drill, bumping into each other,
missing their cues, acting as though they didn’t know what was going on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> There are less of us now…</i>he
heard the boy warn…<i>less than once were…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>Brine blew harder—<i>tried</i>
harder—squeezing the flute with more and more force. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> And do you know what, Harbinger? </i>the
shepherd boy continued. <i>Do you know what we were doing when it took us? I
imagine an intelligent messenger like you can figure it out. I bet an
imaginative young man like you can even picture it happening…out in the open, smothered
in darkness, whistling a little tune to keep up our spirits…does that sound
familiar?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine grimaced around the mouthpiece, but
continued to make his noise. A few times, he considered scrambling to his feet
and sprinting for the kitchen, but decided against such tact as it dawned on
him that <i>movement</i> might draw as much attention as <i>sound</i>. So he
kept his seat and he made his noise and, little by little, the light of morning
came to paint the eastern sky. And with it, he noticed the castle coming alive:
runners and servants on the path, guards on the parapets, the kitchen door clacking
against its frame, the weeds and bushes stirring with life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He wondered if he could consider the
critters of the garden his listening audience. They were a much smaller
audience than he was used to, and none of them made eye contact with him or
wandered over to smile in his general direction, but they still seemed to enjoy
themselves. At the very least, they didn’t appear <i>irritated</i> by the music. No one scampered to the far corners of the
grounds and buried their heads in the sand. He could see them—or, rather, their
distorted representations—in every direction that he looked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> On his left, a brown blur dropped from the
branches of a dogwood and swept arrow-like across the lawn, dropping into the
grass and vanishing from sight. On his right, a yellow-green shape leapt from
the croaking bulrushes and landed with a plop in the scum-coated waters. And
directly ahead, something he registered only as the rustling of leaves was
moving back and forth in the trees at the rear of the garden. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Of this last animal—or <i>animals</i>, as
the case may be—he knew very little. He’d caught only a few snippets of
movement from the beast and always seemed to be turning his head just as the
creature disappeared from sight. But if he had to guess, he would have labeled
the creature a squirrel or rabbit or maybe a cat. Actually, the longer he
considered the matter, the more he was convinced that it <i>was</i> a cat.
Considering what had taken place in these grassy hallows all those ages ago, he
was surprised he wasn’t ankle-deep in felines.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>How many kittens had there been?</i> he
wondered. <i>Fifty? Seventy? A hundred?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He couldn’t remember the exact number,
only that he and Jaysh and Iman had made <i>several</i> trips to the stables
and sheds and surrounding woodpiles. Whole days had been spent digging in the
straw and searching through the feed sacks, hunting behind stacks of boards and
underneath workbenches. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Eventually, after the little devils caught
wind of the boys’ intent, it had taken even longer to pinpoint their locale.
What was more, once the boys finally located the fiendish sneaks, the
extraction process itself was no walk in the park. With all the hissing and
biting and clawing you’d have thought their abductors were trying to toss them
into a cooking pot instead of stuff them into an old quilt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The groundskeeper, Mister Sheffer, hadn’t
been pleased, either. He was a portly troll of a man, who would eventually succumb
to his own temper and obesity, and this little episode with the kittens hadn’t
helped matters. Brine remembered Mister Sheffer waddling into the garden that day
and he could tell the man was piqued. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>You boys seen my mousers? </i>he
accused, his face red and his mood sullen. <i>I’m missin a whole slew of
mousers—A Whole Slew, I say! Cain’t find nary a one an’ I been askin all day—been
askin e’rybody, I reckon—but ain’t nobody seen hide ner hair of em. They seen a
good bit’a you three, </i>he seethed, <i>but nary a hair’a my mousers! </i>He
turned his beady eyes from the sprawling hedges and fixed them on the boys<i>.
So how bout it</i>, he demanded. <i>You boys got somethin to tell me, do yeh? <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>But Brine and Jaysh and
Iman took one look at each other, registered the same frightened expression in
the other’s eyes—<i>if we tell the truth, we’re dead!</i>—and shook their tiny
heads. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Thinking back on the moment, Brine felt
like shaking his head now as well. Not in sympathy with the younger Brine’s
denial, but in amazement at how puerile and naïve he’d been, convinced that
something as soft and playful as a kitten <i>deserved </i>to be freed from the
dusty tool sheds of the world and loosed into a place of comfort and frolic
like the garden, a place where Brine, himself, had experienced so many days of magic.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>And hadn’t I?</i> he wondered, staring
passed the foot of his instrument at the kitten paradise beyond; the quiet
flagstone walls, the green and looming trees, the iridescent flowers. This was
the place where he’d once been a boy, the place he’d come to throw rocks and
climb trees and chase the bigger boys until they agreed to let him play.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <b>But, oh, how things change, hmm, Brine…No
more laughter…No more games…And have you seen any of the kittens?<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>Brine recognized this distorted
voice for what it was and quickly pushed it aside. It was one of the uglier
emotions that Amontus discouraged and Brine would do well to keep it at the
periphery of his consciousness. But what he could not keep at the periphery was
the tightening along his chest and ribcage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> There was definitely a tension in the
vicinity of his lungs that had nothing to do with his exhalation into the flute
and, likely, had everything to do with his trek down memory lane. He’d barely
had time to register the sensation and it was moving on him, crawling up his
throat and settling behind his eyes, turning his larynx to stone and setting
his eyes to burn. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> All of a sudden, Brine felt like crying.
He couldn’t be sure of the cause, but the feeling was crystal clear. He wanted
to roll onto his side, pull his knees to his chest, and heave out his sobs until
there was nothing left to give. A purging, if you will, a process of expanding
his lungs and then compressing them until all the pain and heartache was
flushed from his system. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In the end, though, he settled for a few
deep breaths and a handful of warm tears, deeming full-body sobs as more
ammunition for the prejudiced locals who already thought him mad. If they found
him out here shrieking like a wildcat and trembling like leaf, they’d banish
him for sure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i><b>But isn’t it funny,</b><i> </i>the
crackling voice continued. <b>You leave for ten short ages and just look
what happens… Just look. No
tails in the bushes, no whiskers in the trees, no meowing in the air…</b><i>
<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>The burning wetness grew
worse and Brine had to stop playing and wipe a hand across his eyes. As he did,
an image flashed in the landscape of his mind and he saw a line of multicolored
kittens prancing from the garden, whiskers and fur as far as the eye could see,
which was to the gates of the garden in Brine’s case. But he didn’t need to see
the head of the procession to know where it was going. He knew without seeing
that they were headed back to the stables and the sheds, back to a life of
mouse catching and bird eating and earning their miserable keep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">
All of them gone, Brine, all of
them. All of them gone from the ga— <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine drew in his arms and legs, dropped
his head, and clenched every muscle in his body, turning himself into a
man-sized ball of hard flesh and stiff tissue. For a moment, it felt like he
might pass out from the strain, his heart slamming madly, his muscles
resisting. In the end, though, he managed to hold his consciousness and it was
the image of the kitten-chain that faded.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Once it was gone, he brought the flute to
his lips, waited for the tiny white dots to stop dancing before his eyes, and
resumed his music making. And this time, as his fingers massaged the holes and
his lips blew life into the slender beam of wood, the utter calm finally came and
Miriana’s theory was validated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Around him, he felt a bubble of warm
nothingness so deft that it consumed even his thoughts. One moment, he was in
the garden of his youth with the grass beneath his legs, the sun against the
pond, critters capering in the brush, and the next he was nowhere at all. He,
like the rest of the world, had been dissolved within the music, so completely eradicated
that it was not until the shadow formed on the grass beside him that Brine
finally emerged from his trance and took the instrument from his lips.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-45882031358769652422012-07-16T08:39:00.004-07:002012-07-16T08:48:47.884-07:00CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Brine
Denbauk had heard it said, on more than one occasion actually, that he never
looked closer to God than when he was playing his flute. The speakers were referring
to his God-given musical talent, of course—not to mention his preternatural
hand-ear coordination—but Brine had still thought it an odd thing to say,
especially when the people saying it were disciples, and the place it was being
said was a monastery. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But ever the diplomat, Brine had always
thanked his fellow disciples for their kind words and offered them a happy
smile in return, knowing that deep down inside—deeper even than the place where
<i>common sense</i> was formed—the person was only being nice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> It was only later, when he was alone in
his dorm, and with his thoughts, that these statements had a fiercely <i>corrosive</i>
effect on Brine’s conscience. His flute, as any good disciple knew, was an evil
anchor to a wicked world, and Brine—not to put too fine a point on it—was
supposed to <i>be</i> one of those good disciples. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> So how was it that his interaction with
the evil anchor brought him <i>closer</i> to his God? In Brine’s humble, Amian
opinion, that simply could not be. Therefore, if there was even a shred of
truth to these <i>kind</i> and <i>well-intended</i> statements, what was he
doing wrong as a disciple? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He had brooded on this for several ages,
endured no end of metal turmoil and internal anguish, then finally, during one
of his midnight outings with Miriana—an outing which involved no more physical
contact that the occasional holding of sweaty hands—he’d brought the issue to
her attention. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He could always trust Miriana to speak her
mind, even if what she were speaking was something he didn’t wish to hear. So
bearing this in mind, he’d slipped the flute from his lips, sat up gingerly
from the blanket, and asked the question that was tearing him apart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And she had giggled at him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Overhead, a million-billion stars twinkled
and burned the midnight sky, and Miriana Faily tittered at her man-friend. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>If it’s used to His glory,</i> she had
said, once the giggles and grins had subsided, <i>any evil anchor can be an
instrument of His righteousness</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Any<i> anchor?</i> Brine wondered, again
having his doubts. Because he knew full-well that when he reached for his
flute, he wasn’t thinking, <i>Okay, here we go, gona tune myself with God now, gona
draw from Him the spiritual nourishment my hungry soul requires.</i> No, he was
reaching for the flute and thinking, <i>Okay, let’s have some fun</i>, and he
told Miriana so, and she’d giggled at him again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> Why should the two be mutually exclusive?</i>
she had asked. <i>Why should you enjoy yourself in the morning and then commune
with God in the afternoon, Brother Brine? Considering all good things come from
the Maker, why would you believe this </i>silly pastime<i> anything less than
divine?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Then it was Brine’s turn to let <i>his</i> eyes lose focus, taking in the stars
and thinking very hard that his woman-friend had an excellent point. He was
still trying to process it when she let loose with another, this one even more profound
than the first: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>You have a peace about you</i>, <i>Brother
Brine. While you’re playing</i>, <i>you look utterly calm with yourself, like
all of your cares and worries have melted away. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>And when Brine pointed out
that what she was saying was blasphemy and that such peace came <i>only</i>
from his prayers during the Time of Peace and his Wogol studies before bed and
their long chants on the holy days, she had agree with him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>You have the same look then, too, </i>she
had told him,<i> only it’s not as strong.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And to that, Brine didn’t know what to
say, so he’d said nothing. He’d lifted his flute to his lips and started
playing once more, secretly thinking—in the back of his mind—that he agreed
with her…at least a little. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Playing his flute <i>did </i>cleanse his
mind, and it did so in much the same way that hard work cleansed the body and
long prayers cleansed the soul, but was it <i>divine?</i> Was his ability to
dance his fingers along the holes, and to change the pressure of his
exhalation, a true miracle? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> It seemed rather miraculous in Brine’s
book; A man in his early twenties playing complex melodies with the speed and
dexterity of an accomplished veteran? That certainly sounded like the <i>definition</i>
of a miracle, which—the last Brine checked—was an unexplainable event that
boggles one’s mind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Not that Brine would ever be caught <i>speaking</i>
such a thing aloud. Oh, no. It was one thing to be blasphemous, but <i>prideful?</i>
He couldn’t stomach pride, and to speak of his talent as a <i>miracle</i>
seemed to be the height of arrogance as far as he was concerned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Hey, look at me! </i>the statement
seemed to suggest. <i>Look what I can do!</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Interestingly enough, when Brine made
music with his flute, he had never <i>needed </i>to mention the miraculous
nature of his talent. He needed only to play his merry tunes—his fingers dancing
along the shaft—and his gawking spectators would reach the conclusion on their
own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> On this dark and troubled night, however,
as the estranged disciple prepared to go searching for his <i>look of utter
calm</i>, there were no gawking spectators to be found. There was only Brother
Brine and his flute and the handful of woodland creatures still residing in the
gardens. Everyone else in Castle Arn—or most of them, he would imagine—were
still sleeping soundly in the comfort of their beds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Lucky them.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> It was nothing Brine intended to do, and
he was not pleased to be doing it, but it appeared as though he’d asked his
good friend <i>insomnia</i> to sleep over for yet another grueling night.<i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>It had started three nights
prior, the day he’d watched six of his father’s closest friends carry his
father from a flatbed wagon to his final resting place. Since then, Brine had gone
through the motions—listening to the advisers argue about how to find their
missing king, or whether they should even bother, or if they did find him, what
they should do about these bone-headed missions—and then Brine would say his
goodnights, retire to his room, and wonder if tonight would be his lucky night.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> So far, none of the nights had proven
lucky and each consecutive day began to blur into the next, distinguishable one
from another only by his nightly ritual of prayers and Wogol studies (which, by
now, was followed closely by his <i>new </i>nightly
ritual of lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> On the first night, he hadn’t really been
surprised, not with his mind whirling with thoughts of his purpose and his heart
reeling from feelings of grief. But on the second night, he had felt so
exhausted from having not slept the previous night that he was sure the curse
would end. He hadn’t even bothered to slip on his night robes or wash his
greasy face. He’d simply laid the Wogol on the nightstand and collapsed upon
the mattress. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Sleep will come now</i>, he told
himself. <i>It will come from the walls and from the floor and it will smother
me like a warm and heavy gas, pressing me into the mattress and forcing out my
thoughts.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And when that didn’t happened, he rolled
onto his side and counted more sheep than the prairies of his homeland would
know what to do with. And when slumber <i>still</i> refused to fall, he rolled
onto his back and tried clearing his mind by picturing a fluffy white cloud as
it floated across the sky. And when <i>that </i>didn’t work, he opened his eyes
wide, stared through the ceiling, and prayed to his God to knock him out cold. But
God wasn’t taking request this late at night and the disciple had gone on
staring at the ceiling, his sleep an elusive animal in the wilderness of his
mind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Needless to say, on this night—his <i>third</i>
in a row of nauseated sleeplessness—he had decided to try something new. He
made his prayers and he read his Wogol and he even laid there on the bed for a
time, counting the various bovine and watching the various clouds, but he only
let this go on for so long before putting his plan into action. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> After a certain number of sheep, he
latched the gate on his imaginary pasture, rolled himself out of bed, and set
out to test Miriana’s theory about his flute. Because if her theory were
accurate, then his flute would bring him the utter calm he craved and his sleep
would come quick. <i>And wouldn’t that be nice…</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The difficult part of the experiment, he
knew, would be finding somewhere secluded to practice the theory. At this time
of night, the other residents of Castle Arn would be sleeping and anywhere
inside the castle would be relatively close to either the bedchambers or the
roving guards. And even though Brine wouldn’t be disturbing the guards, he
didn’t really want them to see him playing his flute in the dead of night. Most
of them already thought he’d lost his mind by shaving his temples and growing a
wauk. They didn’t need <i>more </i>ammunition. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> So, slipping his flute inside his robes
and pretending he was moving for the privy, Brine snuck quietly to the one
place in the castle where he knew no one would be watching…Although, along the
way, he began to wonder if hiding his flute were even necessary. There were no
sentries in the upper levels of the castles, no guards in the main hall
downstairs, and no watchmen at the primary exit leading to the garden. In fact,
as he crept into the larder at the rear of the kitchen, he realized that he
hadn’t seen nor heard another living soul; no pacing guards, no barking dogs,
not even the scurrying of a mouse. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Thinking it was too good to be true, he hurried
through the kitchen entrance, barged into the leafy shadows of the gardens, and
saw that it <i>was </i>too good to be true.
Not that there were any guards standing watch out there, but that was only
because there probably wasn’t any <i>room </i>for
them with all the roiling vegetation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He shut the door to the food preparation
area and stared out at the foliage and weeds encroaching up the steps. Gone
were his thoughts of deserted corridors and empty halls and in their place were
thoughts of compost and fertilizer and the vast amount of organic refuse that
had been hauled out the door behind him and cast into this <i>super</i>-garden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>What
had happened…? <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As a boy, the gardens of the castle were
kept trim and neat and the blades of the lawn rarely rose above the laces of his
shoes. Now, however, as he stepped off the kitchen steps and into the place where
he had once frolicked as a child, his sandals were met with grasses and weeds that
rose halfway up his shins. It felt like crossing the <st1:place w:st="on">Southern
Swa</st1:place>y all over again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gradually, and with great care, he edged
out into the dense undergrowth and felt around with his feet for the flagstone
path that had been there tens ages ago, knowing full well that if he didn’t
locate the path, he would never find his special destination, at least not without
the aide of some light. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> When he’d been a child, there had been
hanging lanterns positioned throughout the flowers and shrubs and lighting the
way for those visiting the ground during its twilight moments. But it seemed
that lantern maintenance, along with grounds maintenance in general, had been
sorely neglected here of late. Needless to say, without a trail of plate-sized
rocks cutting through the mercurial wilderness, Brine had no bearing by which
to navigate. Tens ages ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated. He would have launched
himself into the gloom and grass and he would have been seated by the frog pond
in a matter of heart-pounding moments. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But now, with his memory faded, and the
darkness absolute, and the place grown up like a Gabawteen wilderness… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> His sandal lit on something hard, flat,
and grassless, and he breathed a thankful sigh of relief. <i>Okay, </i>he
thought, stepping onto the stone, <i>one down and a hundred or so to go. </i>But
now that he’d found the general direction of the path, locating the individual
stones would be no trouble at all. The grass itself, on the other
hand—sprouting up between the stones and trying to trip him with every step—presented
him with an unholy nightmare of obstacles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He moved maybe five yards or so and knew
in his heart of hearts that there was no chance this jungle-like lawn was the
result of compost and pig crap. The real culprit, he knew, was the previous moon
cycle of happenings that had prompted Jaysh to authorize the missions and that
had stolen the men and women of Jashandar away from their usual duties, duties
such as standing guard in the castle halls or scything grass in the royal
gardens. These people were now digging wells in the Promise or guarding sheep
in the Sway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> For all Brine knew, the royal
groundskeeper could have been standing in the Western Sway right now, probably
staring into the darkening sky and wondering what he was going to do if the
thing that squashed cows and crumpled bears lit on him in the night…<i>Take a
little off the sides? Chip the bark and hope for termites? <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine wasn’t worried about the mystery
killer yet, but he would be once he settled down in the reeds and reflected on
what the shepherd boy had said to him all those nights ago. For now, he was
more concerned with what slithered on the ground than what moved across the
sky. Because the things that slithered on the ground and coiled in the reeds
would have taken to these neglected gardens like barn rats to the hay. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-15630607936642774052012-07-16T08:38:00.003-07:002012-07-16T08:38:27.957-07:00CHAPTER THIRTY<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Jaysh
rolled his head to the entrance and listened for what he already knew was
there, the thud of clumsy footfalls and the huff of labored breathing. This
was, in essence, a repeat performance of the encounter he’d suffered three
mornings ago, only this time it was taking place in the middle of the night and
this time the performer would be <i>discouraging</i> behavior instead of <i>encouraging</i>
it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Otherwise, it was same. Same unwanted
visitor, same bleak setting, same god-awful purpose: Captain Bigmouth of the
Jashian Military had come with his bag of bigmouth words—and his bucket of
smarmy charm—and he would not leave until he’d driven Jaysh mad with
frustration. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> He’s gona ask</i>,
Jaysh fumed.<i> That selfish son of a badger’s gona ask. </i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman had wanted to ask when he’d seen the
secret thing from the general’s chambers, but his shock and disappointment were
too great and he’d barely had the strength to drag himself from the room. Later
on, of course, after he’d spent the better part of the night drinking his ale
and running his mouth, he’d gained his second wind, donned his trusty
tankard-goggles, and decided that he <i>owed </i>it to his dear old friend to
save him from himself. And now here he was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Ready fer me to knock them goggles from
his head</i>, Jaysh fumed, running his hand across Zeph’s spine and scratching the
back of her head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Sah’right, girl,” he whispered. “I’ll be
right back.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Zeph didn’t act as though she’d heard. At
the sound of his voice, she neither moved nor looked up, but remained stiff
across his bedroll, both luminous eyes burning holes in the darkness beneath
the archway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Sah’right girl,” he said again,
scratching her head. “It’s jus him.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Zeph pulled away from his hand, yellow
eyes never straying from the entrance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> Well, it is the middle of the night</i>,
Jaysh thought, giving her the benefit of the doubt, <i>and she was
plum-tuckered. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>Plum-tuckered was a popular
euphemism of the halfling, as in, <i>Yeh wake a halflin when he’s plum-tuckered
an’ yeh get what’s comin!</i> This expression was usually screamed at the top
of Reets’ lungs as he shook his fists in the air and ran after the two boys
who’d just woke him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>But
regardless of whether Zeph was plum-tuckered or not—or simply <i>irate</i>—Jaysh
didn’t have time to worry with her. At the moment, he had bigger fish to fry
and he intended to do the frying on the <i>outside</i>
of the perimeter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Sah’right,” he said, speaking the word
one last time and scratching her behind the head. She pulled away from his
fingers and he took that as a sign he could go. He set her down and bolted for
the entrance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Along the way, as he dodged tombstones and
leapt plaques, he found time to reach inside his shirt-pocket and retrieve a
tangle of vine, bringing forth the splintery coil and biting a healthy portion
from the tip. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Mm-mm, good</i>, he thought, shoving
the remainder in his pocket and listening as a mellifluous voice gave warning
in his mind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Vine is the enemy of sleep</i>, Mums
chided. <i>You may have it now, but later—once you’ve rid yourself of this
pest—your sleep shall not come easy. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh ignored the advice and continued to
chew, chewing so hard that some of the tar-colored saliva went leaking down his
throat. His dear old friend had not come here to wish him well or to tell
another fish-tale or even to discuss with him the finer points of his escape.
He’d come to discuss one thing and one thing only, and when that time came the
woodsman was going to need all the becalming effects that his precious vine
could muster…possibly more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh reached the gate and stopped, the
stink of tavern smoke drifting up the hill and the erratic thump of footfalls
traveling up the slope, and <i>erratic</i> was being kind. Had he heard the
irregular rhythm of the steps from his bedroll, he wouldn’t have been in such a
rush. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman was all over the place, stopping and
going, weaving and swaying. He must have been more than a little upset at what his
dear old friend had shown him, because it sounded as though he’d been hitting
the tankards a little harder than usual. So hard, in fact, that he only made it
a few more clumsy steps before his body thudded on the ground. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh started despite himself, trotting
down the path and going no distance at all before he heard the captain moaning
from the reeds. He veered after the sound and moved to intercept his fallen
friend, coming to a stop at the place where Iman’s lower half extended from the
shadowy grasses. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh looked down at the legs and felt a
cold hollow open in his belly. Instead of dark green pants and soft beige
boots, he saw soft bare thighs and dirty naked feet. But it wasn’t the
indecency of the legs that gave him cause for alarm. It was the bracelets he
saw clasped to each ankle, the shiny silver disks and tiny colored beads. He
knew those bracelets well—<i>too</i> well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yeh ah’right?” he asked, secretly hoping the
owner of the bracelets wouldn’t answer. If she’d passed out on her feet and
fallen unconscious into the reeds, he might be able to sneak back to his
bedding, grab up his things, and make an early start of the day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He’d have to make sure she was breathing,
of course—he wouldn’t want to leave her there to die—but he wouldn’t have to
listen to whatever fool idea had gotten into her skull. Because anything so
grave as to pry her from the taverns and drive her to the Hill was nothing
Jaysh cared to hear about.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>But you already know what it’s about</i>,
Iman’s voice echoed in his head. <i>You know who your woman-friend drinks with
and I </i>know<i> you know what we’ve been talking about.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> From below him in the grass and gloom, he
heard the slurred voice of someone with a brain injury. Only he knew it wasn’t
the sort of brain injury caused by falling headfirst off a barn roof or
stepping into the business end of a pickaxe. It was the self-inflicted sort of
brain injury that took place at the local tavern.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Jayshy…,” his woman-friend said,
“…Jayshy, I reck’n… I reck’n I fell.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yep,” Jaysh said, wincing at her voice
and reaching into the reeds. He fished around for her sweaty armpits, hoisted
her to her feet, and then kept a hand on her shoulder until her balance
returned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Jayshy,” she said, her breath alive with
pipe smoke and rotten fruit. “Jayshy, baby,” she said again, “Jayshy, yeh cain’
led’er do it. Yeh jus cain’t led’er.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Ah’right,” Jaysh said, nodding dutifully
and trying to sound sincere. He had no idea what she was talking about—or <i>whom
</i>she was talking about—but he didn’t bother asking. He’d learned the hard
way that, when Gariel was like this, asking questions only made her angry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Ain’t fair, Jayshy,” she went on, shaking
her head and nearly falling over. “Ain’t fair fer her to do it to me. Not after
e’rythin I done, an’ e’rythin I been through…,” she let her eyes lose focus
and, for a time, the whole of the night seemed to be trapped in those bulbs. “I
waited fer it, Jayshy,” she said at last. “I waited fer it, an’ I took care of
yeh, an’…an’ the way I fig’er it…,” she said, letting out a sigh, “…yeh owes
me, Jayshy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh didn’t know what to make of that,
but he nodded all the same and gave her the perfunctory <i>Ah’right</i>, and
that seemed to be enough. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I’s the big’un, Jayshy,” she told him,
pulling away and moving up the path. “Them others is kind’a with her, kind’a
like, but mos’ly i’s the big’un.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Frowning a little, Jaysh spit at the hillside
and said, “Big’un, huh.” <i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>“Yeah,” Gariel said, still
shuffling towards the Hill. “I’s tha’ big’un. She’s the one wha’s tryin to lead
folk out’a here. Tellin folk i’s too wald here an’ tellin folk them happnin’s
cain’ be fixed, tellin em the land’s <i>dif’ernt</i> now, wakin up like.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> She took two or three awkward steps,
staggered hard to the left, then said, “An’ tha’ lil’un’s no better, Jayshy.
Tha’ lil’ pink-eyed freak wif all them pictures on his arms, an’ tha’ thing livin
in his robes. He was right there wif er. Up’n tol’ them old farts she was
speakin true, an’ tha’ they ought’a send e’rybody away, send em right off ‘fore
the land went dif’ernt on em an’ woke up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh rolled his vine to the other cheek.
“Dif’ernt, huh.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “S’what they said,” Gariel told him, “tha’
Jashand’r was wakin up or some other fool thing, an’ when it was good an’ woked
up, it wou’nt be Jashand’r no more. It’d be this other thing they was talkin
bout, this thing she was a-callin…ah, what was it she said…,” she trailed off,
still stumbling up the path, then said, “…W’ll, I cain’ member what she called
it, but it weren’t a perty name, I member that much.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Drugana,” Jaysh said, not sure where he’d
heard the word. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gariel said, “Tha’ might’a been it, yeah.”
She took a few more steps. “Make any sense to you?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh thought it over, trying to give Mums
the benefit of the doubt since she was probably the most intelligent person he
knew (aside from the general), but in the end he could only shrug his sorry
shoulders and shake his sorry head, offering her an apologetic, “Huh-uh.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Closing on the archway, Gariel said, “It
doan’ make no sense to me neither, Jayshy. Or to tha’ lil’ cripple that works
with the big’un. Iman says the cripple tol’ them others they was out’a their
ever-lovin minds. Tol’ em he wants to stay an’ use the army on them happnin’s.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Did he, now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “He sure did,” Gariel said, “an’ I think
it would'a worked too, ‘ceptin the big’un an’ the feller wif the thing in his
robes said we ain’t got no army.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i> </i>Jaysh,
who’d been standing casually in the grass and waiting for the butcher’s
daughter to pass out, started slightly. “How they fig’er that?” he said.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Cause i’s true,” Gariel said. “Cause Iman
an’ tha’ lil’ cripple said it was true. Yeh fig’er if they’re doin’ the tellin,
an’ they ain’t got nothin t’gain by lyin, then i’s gota be true. B’sides,” she
said, pausing to spit a wad of smoke-induced phlegm off the trail, “yeh member
that special meetin them old farts had t’rush off to?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh turned to the dark blotch in the
east where the City of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Onador</st1:city></st1:place>
rested. It would have been next to impossible to forget <i>that </i>meeting,
each and every one of the advisers coming over to tell him about it,
apologizing for their departure and then explaining there’d been an incident in
the Western Sway that could not be ignored. Of course, the most <i>memorable</i>
part was when each of them dropped the not-so-subtle hint that Jaysh’s <i>presence</i>
at these meetings would soon be expected. He couldn’t have scrubbed away that
part of the memory with lye and a horse brush.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I heard somethin bout it,” he said.
“Somethin bout the west post.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gariel chuckled at this, brief and
humorless. “Yeh ‘member a couple days back when you an’ Iman went out there an’
had a look round? W’ll, right after yeh lef’, later tha’ v’ry night I hear,
somethin nasty come sneakin out’a the weeds an’ kilt a mess’a them boys.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> For a moment, Jaysh stood frozen in place,
his jaw pumping and his eyes locked on the back of Gariel’s head. When the
shock passed, he found himself staring into the vast sheet of darkness forming
the western horizon. Come first light, he had planned to venture into that
horizon on his way to a better life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> But now…?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As Gariel weaved and staggered up the
path, Jaysh wracked his brain for another pass into the western lands, but the only
pass of which he knew was the Mad Man’s Pass…which lay within a stone’s throw
of the west post. He supposed there might be other passes further to the north or
south, but he didn’t know this with any certainty. Moreover, if the nearest
pass was north, did he honestly wish to traverse the <i>Harriun</i> in order to
gain access? Or if it laid to the south, what exactly would he find down there
on the other side of the Shun? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>More’a them prints?</i> he wondered,
traveling back in time to the afternoon before the original incident and seeing
with his mind’s eye the horrible handprints pressed into the Western Sway, the
handprints he’d described to Iman as the two of them rode to the Hill. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The prints sank at least half-a-finger
into the soil and that was saying something considering the moisture of the
Sway had been sucked dry and the crust of the prairie was hard and grassy. But
of course, with something that large, the crust never had a chance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>I could’a sat in it</i>, Jaysh had told
Iman from atop his saddle. <i>I could’a sat in the palms and stretched my legs
in the fingers.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But worse than the print’s size was the
amorphous pools of mucus he’d found drying at the attack site. The surface
grasses were clotted together like blood-soaked hairs, but it wasn’t anything
as simple as blood bonding these reeds together. He didn’t know what it was,
but it crunched under foot like a scab, and the color was all wrong. It had an
opaque cast like that of an old man’s cataract, but with cloudy-pink streaks
running through the middle, as if something red had gotten mixed in and tainted
the grayish fluid. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>And the smell…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>As he recalled, no liquid that
came from an open wound smelled like that. On the contrary, this liquid reeked
of the stuff that came from an open <i>gullet</i>, like one of those young
bucks at the Wound who drinks himself full and then heaves his guts behind the
alley.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Turning from the western horizon and
fixing his eyes on someone whose puking days were long behind her, Jaysh said,
“They kill it?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gariel
shook her head as best she could. “Doan’ know,” she said. “Man what rode in to
tell the tale did his fleein while the killin was goin’ on. Jus found himself a
horse runnin through camp an’ jumped up on im, let the critter take im where it
would. He ended up on the edge’a town the nex’ mornin. Farmer spied the horse
grazin in the Sway and the man collapsed on its back. When he saw the uniform,
he fig’erd somethin was wrong an’ brought im to the castle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “But by then,” she said, sounding
disgusted, “them ole farts was scramblin round to find you an’ your brother.
Tha’ lil’ freak took the man in an’ looked im over. When he din’t find nothin
wrong with im, he put him up in a room an’ perty much forgot about im ‘til he
come around an’ started spoutin off bout dead soldiers an’ gutted horses. After
that, the lil’ freak got word out in a hurry.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Walking slowly towards her, Jaysh said,
“So they doan’ know how many there was. Or what they was?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Not a bannin thing,” Gariel said. “An’
the lil’ cripple, he was quick to tell them others that. He tol’ em not to put
stock in somethin that come from the mouth of a deserter. But the freak an’ the
big’un, they wou’nt listen. They’re still down there goin’ on an’ on about what
this feller <i>thinks</i> he heard.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Which is what?” Jaysh asked curtly,
waiting a moment then adding, once it was clear she wasn’t going to answer,
“Which is <i>what?</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gariel jumped at the urgency in his voice,
but did not turn around, only cocked her head back. “Feller thinks whatever attacked
em went fer the horses first, like it was tryin to trap em there an’ wipe em
out. He says it were the horse screams what woke em up. Says it sounded like
they was bein' pulled apart a piece at a time. The c’rral, too.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> She huffed skeptically. “I ain’t so sure
yeh can hear a horse bein' pulled apart, or the posts on a c’rral comin out’a
the ground, but tha’s what he tol’ the freak. An’ uh’course the freak went an’
tol’ them ole farts, so here we are. Ne’er min’ tha’ feller din’t <i>see</i>
the thing doin’ the pullin. Ole freak-boy believed e’ry word he had to spill.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Craning his head to the west and searching
for shadowy movement, Jaysh said, “They sendin any one back?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Not til tomorruh,” Gariel said, “but
there ain’t much to send. I think they’re sendin a couple runners to make sure
whoever’s left stays put. Them old farts think whatever it was that hit em come
through the Mad Man an’ that if’n our boys come a-runnin to the castle, more’a
them things’d come wif em. An’ then we’d have the whole mess here in the city.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Thinking an armed escort across the Sway
sounded like a pretty good idea, Jaysh said, “They goin’ tomorruh in the mornin
or afternoon?” And when Gariel didn’t answer, he realized he could no longer hear
the soft shuffling of her feet. He turned and found her as he’d surmised,
standing still along the entrance. What he had not surmised, however, was the
way she was peering up at the curved underbelly of the archway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh took a step towards her, his
breathing shallow and quick as a pang of worry stole through him. Only this
worry had nothing to do with the mysterious killer in the Sway and everything
to do with his mysterious woman-friend at the arch. He moved towards her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Even though the object beneath the archway
was obscured by darkness, Jaysh knew what it was. He couldn’t say he’d looked
at it recently, no more than he’d looked at the individual headstones littering
the other side, but he <i>had </i>seen it, back when he’d first started leaving
the bed of his woman-friend and sleeping on the Hill. He knew from memory that
there were two corroded bolts fixed in the stone and that, hooked to these bolt,
two rusty chains suspended a simple wooden sign. Nothing more than a shank of
wood with two words on its face, a brief announcement to all those who enter
that they were about to set foot on hallowed ground. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>But if’n it’s so simple</i>, Jaysh
wondered, <i>and if’n she already knows what it says—an’ I know she knows!—then
why’s she starin at it like that? <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Adding insult to injury, Gariel lifted her
hand and ran a finger along the letters. Or <i>tried</i>. With her slender arm
and delicate finger now numb with drink and, quite possibly, agitated by what
Iman had told her, the tip of her finger kept sliding too far when it should
have stopped or slipping from the grooves for no reason at all. After awhile,
she gave up the act and lowered her hand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “‘Morial
Hill,” she said, speaking the words she could not trace. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh stepped into her line of sight, his
mind a jumble of thoughts and images. “Hey,” he said, eyes darting between sign
and woman-friend. “Hey, yeh want me to walk yeh back?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The
butcher’s daughter made a noise in her throat, a noise that might have been a
hum on any other night. But on this night, with her breath and sweat saturated
with drink, and her head and body tingling with fury, the sound came out as a
mischievous grunt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “So I bet’cher ready fer bed,” Jaysh said,
thinking very hard about putting a hand to her shoulder and pulling her back.
As a rule, he never engaged in physical contact unless he and his woman-friend
were being intimate and, even then, he shied from initiating it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Now, however, with that strangely-sinister
grunt still echoing in his ears and his discomfort levels at an all-time high,
the notion of flesh-on-flesh contact didn’t seem so bad. Especially, if it
broke his woman-friend’s trance and brought those beautiful, plotting eyes away
from the wooden sign. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He raised his hand like a man
contemplating whether or not to stick it in a fire, then watched her lurch
forward and pass beneath the arch.<i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>“Hey—<i>Hey, babe.</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gariel didn’t stop. With legs stiff and
choppy, she moved along the interior path of the Hill, moving passed the
pillars of kings and the slabs of servants until she reached the woodsman’s
bedroll. She squatted down beside it and fell forward on her knees. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Standing by the archway, Jaysh strained
his eyes at the impenetrable darkness, wondering if it was his bedroll or packs
that preoccupied the woman-friend’s mind. She was always after him for coin—even
though he’d repeatedly told her he had no need for the discs—but her hands weren’t
tearing at the pockets of his pack, so he assumed she wasn’t digging for coins.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>So what’s she after?</i> he wondered,
scanning the blankets for his precious cat-thing and seeing that Zeph had
already vacated the area. He remembered the hateful look the cat-thing had given
the archway and imagined his little companion had taken off long ago. <i>But if’n
she ain’t after coin, an’ she ain’t stranglin Zeph, what is it she thinks she’s
doin’ down there? Ain’t like there’s anythin else down th—</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He saw what Gariel was looking at and his
heart fell cold. <i>Oh, no</i>, he thought, and broke into a walk, covering half
the distance and seeing that, yes indeed, his apprehensions were warranted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Instead of his packs or bedding, the
butcher’s daughter was stooped over the tiny figurine by the side of the trail,
the one whose sightless eyes stared after the woodsman as he slept and whose
pudgy arms remained forever clasped behind her winged back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh came to an unsteady stop beside the
butcher’s daughter and the statuette, his eyes darting between the two. He felt
like he should say something—he had rushed over here, after all—but since
speaking had never really been his forte, he just stood there, panting out his
open mouth and waiting for something to happen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gariel extended one shaky hand and touched
the shadows of the angel’s face. “We doan’ need the army to stay,” she told
him. “Iman tol’ me he’s got a plan tha’ doan’ use one’a them boys out west. He
tol’ me he’s got a plan tha’ uses them Lat’ian boys the humpback wants to hire.
Them, an’ a few of us here in the city.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh felt the cold rush out of his chest
as his heart began to pound.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gariel lowered her hand to another
chiseled feature of the cherub’s face that neither of them could see. “An’ yeh
know what?” she said, speaking in a soft and tender voice the woodsman didn’t
recognize. “The humpback an’ the cripple are on Iman’s side. The big’un doan’
like it none, an’ the lil freak doan’ care fer it neither, but them other two
like it jus fine. An’ yeh know what else?” she asked him, sweetly. “Iman said we
doan’ need the big’un an’ the freak to make it work. He said we jus need the
king.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh said nothing, his eyes fastened on
the dark area of the angel’s face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gariel ran her hand along the graven sides
of the serif’s cheek, her fingers gently caressing what lay hidden in the
gloom. “So I tol’ Iman…I said, ‘W’ll, Jayshy’s king now, ain’t he? Cain’ he
make it happen?’ An’ Iman, he looks at me, all sad like, an’ he says, ‘Yeah,
tha’s right’. An’ I said, ‘W’ll, go get im. Go on up to his room an’ tell im.
He needs to know.’ But Iman, lookin even sadder than b’fore, he says, ‘I wish I
could, Gair. I wish I could.’” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh swallowed hard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gariel said, in a calming voice that didn’t
sound the least bit angry, “He tol’ me bout the map, Jayshy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh drew a slow, stuttering breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gariel said, “But yeh doan’ <i>really</i>
wanna leave, do yeh, Jayshy? I know yeh tol’ Iman yeh did, an’ I know your all tore
up bout losin them hobbies, but if’n Iman’s plan works, baby, yeh know yeh’ll
get em back, right?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh realized he hadn’t exhaled and
forced himself to breathe, vaguely aware that somewhere on his right the
butcher’s daughter was getting to her feet and moving her scantly-clad bodice
against his grass-strewn shirt, wrapping her arms about his torso and laying
her head against his chest. Like him, she drew a breath as well, only hers made
a humming sound as she released it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I know yeh doan’ wanna leave, Jayshy,” she
told him. “I knew tha’ much the first time I woke an’ found yeh gone from bed.
Been ferever ago that it happened, but I member it plain. We was jus kids then,
barely old enough to <i>wanna</i> sleep together, but I member it. I member
comin up here in the night an’ findin yeh curled right here on the ground,
wrapped up in a cover yeh stole from m’bed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh felt his head wanting to shake, felt
his belly tighten in knots. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Wha’d yeh call er, Jayshy?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But Jaysh said nothing. Due either to his
weariness or his shock, his mind had gone utterly blank. He stood there with
his arms at his sides and his eyes on the seraph and all that came to him, as
he tried to answer the question, was a lumpy green square.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> It was floating in his mind, in the liquid
darkness of his thoughts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He took his <i>mental</i> eyes from the rippling green shape and directed his <i>physical</i> eyes at the base beneath the
figurine’s feet. Just like that, he remembered the name that had been carved thereon.
Like the sign beneath the archway, that name was committed to a portion of his
memory that had escaped the debilitating effects of his mental blockage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Barely parting his lips, he took another
shallow breath and said, “Beth.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The butcher’s daughter nodded. “Tha’s what
I thought,” she said. “Now, do yeh really wanna leave Beth, Jayshy?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh laid his bearded cheek against the
spiky crown of Gariel’s hair. He closed his watering eyes and let her question
rage against his thoughts, let it tear at the lumpy green square that hovered
in his mind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> After awhile, he found the strength to
shake his head.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-28975964133712481772012-07-16T08:37:00.000-07:002012-07-16T08:48:36.867-07:00CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;">For
the remainder of the afternoon and on into the night, Jaysh Denbauk sat on the
floor of the old king’s anteroom and dreamed about escape. It was entirely too
much dreaming for such a simple goal, but for the time being—while he was being
comforted by this roomful of whining teary-eyed saps—<i>dreaming </i>was all he
could do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> He had already performed the necessary
preparations for his escape—having made his clandestine visit to the good
general’s bedchambers while pretending to relieving himself in the privy—so now
the anticipation of his freedom was all but killing him. If only these gloomy
masses would leave the anteroom for a <i>moment</i>, he could put his crafty machinations
into action. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> <i>Teach you, I reckon, </i>said the voice
of his woman-friend in his head, even though Jaysh could hear the voice of his <i>real
</i>woman-friend talking to Iman on his right. <i>Teach you to stand around
peerin out winduhs an’ fearin fer your life when yeh ought be runnin fer the
hills.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> And the woodsman, with his head sagging
between his shoulders and his eyes locked on the floor, couldn’t have agreed
more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> He didn’t know if it was his lack of sleep
or vine or nourishment—or a combination of all three—but he’d had another <i>spell</i>
after closing the shutters to the old king’s chamber. He’d pressed the wooden
edges flush against the sill, flicked the little brass latch back into place,
and the next he knew he was lying on the hardwood floor of the chamber and
wondering how he had gotten there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> It didn’t seem like much time had
passed—he could still remember everything before he’d fallen, and the lighting
about the shuttered appeared the same—but the brevity of the spell did not make
him feel any better. The fact was he’d fallen unconscious again and, in the
process, lost any chance he had of escaping the castle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> The part that <i>really </i>irked him was how
close he’d been to landing on the old king’s bed. Because had he managed to cover
the four paces to the bed and blackout on the old king’s mattress, the chubby
chambermaid who’d peaked in on him at the sound of his collapse would have
believed him asleep instead of unconscious. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> As it were, the hefty handmaid found him
crumpled on the floor. At which point, she came in on the run, her plump face
flushed and her flabby jowls agape. Jaysh remembered rolling over on his side at
the sound of the door, peering up into the yawning cavity of the woman’s middle-aged
mouth, and then wincing as she let loose with a wildcat yell that threatened to
leave him deaf.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> “<i>He’s down!</i>” she’d screamed. “<i>He’s—THE
KING’S DOWN! He’s gone down again!</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> After that, the whole of the castle had
poured inside the chamber, servants and guards, advisers and acquaintances,
certainly more people than could be easily evaded, or at least more people than
could be evaded by a simple woodsman who was used to doing his evading <i>before</i>
the predators arrived. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> <i>That fat old woman</i>, Jaysh thought,
even though he knew it wasn’t entirely her fault. No one had <i>made</i> him
collapsed on the floor. No one had held a crossbow on him and insisted that his
knees go weak and his head go fuzzy. <i>Ge’down, You!</i> Jaysh heard the imaginary
attacker barking in his ear. <i>Ge’down on that floor an’ start quaverin like a
sissy!</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Under normal circumstances, that ridiculous
image would have brought a smile to his bearded lips. It was just the sort of
ludicrous thing his dear friend Iman would have said back in the days of their
youth when life had <i>been </i>ludicrous. But as it were, Jaysh was no longer
young, and life, it seemed, was no longer ludicrous. Life—at least judging by
the weepy-eyed faces gathered in his room—had become a very melancholy place,
indeed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> <i>But not fer long</i>, he thought,
stroking his cat-thing that was curled on his lap.<i> Y’all better soak up your
mis’ry now, I tell yeh, cause come midnight, this here felluh’s gone. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> He shifted his gaze from the polished
floor to the purring cat-thing. If not for Zeph, Jaysh wasn’t sure he’d have
been able to bide his time. His head was down and his cheek was bulging—his
back was pushed so far into the corner that the plaster was cracking around his
shoulders—but even so, the muttering voices were there, scrabbling down his
ears and needling at his brain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Jaysh’s only escape came from his
yellow-eyed companion, from the steady purr of her sides against his gut and from
the soft fluff of her fur against his palms. Jaysh didn’t know how she’d
managed, but the nimble little minx had somehow <i>escaped</i> the trampling
feet on the Hill and had somehow <i>scaled</i> the walls of the castle,
sneaking in through the window where Jaysh had passed out and then slinking
unseen to his lap. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> He supposed she could have used the
chamber door with the rest of the overexcited horde—slipping in between their
ankles as they came racing in to check their king—but Jaysh doubted it. The
door to the hall had not opened once since the original horde entered the room,
and Jaysh did not believe Zeph would have abstained from his lap for that
duration of time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> What was more, had the chamber door opened
so much as a <i>crack</i> during that span of time, Jaysh would have known. He
had his head down, purposefully directed away from the others, but he’d been
listening for the sound of that rectangular exit all evening long, praying to
any gods that might be listening to blast it wide on its hinges and loose him
from this misery-loving mob. But in lieu of such a miraculous explosion, it
seemed that the gods had sent Jaysh’s precious friend instead. If they could
not control the minds of these moping visitors and risk violating the tenants
of free will, they could at least send him the means to cope. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> And so Jaysh had coped, focusing on the
tingle of the vine and the hum of his companion and biding his time until
nightfall came. All around him, Jaysh could hear the sniffles and groans of the
sorrowful room—<i>Oh, just look at him, just look how hard he’s taking this,
the poor fellow—</i>but as he ran his fingers along the rumpled tissue of
Zeph’s back, these noises did not plague him as they once had, and neither did
the awful looks of pity which, to the woodsman, were the visual equivalent of a
farrier’s file raked across his teeth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> The advisers were the first to leave,
departing the little room shortly after nightfall and ambling their way to the
roundtable, the room in which they’d originally held council before the old
king fell ill and could not leave his bed. Not that Jaysh cared, but apparently
there’d been an incident at Westpost the day before the old king passed and the
council could no longer ignore the consequences. Jaysh knew this because each
adviser had come to him individually—save for the stooped man in the gray
sleeping attire—and explained how they meant no disrespect to his father or his
passing, but that the <i>incident</i> at Westpost was one which required their
immediate attention. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Jaysh was also forced to listen as each
adviser made indelicate hints that it was the woodsman’s duty as king to be
present at such council meetings and that they looked forward to serving with
him just as<i> </i>soon as he recovered from his debilitating grief, which they
hoped was soon (hint, hint). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Jaysh nodded to each of them in turn, his
hand ever-gliding over the cat-thing’s puckered scars, and he tried his
absolute hardest to look as grief-struck and debilitated as possible. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Next
to go was his woman-friend, the person whom Jaysh thought would be the <i>first</i>
to leave and, as it turned out, only missed by moments. It was almost like she <i>knew
</i>she’d be the first as well and, therefore, was forced to stand around and
make chit-chat with the good captain until someone else made the first move. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> In fact, thinking back on the moment,
Jaysh was almost sure he could feel her eyes on him as the advisers gave their
final condolences. He couldn’t be positive, but it seemed like the hall door
hadn’t completely closed before she was skipping across the room and asking him
how <i>he</i> was and what <i>he</i> needed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Like the night before, Jaysh told her that
he was fine, just a little tired maybe. And like the night before, Gariel had
studied him carefully and told him that he <i>did</i> look a little worn out
and could probably do with some rest, especially after all the fainting spells.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> <i>But yeh know I doan’ have to go out
tonight, baby</i>, she told him, finishing each of her statements with this endearing
qualifier. To which Jaysh would nod that he knew—boy, did he ever—and then give
her his blessing to go, watching as she scurried out the doors and made her way
to the Wound, eager to drink the drinks that, by now, her body craved like
water. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Not
long after that, Jaysh heard the voice of his little brother excusing himself
from the room. It wasn’t clear, but Jaysh thought he caught the words <i>appreciate</i>
and <i>companionship </i>in this farewell speech, then something about little
brother needing a walk to clear his head, maybe a walk over to the nearest
temple to pray for his father and the state of the kingdom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> And when Iman—the only person left in the
room at this point—informed little brother that the temples had lain empty for
the past several ages and that Brine would likely be attacked by rats, Brine
told them he’d heard about the rats and would be on guard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> After that, little brother had wandered
over to Jaysh and said something about repairing the past and shoring up
relationships, but to be honest Jaysh really wasn’t paying attention and the part
that <i>had</i> slipped through was Brine’s decision to stay on as adviser. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> <i>Well, good luck with that</i>, Jaysh
thought, nodding to the man in the ponytail as his mouth said, “Ah’right then.”
And when little brother said he’d try and find Jaysh in the morning so they
could catch up, Jaysh had said, “Ah’right then,” and thought, <i>Does he need
som’un to walk im to the door?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;">But as the second, <i>ah’right
then, </i>lit the air, the disciple seemed satisfied with the exchange and, for
the man who looked nothing like his brother, a personal escort to the hall did
not prove necessary. For the <i>other </i>man
in the room—the one who looked nothing like Jaysh’s friend—the woodsman thought
an <i>armed</i> escort might be required. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Jaysh could see the good captain closing
in on him from the corner of one eye, the duplicitous imposter once again trying
on those melancholy expressions which did not fit. He hadn’t begun trying his
phony phrases yet—his lips still twisting in an uncharacteristic sneer—but how
long could that last? How long could old big-mouth, even a <i>look-a-like</i>
big-mouth, keep that big trap shut? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> <i>Not long,</i> Jaysh thought, scratching
Zeph on the tattered folds of skin that had once been ears.<i> Won’t be long
now an’ ole big-mouth will get bored, ferget all about what happened today, an’
then start with that mouth’a his. An’ he’ll do it cause he’s the only one who
ain’t got the sense to know I’m supposed to be to upset, the only one who doan’
know reg’ler people ain’t suppose to go out to the Wound an’ celebrate after
the old king dies. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;">And Jaysh wasn’t wrong. The
good captain lasted until…oh, about the ten-count maybe, perhaps the fifteen
count. It was hard to say after the ten-count since Jaysh struggled with
numbers beyond the ten digits on his hands, but he knew he’d barely begun to
dread the long-haired prowler before the man was standing over him, his soft-skinned
boots toe-to-toe with Jaysh’s moccasins. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Jaysh didn’t dare look up, not if he
didn’t want to go crazy from staring into that unnatural look of remorse
stretched on the good captain’s face. He kept his eyes on the man’s
yellow-brown boots as he listened to Iman ask how he was feeling and what he
was thinking and, of course, whether or not he felt like going out to Wound and
having a good time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> <i>A good time… <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Jaysh lifted his eyes just long enough to
glance at the door in the back of the room. He’d have rather been skinned alive
and rolled in sea salt than to go back inside that room, but he gave the
ornately-trimmed door a curt nod and told his dear old friend that he needed to
catch up on some much needed shuteye. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> The stunned look on Iman’s face told him that
the captain didn’t understand the concept of <i>much needed shuteye</i>. For a
man who’d grown accustomed to long nights of drinking and catting around, Iman
struggled to relate with anyone who didn’t catch a few winks in the Wound or
the Nest or wherever it was they passed, and then have a powernap later that
afternoon. He’d also learned to be skeptical of those who claimed to need more.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Knowing this, Jaysh has kept his eyes on
the carefully-brushed boots and told Iman to go on without him, claiming that
he was upset over the old king’s passing and that he didn’t much feel like
going out and being around people. And Iman—who’d watched Jaysh spend the last
ten ages of his life avoiding his father like the plague and steering clear of
the castle in general—had said, <i>Really?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> It was then that Jaysh knew he was not
going to be shed of this social parasite until he showed him the secret thing
hidden in his shirt, the thing he had swiped from the general’s quarters when
he had supposedly relieving himself in the outhouse behind the gardens. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> He knew that showing the secret item to
ole big-mouth might make matters worse for him down the road, like when Iman started
drinking and running his mouth and word of what Jaysh had stolen spread through
the city like wildfire through a dry prairie. But by that time, Jaysh hoped to
be so far gone from this nightmare landscape that the search parties they sent
would never find him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> <i>And if’n I doan’ show him now, </i>Jaysh
thought, thinking about the thing in his shirt and how he had no idea how to
read it, <i>it’ll jus be som’un else latter, som’un in the next town over who
yeh doan’ know an’ who might steer yeh wrong.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;">At the worst possible time,
the pedantic general’s prophecy regarding Jaysh’s neglected studies had finally
come true. During the woodsman’s formative ages and on into adulthood, Serit
Branmore was fond of warning Jaysh and Iman that skipping their lessons would
one day impair the quantity and quality of their lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Of course, after each of these long and
boring lectures, Jaysh had assumed that Serit was simply upset he’d wasted his <i>own</i>
life on books and was blowing off steam. But now, as Jaysh thought about the
key to his freedom tucked inside his shirt, and the ability to read the key
absent from his mind, it seemed that there might have been some truth to the old
man’s warning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Jaysh remembered tearing the special item from
his shirt as he hid in the privy—he didn’t really have to go, but he thought he
better make a good show of it, and what better place to inspect his stolen
cargo—only to realize the special item was <i>covered</i> in arcane symbols. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Jaysh recognized the nine symbols of his name
scrawled across the top of the carefully folded pages—referring not to the
woodsman, but to the kingdom in which he lived—and then he saw the rest of the
drawings and shapes littering the parchment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> It wasn’t so much the drawings and shapes
that threw him for a loop as it was the symbols <i>explaining </i>the drawings
and shapes, symbols telling him what the drawings were and, more importantly, <i>where</i>
the drawings were. To Jaysh, it looked as though a worm had wriggled itself in
ink and then gone flailing across the page.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> <i>But ole big-mouth’ll know</i>, he
thought, reaching a hand over the cat-thing and into his shirt. <i>Ole
big-mouth knows bout these things.</i> Jaysh knew that, like himself, the captain
had skipped just as many lessons from their elementary studies. But unlike himself,
the captain had gone on to pursue a career where reading and writing were
everyday tasks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Jaysh lifted his eyes to the captain and
held the stolen goods at arm’s length. Iman frowned at the goods, but
adventurous to the end, he took it in hand and unfolded it, raising it up until
all Jaysh could see was the creased expanse of the secret item and the
captain’s fingers gripping the sides, turning it one way and then the other. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> When the parchment and fingers finally
ceased to move, Jaysh tensed for what was to come. He just knew that when the
section of parchment was lowered, he’d see the man who did and did not look
like his friend, the one who wore the same clothes and hair as his friend, but
who acted <i>nothing</i> like him. And when
the barrier of paper and scrawl finally did come down, Jaysh saw that he was
right. The not-friend was there, staring at him, the same haunted look he’d
seen in the forest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> The not-friend asked where Jaysh had found
the item and Jaysh told him, explaining how he’d assured the chambermaid he
felt much better and would rather visit the privy on his own, and how she’d
grudgingly said yes to his request, and how Jaysh had then bolted down three
flights of stairs to the main floor. Once there, he’d remembered that he had no
idea where Serit dormed and had to ask for directions from a hand servant washing
the walls, but the hand servant had answered him, as any loyal subject would,
and Jaysh had carried out his theft.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> After listening carefully to the tale, the
not-friend glanced down at the parchment in his hands and stared at it like a dead
rat he’d fished from the gutter. Then, after a time, he turned his dreadful
gaze back to Jaysh and said, “<i>Why</i> are you showing me this?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Jaysh, who was starting to doubt that his
dear old not-friend was going to sympathize, went ahead and confessed his plans,
explaining that his only hindrance was interpreting the strange markings on the
parchment. He needed someone he could <i>trust</i> to interpret them for him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> The not-friend lowered his head to the
parchment and Jaysh knew in that moment that this man who wore Iman’s clothes
and hair was not going to help him, not while his dark brown eyes were darting
from one end of the parchment to the other, frantic, disbelieving, looking for
some form of escape. Jaysh swallowed hard and wished he hadn’t shown the
not-friend the special item, wished very badly that he’d kept the special item
in his shirt because now, it seemed, he would not get it back and, honestly, he
had no idea where he’d find another. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> The not-friend, without focusing his eyes
or breaking his unsettling stare, began to fold the parchment into halves and
fourths and then into fractions of which Jaysh knew very little. He handed it
back to the woodsman, again without looking at him, and told him what the
strange markings had said and, amazingly enough, how to read them the next time
he was stuck. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Jaysh slipped the secret thing back in his
shirt and thanked the good captain, watching as the good captain nodded
sluggishly and turned for the door, trudging into the shallow light of the corridor
and vanishing to the right. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Jaysh stared after him for a very long
time, studying the empty doorway and vacant hall and wondering why he felt so
poorly about disappointing someone who acted nothing like his real-friend. But
understand it or not, he <i>did </i>feel poorly, very poorly, indeed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Oh well</span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;">, he thought. <i>I
still got my Zeph.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> He lowered his head to see if he’d
disturbed the cat-thing in his arms and found that he had not. Zeph remained
coiled and prone and ceaselessly purring. Taking this as a sign, Jaysh slipped
from the anteroom and made his way down the stairs. At the ground floor, he cut
through the servant quarters and out the kitchen doors. Then, once in the
gardens, he slipped to the shadows of the trees and made his way north. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> In his arms, the cat-thing slumbered, even
as Jaysh paused at Harvestgate and worried over the first and only sentries he
would meet along the way. They were standing on the inside of the wicket gate
and surveying the torch lit areas to either side...or at least it <i>looked</i>
like they were surveying the torch lit areas. After crawling in closer, Jaysh
saw that the pair of watchmen were yawning and blinking and literally falling
asleep on their feet. But with three-fourths of the castle watch deployed to
Westpost and the remaining fourth worn down by endless shifts and countless
duties, he guessed he wasn’t surprised.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Zeph wasn’t surprised either…or awake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> After slipping past the guards, Jaysh
crept into the alleyways bordering <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Gillenmare
street</st1:address></st1:street>—which became <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Harvest Road</st1:address></st1:street> on the north side of the city—and
found his way completely obstructed by Jashian citizenry. At one shadowy mound,
he heard a rat digging through the refuse, and in one of the cross-alleys a
lone mongrel growled at him in warning, but otherwise his way was clear. The
good people of Onador appeared to be recovering from the excitement of their
earlier celebration. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Seeing this, Jaysh wondered if maybe that
was the cause of Zeph’s intense slumber, if maybe she were exhausted from the
emotional strain of the day’s events. But regardless of the cause, the results
were undeniable. The cat-thing remained inert for the whole of their transit,
even as Jaysh came to the dirt path of Lake Road and veered west, and even as
he met the trial in the weeds and followed it to the south. In his arms, the
cat-thing slumbered on, undisturbed as Jaysh came to the slope of the Hill and
ascended to its peak, unprovoked as he slipped between the fencing and went
tripping across the headstones, and uninterrupted as he came to the tiny stone
cherub along the interior path and laid himself down beneath her gaze. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> It was not until sometime in the middle of
the night—when her perpetual purring vanish from his chest and when her flaccid
body turn as rigid as a stone—that the woodsman’s pet came awake. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Groggy and sore, Jaysh lifted his head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14pt;"> Zeph was staring at the archway to the
east, both yellow eyes blazing with fury.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-80520464424713622172012-07-16T08:35:00.004-07:002012-07-16T08:48:25.951-07:00CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">When
Jaysh awoke, he did so in a dark place. He was lying on a dark bed, four dark
walls surrounding him, and on each dark wall there appeared to be a giant,
five-legged spider perched above a large and blotchy square. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> His eyes lingered on one of the four
enormous arachnids, noting its placement on the wall and the position of its
legs. He’d seen quite a few spiders in his day—and eaten quite a few spider
webs as well, mostly the ones strung across the Shun trails in the midst of
summer—and these four didn’t act like spiders. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He turned his head to the side and
squinted at them with his peripheral night vision. Their bodies were too skinny
and their legs too long, and waxy. He squinted with his other eye and realized
they were sconces—obviously none of them lit—and that they supported five
finger-like candles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The blotchy squares below, he guessed,
were draperies or curtains or, perhaps, a decorative tapestry. He might have
guessed them windows, but they were not outlined in soft yellowing light like
the solitary square in the wall to his right, the one made up of two slender
rectangles he knew to be shutters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He turned his head and faced the glowing
portal, hearing for the first time the dull roar outside. There might have been
the crash of broken doors and the eruption of shattered windows, but there were
definitely the cry of angry voices, the sound of city folk disgruntled with
their plight and letting the world know. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As he listened further, he supposed it was
their voices that put him in mind of a riot, the rise and fall of their
tempestuous cries as they gave life to the chaotic choir of rage and suffering.
But what could have happened to put them in such a foul mood? Such a collective
explosion of discontent would have required a major disruption, but he couldn’t
recall even a <i>minor</i> disruption. Of course, now that he thought about it,
he couldn’t recall much of anything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He sat up and threw his legs over the
edge of the bed, rubbing his throbbing temples and wondering where he’d been.
The room in which he sat looked familiar—four evenly-spaced brackets, four
shadowy squares, two lonely chairs—but he could not say when last he’d seen it.
Or for that matter, <i>why</i> he’d seen it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In one of the corners without a chair, the
floorboard groaned with the shifting of immense weight and Jaysh spun his head
to inspect, groaning at the giant silhouette he saw lurking the shadows. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Welp, </i>he thought dully, <i>I guess
I ain’t full-blown mad jus yet. I still member you.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He gave the hateful kryst one last dirty
look and then turned quickly away, pushing himself from the mattress and
staggering to the shutters. He had no idea what he’d find outside this window,
but the one thing he <i>did</i> know was that he was going to need some vine
and he was going to need it soon. Part of the ache in his head felt like
dehydration and malnutrition, but another part felt distinctly like the <i>call
of the vine</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> His grabbed the shutter handles with thumb
and forefinger and pulled, late afternoon sunshine rushing inside and blinding
him to the bellowing crowds below. He shielded his eyes and surveyed the
lunatic asylum that <i>was </i>the city of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Onador</st1:city></st1:place>, not that Onador <i>had</i> a lunatic
asylum. From what Jaysh had heard, the king and council kept the mentally
incompetent in the dungeons of the castle, somewhere between the dangerous
criminals and the nearly-insane healer. But if they <i>had</i> an asylum—and
the front doors had broken from their hinges and loosed its madness on the
world—this was what it would look like. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> To the north, a flock of young kids
sprinted up the street with what appeared to be orange flames leaping from
their fingers. Jaysh was sure they were holding bits of burning wood or strands
of flaming grass, but it <i>looked</i> like a handful of flames. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Likewise, it <i>looked</i> like the rest
of the lunatic masses were killing each other. They were shrieking at the sky
and jumping up and down, some swinging only their arms at their fellow
citizens, others wielding dark objects that resembled hand spades. But they
were no more assaulting one another than the running children were setting
their fingers aflame. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As the woodsman’s ears adjusted to the
noise and his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized their war cries were
actually ballads and that the screaming was actually singing. It was loud and
tuneless, and more passionate than melodic, but it <i>was</i> singing. With the
shutters open, he could pick out some of the words and heard something about a
mighty king and an evil horde and something else about an axe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>The Ballad of Arn? <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>Jaysh thought that it was,
partly because his beleaguered memory was slowly coming back, but also because
he could see that weapon of choice being swung by the masses was an axe or
hatchet. And instead of chopping each other to pieces, they were merely dancing
their jigs and showing their support. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In the land of the old ones, hacking at
the air with symbolic weapons was the traditional display of allegiance to the
king, regardless of whether the weapon was an axe or knife or just a straighten
set of finger. This was acceptable because the purpose was not to see who had
the biggest axe or the best axe, but to show one’s faith and loyalty to the
magistrate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Just like that, Jaysh couldn’t breath. He
felt his knees buckle and caught himself on the sill, grabbing the cold stone
with one hand as the other tore at the front of his shirt, plunging inside and
retrieving the walnut-sized stone he had somehow forgotten. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He held it up before his stunned face and
saw it was still attached to its black satin straps and still glowing weakly in
the bright summer sun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>They’re singin to me,</i> he realized
in horror. <i>They’re singin them songs to ME!</i> And he didn’t know why, but
that thought terrified him as much as the thought of them rushing the keep and
hacking him to pulp, it sickened him as much as the time he’d been so hungry
he’d eaten that pheasant without letting it cook like it needed and had fallen
violently ill in the midst of the Shun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> They were cheering for <i>him! </i>Dancing
for <i>him! </i>Going mad in the streets of their city because of <i>him!</i>
And in Jaysh’s experience, when people were happy to see you—when they smiled
and said hello or tired to shake your hand or give you the slightest bit of
attention—they wanted something from you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Sure, a few of them—like Mums,
perhaps—were honestly polite and friendly and sought no favors for their
kindness, but most of them—like Iman—were soulless gold-diggers and looking for
an excavation. So what could he expect if there was a whole <i>city</i> of
people and instead of a polite nod or gentle smile they were <i>singing your
praises?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh dropped the Raya against his chest,
took the shutters in both hands, and closed them firmly. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-52110403078801266492012-07-16T08:34:00.001-07:002012-07-16T08:48:14.776-07:00CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">There
were footsteps in the hall, sharp and clipping and growing steadily louder. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh jumped, backside numb against the
floor, knees tight and achy, jaw sore from vine. But despite his sudden start,
he found that his eyelids failed to open. Not because he was too weary to open
them, but because they’d <i>never </i>been
closed. Rather than a jump from sleep to wakefulness, Jaysh’s spasm of
movement had been a transition from numb complacency to a dizzying
self-awareness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He turned to the door, listening to the
footfalls as they bore down upon him. Had he really sat here on this god-awful
floor all night? Had he really stared vacuously at the floorboards—acids in his
stomach churning and boiling and threatening to spill into his lap—for the
entire <i>night?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The thin yellow line forming between the
shutters seemed to imply that he had. It looked a lot like the makings of
dawn’s glow and would go a long way towards explaining why someone was
venturing down the outer corridor in a direct route for his room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Outside the threshold of his doorway, the
footsteps ceased. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Young Jaysh?” a voice called, one
sounding remarkably like General Branmore. “Young Jaysh.” There came the soft
rap of arthritic knuckles against decorative trim, followed by, “Young Jaysh,
are you presentable?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh considered telling him he was not,
but decided against such a ploy. Since he hadn’t locked the door—there was no
need, really, not when you had a giant crystal bodyguard ever at the ready—his deception
wouldn’t keep Serit out for long. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Thinking of his annoying diamond protector,
Jaysh glanced down at his lap, then around at the room, searching the dark
spaces beneath the dressing table and wardrobe. He hadn’t any possessions to
scatter—in his eagerness to escape the old king’s chamber, he had left them in
the anteroom—but it did look as though the kryst hadn’t lost its touch when it
came to frightening away his pet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> By high chest of drawers, pressed back
against the wall as far back as it could go, Jaysh’s shadow stood watching. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Young Jaysh,” Serit called. “Are you
still in there?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The woodsman did not answer. He was trying
to remember the door opening or closing last night, trying to recall the huge glittering
statue lumbering inside. He could not, as fate would have it—even with his eyes
staring glassily at the floor—but apparently it had happened. By some mystical,
unexplainable means, the sparkling brute had infiltrated the room, approached
his position on the floor, and frighten away his pet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh knew he ought to be glaring at the
kryst, but he found he had no energy. He felt as empty and nerveless as he had the
previous night, probably the consequence of sitting on the floor and stared at
the planks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> From the entryway, the general rapped his
knuckles a second time and said, “Young Jaysh, are you decent?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh didn’t know what <i>dee-sent</i>
meant, but it was clear that Serit wanted him to answer, so he lifted his chin
and invited the old man inside, initiating with his tongue a very long day of
nightmares and unpleasantries. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh didn’t realize this, of course, not
with the fluffy white seeds still wafting back and forth and distracting him
from his thoughts. He could hear the old man making sounds, could see his
lip-hair moving in time to the sounds, but they were still only sounds and didn’t
hold any meaning in his cluttered, fluttering body. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He kept waiting for Serit to take notice
of his vacuous stare, but the old man never did. Jaysh found that if he nodded
his head when the general paused between one series of sounds and the next, the
general went right on talking like everything was fine. For Jaysh, this proved to
be both beneficial <i>and</i> detrimental. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The benefit came as Jaysh managed to
conceal his state of fugue from the general and, thus, avoid a whole litany of
personal questions pertaining to his health. The detriment, however, came as
the cottony seeds of confusion interfered with the woodsman’s ability to
connect with his feelings. For example, as Serit explained the horrible scene
scheduled that afternoon, detailing both the old king’s interment and the new
king’s coronation, the woodsman’s hazy state of disassociation staved off his
horror. As had been the case last night, Jaysh experienced that same queer
sensation of <i>knowing</i> without <i>feeling</i>; the general’s words
painting pictures in his mind and Jaysh’s apathy dulling the affect that
ensued. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Consequently, it was not until much
later—well after the woodsman had been bathed and groomed and led up to the
Hill—that the first of these negative emotions broke through the wall of his indifference.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Looking back, he’d have to say it felt
like waking from a dream. He was standing on the Hill at the time—a wad of vine
in his cheek, the cat-thing in his arms (she’d been waiting on him beneath the
archway in the fence)—and the invisible scales of shock simply fell away from his
heart. One moment, he was very aware of the warm heaviness pulling him towards
the ground, and the next he was aware of nothing but his surroundings, as if
he’d been staring at a portrait of himself all day and, all of a sudden,
someone ripped it away and replaced it with a painting of his worst nightmare,
one in which the sun blazed bright, the sky shown blue, and the whole of Onador
was smashed inside the perimeter of the Hill. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> There were people everywhere—<i>Everywhere!—</i>people,
people, and <i>more</i> people. Most standing among the tombs and
headstones—desecrating who knows how many gravesites with their bare and dirty
feet—but quite a few more were smashed against the <i>outside </i>of the Hill,
pressed against the fencing and packed around the arches, shoulder-to-shoulder
and practically stacked on top of one another. Men with their hats held at
their sides or clutched to their chests, women with their hankies out and
dabbing at their eyes or noses, members of both genders with enormous bulges in
their cheeks, all of them looking weary and numb and in need of some sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Needless to say—based upon his proclivity
for the great outdoors and his abhorrence of civilization—Jaysh had never seen
such a gathering of people, and certainly not one so bleary-eyed and
downtrodden. Staring at it, he was reminded of what his dear old friend, Iman,
used to say when they happened upon someone so glum. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> What’s wrong? </i>the captain would ask, not a trace of
feeling in his tone. <i>Someone run over your puppy? </i>But insensitive or
not, that was exactly what Jaysh saw as he looked out from the center of that
moping conglomeration; a whole lot of puppies crushed and a whole lot of heavy faces.
It couldn’t have been worse. Because if there was one thing that bothered Jaysh
more than crowds, it was emotions. And here he had <i>both!</i> Not only was he
trapped on all sides by a crowd of gawking onlookers, but he was trapped on all
sides by a crowd of <i>sad-faced </i>onlookers, a whole living wall of
unhappiness as far as the eye could see, which was quite ways up here on the
Hill. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Thankfully, the collective eye of the
miserable-looking crew did not appear to be resting on him, but on a point
directly ahead of him, a point where Jaysh was steadily becoming aware of
someone speaking. He turned his head to face the disembodied voice and found a
man he knew. The very man, in fact, that had briefed him this morning on his
role in the services. At the time, the man hadn’t been wearing his officer’s
attire—feathery helmet and shoulder plates, olive-green pants with
complementary chain mail—but he <i>had</i> been sporting the medals. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh remembered staring at the medals
when he grew bored with staring at the man’s profuse lip hair. Lip hair that
was, once again, bouncing up and down as it spewed forth its message. And even
though Jaysh couldn’t hear every word of the message, and had only marginal
understanding of the words he could hear, he understood that this was the old
king’s eulogy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> If the disconsolate crowd of onlookers
hadn’t tipped him off, there was, of course, the long wooden crate in front of
the general and fresh mound of soil behind. The crate had been adorned with
precious jewels and bobbles and the soil had been covered with potted flowers
and decorative plants, but Jaysh could still see them. Just as he could see the
twelve-hands of empty space disappearing beneath the heavy box, held at bay by
two thin planks of wood jutting out to either side of the coffin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Once Serit finished with his encouraging
speech about the old king’s life and once the mob of rueful people were escorted
from the Hill, the groundskeeper and his men would finish what they started
last night. They would slide the slats out from under the coffin, drop the
coffin in the hole, and then fill the hole with dirt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Guess it’s like goin’ to the outhouse</i>,
Jaysh thought as he studied the carefully piled soil. <i>Guess some things yeh
just doan’ do in public. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>But if that were true, then
someone must have forgotten to tell General Branmore, because he was over there
talking about the hole <i>and</i> the soil, telling everyone about the brief
and special journey from the cradle to grave. At the moment, he was detouring
from this special journey to discuss the properties of the Raya Amulet—detailing
how it had been extinguished and reignited for the past hundred generations—but
there had been parts about the grave in there as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh heard him say, “As old kings wither and new kings rise, the
light of the Raya blinks on and off above them, twinkling like a distant purple
star in the eternal dark of night.” Listening to this, Jaysh didn’t know
what to make of that horrible bit of verbiage, aside from the fact that it had
painted a disturbing picture on the window of his mind, one he wished to smash
with a hammer and never see again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The image was of a line of men walking
through the Sway, a line of <i>old</i> men waddling from left to right and
gradually disappearing over the hills to the east. It was nighttime, he
noticed, and the prairie was black. But as is the case in most dreams—those
during the day as well as at night—he could see the men clearly, their hunched
frames, their long gowns, the heavy stupid crowns poised on their heads. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He could also see the light above the
kings, the one hovering about treetop-height instead of resting parallel with
the moon, a tiny purple pinprick in the ever-present gloom. There were
additional stars dotting the universe above—muted flecks of white resting at
the <i>normal</i> altitude for a celestial body—but it was the red-blue of the
lower star that held the woodsman attention. He watched it blinking on and off
in the night sky of forever, watched it counting the seemingly endless supply
of old men passing along below. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh shook his head at the image, willing
it from his mind and nearly falling over in the process, the residual effect of
having not slept or eaten since Serit collected<i> </i>him in the Shun. In the
end, though, the near fall had been a small price to pay for scraping the image
from his mental canvas. In fact, had the awful image persisted, he was
half-tempted to land face-first on a grave marker and open a fissure in his
skull. At the site of the grave, though, the historian-slash-general was moving
on to his next touching analogy and Jaysh was spared the pain of altering his
frontal lobe. Or so he thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The
general reached towards one of his retainers and retrieved a very thick and
leather-bound tome, the sort that might have elicited a soft groan of despair
from his audience had the occasion not been so somber. But somber or not, the
woodsman’s shoulders slumped a little as he watched Serit wrestling with the
book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>We’re gona be here til harvest</i>, he
thought<i>.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But as it turned out, the general fumbled
with the many bookmarks sprouting from its pages, opened it to the chapters in
the back, and read only a brief passage from the tome. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>To every thing there is a season</i>,
he read, <i>a time to every purpose under Glory…a time to mourn…and a time to
rejoice.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh stood there stunned. The passage had
been read and not only was it brief, but he had no desire to crack open his
brainpan. For that matter, he found himself nodding in agreement with the brief
narrative, finding that it appealed to him <i>a lot </i>more than the imagery
of the purple Raya blinking in the night sky. What was more, it seemed like
he’d heard those words before, though he couldn’t for the life of him remember
where. Serit had prefaced the passage by referring to some famous prophet out
of some holy text, but Jaysh had always been horrible with names and places. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He was good with faces, even better with
things, but tell him a person’s name and it was like the words passed right
through him. If he had to guess, he’d have said the passage came from the old
fellow whose bearded mug had been chiseled on the four temples of the city. Jaysh
couldn’t remember setting foot in those places—even back in the days when
they’d been open—but it seemed like the old fellow’s name was L’bontus or F’tonkus
or something like that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Regardless of where Jaysh had heard the
passage or who had spoken it, the passage itself had worked its magic and Jaysh
had come away with a greater understanding of the Raya’s purpose. It was almost
like a <i>mental</i> Raya had lit up inside his head and illuminated the truth.
The stone was not a thing of evil, but a thing of wonder, just like the inner
workings of the heart were a thing of wonder, which—unless he was sorely
mistaken—was what Serit was saying. The stone was not a timepiece for measuring
the king’s life, but an emotional beacon for queuing the people of Jashandar,
fading for them to mourn, rekindling for them to cheer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>No problem, then, </i>Jaysh thought,
relief bubbling from his core. <i>We hang that there rock out one’a the
winduhs, let folk know what’s what with their feelin’s, an’ everythin’s right
as rain an’ fine as pai—</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit stopped talking and silence rolled
out of the prairie. The woodsman snapped out his thoughts and fixed his eyes on
the speaker, finding that the speaker’s sleepy gaze appeared to be directed <i>at
him.</i> Jaysh stopped chewing
and looked hurriedly to his right and left, feeling certain the old historian
was staring at one of the many people crowded to either side of him. But the
people to either side, Jaysh was disconcerted to find, were <i>also </i>staring
at him. In fact, it appeared as though everyone on the Hill was staring at him,
every bug-eyed, desperate-looking, sad-sack. It was almost like he was supposed
to be <i>doing</i> something, but that just couldn’t be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> When Serit had met with him this morning,
he never said one banning thing about the woodsman participating in the
ceremony. Jaysh would accompany Reets and Gariel to the Hill and then he would
listen to the eulogy like everyone else. There had been no mention of
additional duties or responsibilities. He was just supposed to show up like he
had the previous night when Serit and Iman had found him in the…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh’s eyes shot back to the general, the
man whose eyes were suddenly preoccupied with the pile of dirt. Had that old
coot done it again? Had the filthy liar tricked him into another mess like he
had the night before? Jaysh made another nervous scan of the ever-staring mob—kids
on headstones, women on fence posts, men peaking around shoulders—and thought
that he had. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Behind him, something like a wooden peg
poked Jaysh in the love-handles and he looked down in time to see the gnarled
finger prod him a second time. He followed the offensive finger to its owner
and found the halfling nodding adamantly towards the casket. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh shook his head at the disfigured
man, wondering what in the Pit he could be pointing at. Well, he knew <i>what</i>
he was pointing at. He just didn’t know <i>why</i> the adviser felt compelled
to involve him. Jaysh had already seen the old king laying in his smooth
mahogany box, arms carefully folded, legs pulled straight, face doctored and
painted so that he didn’t look near as ghastly as he had the night before. But again,
what did that have to do with him? There didn’t appear to be anything left to
do except lower the man down and cover him up, and the last Jaysh checked they
had a whole platoon of laborer for that nasty little chore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “G’on, now,” Reets whispered, giving him
another rabbit punch to the side. “G’on an’ take it.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh shifted Zeph to the side and turned
so Reets could see his face, convinced the twisted little man had somehow
missed the furrows on his brow or the set of his jaw. The twisted little man,
however, paid the look no mind and gave him another not-so-gentle nudge,
shooing him towards the coffin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Guts churning with dismay, Jaysh turned
and surveyed the contents of the casket one more time, checking to see if
something had materialized from thin air while he’d been staring at the
halfling. As he suspected, everything was the same. It was still just the old
king lying flat on his back, shiny black robes spread across his body, stunning
white lilies lining both sides of the box, dazzling ruby rings sparkling from
his fingers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Beside him, Reets said, “Son, we ain’t goin’ nowheres ‘til yeh fetch
it out, so yeh <i>best</i> get over there an’ start a-fetchin, jus like Serit
tol’ yeh.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh made another look to the general—who
was still scrutinizing the many clods of dirt piled behind the coffin—and said,
“<i>Wha’d</i> he tell me?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Wha’d he—</i>” Reets’ voice caught in
his throat and, although Jaysh didn’t look down, the ill-tempered halfling must
have been consulting the advisers to either side because, shortly thereafter, a
new voice emerged by Jaysh’s ear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Jaysh dear, you have to retrieve the Raya
Amulet from your father.” The voice belonged to Mums, her rich and creamy tones
unmistakable in the silence. “It is not bound behind his neck, so you need only
reach in and lift it from his—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And after that, Jaysh remembered only the
yelps of surprise from the advisers and the gasps of alarm from the crowd as he
bolted for the archway, bodies bouncing to either side, tombstone ricocheting
off his shins, hands and fingers tearing at his clothes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Eventually, one set of fingers yanked so
hard that Zeph dropped from of his grasp. Jaysh screamed her name and scrambled
down for her, but it was too late. She’d no sooner hit the ground and she was
gone, vanishing in the crowd like a bolt of black lightening. And even had he
seen which direction she’d gone, he wouldn’t have been able to pursue her, not
with the various sets of muscled hands gripping him by the arms and dragging
him towards the grave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> One of the draggers—someone who sounded a
lot like Mums, though it was difficult to tell over the general murmur of disapproval—said,
“Jaysh dear, <i>relax</i>. You have to relax for me, okay? Can you do that?
I’ll get the stone, but you <i>have </i>to calm down.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Then a sea of faces was swimming before
him and he thought he saw everyone he’d ever know passing before his eyes—Iman’s
long black locks and clean-shaven stare, Gariel’s pointed orange hair and
burning look of fury, Brine’s silly-looking braid and ridiculous expression of
shock—but as quickly as he’d seen them, they had vanished back inside the
crowd. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Hold him. Hold him steady,” the titan’s
voice called, followed shortly by a flash of black ribbon to either side of
Jaysh’s face and the feel of silky straps sliding around his ears and pressing
against his neck. Someone was tying them behind his head—someone with a pair of
shaggy hands that most definitely belong to a titan—and then the space below
his beard began to glow, the color of lilacs smoldering in a field, the force
of the sun festering behind the mountains. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Something like a lead nut thumped against
his chest and Jaysh tilted his head forward. His arms and legs were still held
firmly in check, but his head remained free and unrestrained and it was with no
effort at all that he lowered it to the stone at his collar and watched the
light leaking from its core. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Lightheadedness overcame him and suddenly
he felt as weak as an infant, like he used to feel when he was a boy and had
bitten off too much vine, his body sagging in the sturdy arms of his captors,
his knees buckling, his head lolling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Around him, the air rang with startled
cries, but as the darkness slowly took him, he remembered peering down at the
same dull light that had bathed the face of the old king and thinking to
himself, <i>This is it. This is the end’a everythin. No more Fish Day, no more
Hunt day, no more Scout or Hike Day. It’s all over with, all the floatin
through the water, all the sleepin on the Hill, all the nappin by the river…</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And then he knew nothing. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-21514679033537426312012-07-16T08:33:00.001-07:002012-07-16T08:48:03.189-07:00CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">As
Jaysh watched the light of the amulet washing out of existence, he didn’t think
it would ever come back. There had been something so depressingly permanent
about the process that he’d have sooner expected dead embers to catch flame
than for this black rock to emit light. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> For that matter, had it always been so
darkly hued? He’d never noticed before, on those few occasions he’d been in the
presence of the old king, but the stone itself was a desolate <i>black</i>. And
accepting for the moment that a heavily polished stone <i>could</i> radiate
light—which he was almost certain it could not—why in the world did the stone
in question have the look of polished <i>onyx?</i> If it were spitting forth
violet-colored light, shouldn’t it have the look of polished <i>amethyst?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh thought the answer to that question
was a resounding <i>yes</i>,<i> </i>and for that reason he believed it more
likely that old king would sit up from his death bed and take the thing <i>off</i>,
than for the sickly black stone to reignite with splendor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But instead of sticking around the old
king’s chamber and watching his pessimistic theory come to fruition, Jaysh turned
his back on the ugly little rock and moved with all due haste into the adjacent
anteroom…where he was promptly comforted and consoled and <i>thoroughly</i>
hugged. He abhorred every moment of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Eventually, though, the condolences came
to an end, the back-patting ground to a halt, and Jaysh was mercifully led away
to his quarters. Not that he wished to spend one more nerve-wracking moment in
this suffocating castle, but in light of all the physical contact occurring in
the anteroom, he thought a bedroom all to himself sounded like his idea of
Glory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He watched Mums and Godfry escort Brine
from the room first, glaring after little brother with more than a little envy.
Jaysh had to stand around for what felt like forever and listen to Serit’s
rehearsed speech, followed by Gariel’s dissonant <i>blubbering</i> (as Reets put it). It was only after these two had made
their contribution that he was led into the hall by the halfling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As they exited, Reets explained that the
woodsman would be able to sleep in the old king’s chamber just as soon as the
handmaids had it cleaned and restored; <i>Cleaned and restored</i> being the
delicate way of explaining that the king’s body needed to be removed and prepared.
But on a positive note, Reets explained that the process shouldn’t take a day
and that the woodsman would only need to tolerate the visitors’ quarters for
one night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh, who was already eyeing the windows in
the corridor and trying to decide which one to escape through, told Reets that
the handmaids could take their time. And Reets, who had never been one for
subtext and reading between the lines, said that the extra time wouldn’t be
necessary and that Jaysh should plan to sleep in the royal bedchamber on the
following night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> After that, Reets said little else as he
led the woodsman through the halls. He only stared at the floor and muttered the
occasional grunt as they turned one way or the other. Jaysh interpreted these grunts
as directions, but as far as meaning was concerned, they could have been gas
from the evening meal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Behind him, though, the butcher’s daughter
more than made up for the halfling’s reticence. Maybe it was because this was
the time of day that she normally came alive, or maybe it was because her special
gentleman-friend had just become king, but for whatever reason she seemed quite
energetic all of a sudden, chattering away about how hard this must be for
Jaysh and how horrible it must have been in the king’s chamber and how she
didn’t have to go out tonight if he needed her to stay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> After awhile, Jaysh tuned her out and
began listening to a sound from further back in the corridor, a sound close
enough to be heard but far enough away not to draw attention. He couldn’t be
sure, but he thought it sounded like the creaking of hardwood floors beneath a
pair of heavy crystal feet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Once at the guest room, the halfling
hurried inside, lit the candles on the nightstand, and then hurried off as
quickly as he could, slapping Jaysh as far up the arm as he could reach and then
mumbling something low and sad that the woodsman couldn’t quite hear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> His woman-friend, on the other hand,
stayed a <i>little</i> longer, but not by much. She passed the brief stint by repeatedly
asking if Jaysh needed anything and then quickly suggesting, in the same sweet breath,
that what he <i>probably </i>needed was to catch up on his sleep. And then
quickly reiterating—in case he’d missed it the first twenty times it had exited
her mouth—that she really <i>didn’t</i> have to go out tonight if he needed her.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> When Jaysh could finally get a word in
edgewise, he told her to go. There was only one thing the two of them ever did
together and, surprisingly enough, he didn’t much feel like doing that. So she
hugged him tight, kissed him hard, and then bolted down the hall, the whole
while looking over her shoulder and telling him that everything was going to be
all right and that he needed his sleep for what was coming on the morrow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Nah,</i> Jaysh thought, watching his
woman-friend disappearing down the stairs. <i>What I need is to get out of this
place and sneak on back to the Hill. That’s what I need, babe.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>But that wouldn’t work
either, he knew. The Hill was the place where tomorrow’s events were going to be
held, the events that he vaguely recalled Serit Branmore pulling him aside and
telling him about after he exited the king’s chamber. Jaysh was still on edge
from his meeting with the old king—still trying to forget the way those foggy
eyes had stared a hole through his face—but he <i>had</i> retained some of Serit’s conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The general had begun by telling Jaysh how
truly sorry he was about the old king’s passing and how very proud he was of
the way Jaysh had conducted himself. And right away, Jaysh could smell a rat,
because the woodsman knew how he had conducted himself and it <i>hadn’t</i>
been admirable. Right on cue, the rat exposed itself as Serit went on to wish Jaysh
a peaceful nights slumber, adding that the woodsman would need his rest for the
interment and coronation slated for tomorrow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The general hadn’t elaborated on the words
<i>interment</i> and <i>coronation</i>,<i> </i>but Jaysh thought he knew what
happened to kings once they’d passed, and to the sons of kings when the kingdom
needed a new ruler. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The general had also failed to explain <i>where
</i>these events would transpire, but the woodsman, of all people, knew where
the kings of Jashandar were buried. He knew that kings like granddad and
Galimose and a man named Benedict—whose name had always tickled Iman—were sleeping
the long-sleep a few rows down from the place where Jaysh spent his night beneath
the stone angel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> So no, sneaking off to the Hill would have
been no better than sneaking back inside the old king’s chamber, at least not
until the preparations were over. Jaysh imagined that, right now, there was
probably a team of laborers digging the grave and preparing the site, and even
though the old king probably wasn’t there yet—they’d be pulling out his
wet-works and filling him full of salt right now—his cadaver would be there before
end of the night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>And do I really wanna see </i>him<i>
again?</i> Jaysh wondered, thinking that this <i>inner-mint</i> thingy and this
<i>core-uh-nation </i>do-hickey sounded a lot like activities he wanted to
avoid. And sure, Serit hadn’t sounded as though the woodsman had much choice in
the matter—<i>something about playing an intricate role in both time-honored
traditions</i>—but since when had that stopped the woodsman? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>He’d always been adept at
fading into the background and dropping out of sight. For that matter, had the
crew of liars not used Iman to trick him out of the Shun—which, it seemed,
they’d been doing with these investigations all along—they’d have never coaxed
him back to the castle in the first place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Bunch’a sneaks</i>, Jaysh thought,
still staring at the empty doorway leading to the staircase. <i>Bunch’a dirty
sneaks, </i>he repeated, noting the dark and looming shape standing in the shadows
of the hall. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>He felt positive the
kryst-thing wouldn’t stop him—it hadn’t so far—so that meant there was
absolutely <i>nothing</i> standing in his way. He could slip out of this place
any time he wanted and no one would know the better. Except that, as he stood
there in the hall outside his room and the thought of sneaking out flitted and
teased across the dance floor of his mind, he found he didn’t want to. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> It was the oddest thing, really, but the
idea of venturing to the Hill bore down on him like a weight. And it wasn’t
merely the prospect of visiting the Hill that made him feel this way. It was,
in all actuality, the prospect of doing <i>anything</i>. He was simply too
tired. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He couldn’t put his finger on the cause,
but he could say that his body felt like it was full of those fluffy white
seeds that went wafting hither and yon through the open prairie skies, the ones
he saw in the fall when Mother Nature was loosing itself on the land in
preparation of the coming spring. Needless to say, as tranquil as this setting
might be in real life, Jaysh found that it played havoc on the insides of a
living person. It distracted him…made him feel empty, detached.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In his mind, he <i>knew</i> the little
cherub was awaiting him on the Hill, just as he <i>knew </i>if he went to her
tonight, he would sleep infinitely better than if he stayed here. At the same
time, though, the sensation of a good night’s sleep eluded him. It was like
remembering Iman telling the funny stories about the halfling and the outhouse—remembering
that he had laughed hard as the punch line was delivered—but failing to
remember what it felt like to laugh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh turned to face the guest room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit <i>had</i> hinted strongly that Jaysh
was expected to stay within the castle. And Reets <i>had </i>gone to the
trouble to walk him up here. And when it came right down to it, Jaysh <i>was</i>
having a bit of trouble finding any motivation to do otherwise. So why not just
go in for a little while? He could recover from all the hugging and talking and
the old king’s grisly stare, and once his energy had returned he could slip out
the back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>An’ I reckon I could use with a rest</i>,
he thought, trudging in and kicked shut the door. <i>I reckon I wou’nt get far
without it</i>, he added, dropping his gear on the floor and bypassing the
pillows and covers of the bed for the hard security of the floor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>He plopped himself into a
corner and nestled in against the gritty plaster-coated walls, fully intent on
gaining half-a-night’s rest—just enough to fortify his wits and rejuvenate his
muscles—and then escaping this prison of stone. He would cut through the royal
gardens to the stables, and from the stables he would slip to the <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Harvest Road</st1:address></st1:street>,
keeping to the alleys and backstreets until he reached <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Lake Road</st1:address></st1:street>, which would take him to a
little path in the Sway that led to the northern rim of the Hill. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Once there, he’d give a hello to his
little stone angel, he’d find a place behind one of the larger stone structures
where the laborers couldn’t see him, and then he’d sleep until the rustling
crowds awoke him from his slumber.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-20415934908538114572012-07-16T08:19:00.004-07:002012-07-16T08:47:51.259-07:00CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Brine
made a frantic look to the woodsman, his need to connect so desperate that he
was willing to try with anyone, even the scruffy-looking man who acted nothing
like his brother. At this point, if the other person had a heartbeat and a
working set of eyes, they were fully qualified in Brine’s book. But as simple a
criterion as that might be, Jaysh still wasn’t qualified. With his head tilted
down and his arms flailing madly, he wouldn’t have noticed Brine lighting his
wauk on fire, let alone turning to face him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>And what is he doing? </i>Brine
wondered, watching as his brother’s hands reached for the furry bundle and then
quickly withdrew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>From where Brine stood, his
brother appeared to be playing the Slapping Game with the little beast, a game
of speed and dexterity where one party held there hands at chest height with
palms up and the other party held their hands above them with palms dawn, the
object of the game being for Palms-up to reach over the top of Palms-down and
slap the top of their hands before Palms-down could pull them out of the way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Needless to say, being the smallest and
the slowest, Brine had never cared for the game. For him, it would have been
easier simply to have Jaysh beat the tops of his hands and get it over with,
which—judging by the look of big brother’s tattered arms and bleeding
knuckles—would have been a better option for Jaysh as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Fine, </i>Brine thought, turning back
to the bed. <i>I don’t need him</i>.<i> I can do this. I do this all the time. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>But as he leaned over the
bed and peered down at the withered old face within the blankets, he realized
that he had <i>never</i> done this. He knew this because at no time during his
stay at the monastery had his heart raced so fast and at no time as he tended
to the sick had his mouth felt so dry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Part of this, he knew, was due to his
familiarity with the patient on the bed, but another part had to do with the
patient’s wasted features and emaciated frame, a degenerative condition that
went far beyond the normal limits muscular atrophy. It was no wonder that Brine
hadn’t seen the body until now. There wasn’t enough mass here to constitute a
body. There was barely enough to make a face…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>If a face is what it is</i>, he
thought, sourly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Along the dead thing’s pasty forehead, its
hair clung to its scalp like matted grass and upon its age-spotted cheeks and
chin, its skin sagged like wet paper. The eyes were open, but they were glassy
and cold and it didn’t take the disciple long to realize they could not move.
But worse even than the eyes and skin was the dead thing’s mouth. With its
teeth missing and its chapped lips dropping, its face appeared to be collapsing
in on itself like a pasty and whisker-clad hole, so far gone that even its days
of sinking had passed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine put his monocle away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Across from him, something moved in the
shadows and he lifted his gaze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh stood on the other side of the
mattress with a cat-thing in his arms and a bulge of chew in his cheek. The
former appeared to be calmer now—their brief game of Slap-Hands finally
over—and the latter, if possible, appeared to be <i>larger</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As a child, Brine had never touched
vine—and neither had his brother, for that matter—but from what the disciple
had learned from his studies and from the villagers he served, the pulp could
have a relaxing effect on some users, especially <i>heavy</i> users. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>And right now it looks like Jaysh could
use a little relaxation, </i>Brine thought, registering the look of despair trapped
in his brother’s eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>Under circumstances when
Brine didn’t know the deceased and wasn’t a blood relative with the grieving,
he would say something comforting at this point, something about Owndiah or
Glory or faith in general. But since he <i>did </i>know the deceased and his
mind was a swirling vortex of unresolved emotion, he simply opened his mouth
and let the words fall out. <i> </i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I think we’re too late,” he whispered,
searching his brother’s ashen face. “What do you think?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh kept his eyes on the staring face in
the blankets, his jaw working slowly. Eventually, he shrugged. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine said, “I think he’s passed on. I
hate to say it, but I think we—” <i>missed it</i>, was what he’d intended to
say, but those words never sounded. They evaporated like smoke as he watched
his brother go springing from the mattress. Without knowing why, Brine did the
same, unsure of what he was evading, but eager to evade it all the same,
skipping from the bed and catching only a glimpse of the movement in the
sheets. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Once at the wall, he grabbed his wauk and
crushed it to his chest, unable to breathe. On the bed before him, the
wriggling thing peeked from the blankets and went still. Brine shivered
involuntarily and heard himself groan. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> At first glance, the thing on the bed
resembled an albino serpent slithering through the sheets, but at second glance
he saw it was actually a <i>skeletal</i> hand draped with damp white paper. He
watched it rise from the mattress and trembled in the air. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Somewhere on the bed, something said,
“…brine…,” and the hand fell back down. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine went sliding along the wall, shoving
the monocle in his eye and jerking the lens towards the headboard, the
direction of the speaker. As he did, the glassy eyes of the cadaver twisted
round to find him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…brine…,” the voice croaked again, and
this time Brine could tell it was coming from the face on the bed. The thing’s
chapped lips never moved, but its chin seemed to drop in time with his name
and, seeing this, Brine felt his head begin to shake and heard his tongue begin
to mumble. “<i>Not possible</i>,” he said. “<i>It’s not possible</i>.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But possible or not, it was happening. The
thing’s eyes staring, the thing’s chin tottering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…brine…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine steadied himself with a breath and
forced himself to the bed. “I’m here, father,” he said, kneeling down and
taking hold of the cold, hard hand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…wayward…child…,” the dead thing said,
speaking without inflection, “…he…returns…” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine didn’t move. “I have,” he said,
thinking he should say more, but finding his words had failed him, the thing’s
hand seeming to suck the thoughts from his head. Quite literally, he knelt
there on the floor, his father hovering near the precipice of death, and all he
could think of was how his fingers felt like a handful of cold, dry
kindling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…he…has…,” the cadaver said, its milky
eyes finding Brine’s scalp, “…the…look…of…disciples…” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine tried to smile, but found he could
not. He nodded instead and hoped it was enough. It seemed to be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The thing said, “…it…suits…you…” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine nodded again. “I’m glad you think
so,” he said, managing a grin. “There are some who have not approved.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…yes…,” the dead thing said, “…much…has…
changed…here…” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> To this, Brine gave a regretful nod and
thought back to the shepherd boy and the castle guards and the way they had
stared at what, to them, was a most peculiar cut of the hair. But worse even
than their reactions to his hair, were their reactions to his religion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> When Brine was a boy, the temples were <i>packed</i>
on holy days and anyone not in attendance was either deathly ill or an ignorant
heathen from a faraway land. So to describe the temples as <i>cold </i>and <i>empty?</i>
And to not know the look of their <i>caretakers </i>or the name of their <i>God?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yes,” he said at last, offering a rueful
sigh, “much has <i>definitely</i> changed.”<i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…but…not…brine…,” the dead thing said,
“…your… studies…are…well…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Interpreting this as a statement, Brine
said, “Oh, yes. Very well, yes. I’ve always been blessed in His eyes when it
came to that sort of thing, reading and such.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The thing that had been Samrod Denbauk let
its eyes drift to the ceiling. “…I…knew…this…,” it said. “…I…knew… this…would…be…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Did you,” Brine said, uncertain of where
this was going.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…yes…,” the thing intoned,
“…as…a…child…your… studies…excelled…,” it paused to wheeze, then said,
“…upon…my…visits…home…the…council…would…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">tell…me…of…this…,”
it paused again, staring blankly at the rafters, “…you…chased…them…with…books…,”
it said, “…you…begged…them…to…read…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Um…father,” Brine said, feeling
uncomfortably about the excessive praise, especially since the dead thing had
yet to even <i>acknowledge</i> his eldest child. “Jaysh is here,” he said,
stealing a glance at his brother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…any…magic…” the dead thing asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine searched his brother’s face, looking
for some sign that he was offended, or that he wished to join the discussion.
But in many ways, Jaysh resembled the inert corpse on the mattress, and Brine
could read nothing in his eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Lowering his gaze, Brine said, “Well,
there is <i>one</i> spell, father, but…but it isn’t much.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The dead thing said, “…show…me…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine shot another apologetic grimace at Jashandar
and sighed theatrically, one of those what-can-you-do sighs. But again, the
sigh was wasted on his brother. Jaysh didn’t appear the least bit offended by
this lack of attention. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “All right,” he said, turning to the dead
thing, “but don’t expect much. This is a very simple spell. The elders can’t
teach us the powerful spells until after we’ve mastered the teaching of
Amontus. It’s sort of a…sort of a <i>failsafe</i>, I suppose.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He freed his right hand from his father’s
fishy grasp and lifted it into the air. The sleeve drooped to his elbow as he
held the palm out to the dead thing and hardened his face in concentration, his
lips uttering a beautiful, yet meaningless phrase and a white pinprick of light
forming in the palm of his hand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Immediately thereafter, the pinprick
spread out and filled the rest of his hand, flooding his wrinkles and pores
with pale ivory light and giving his thumb and fingers the look of an
incandescent cave mushroom. He waggled his fingers at his father, then uttered
another beautiful nonsense word and the glowing began to recede, draining from
his fingers and back into his hand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I warned you,” Brine said, resuming his
grip on the dead thing’s hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…no…matter…,” the dead thing croaked,
“…you… will…learn…more…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I sure hope so,” Brine said, smiling
cordially as a stunning silence swam out of the darkness and settled on the
bed. He shifted uneasily and waited for the shade of his father to say
something, but the shade never did. It merely lay there on the bedding and
stared into Brine’s steadily widening eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Say something,</i> he thought with a
tinge of alarm. <i>Say anything, hum a lullaby if you have to, but no more
silence, please.</i> And just then—just as Brine began to consider prying his
hand from the dead thing’s grip and scrambling for the exit—the silence
scurried away as the remains of the king twisted in his bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…it…is…time…,” the thing said, fixing its
gaze on the ceiling. “…the…raya…beckons….”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine dropped his eyes to the faint glow
at his father’s throat. He held only meager knowledge of the amulet and its
power, but he had read the basics. In the texts on Jashian history, for
example, he’d learned that Arn had stolen the amulet during the adventurous
days of his youth, though it did not say from <i>whom</i> or from <i>where. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>In
any case, the records went on to say that the amulet itself emitted a soft
violet light and, more or less, did nothing for the wearer until the day of his
passing. Only then, as the wearer’s mind and body lost their ability to sustain
life, did the amulet compensate the wearer for bearing its weight, only then
did the magic of the stone come to life and offer the wearer a day without pain
and a day without fear, a day, in effect, to prepare for the end. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…is…he…here…,” the dead thing asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine couldn’t help but frown at such an odd
question. There were only the three of them—father, eldest, and youngest—and
surely his father had seen his two sons enter. But when his father failed to
repeat the question, Brine lifted his gaze to Jaysh and shrugged, a gesture
that said, <i>What now?</i> Ignoring the gesture, Jaysh continued to chew his
vine and stare cautiously at the cadaver. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Leaning close to the dead thing’s ear,
Brine said, “Is <i>who </i>here, father?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…the…other…,” the dead thing said, “…your…
brother…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine pulled back, lifting his eyes to the
woodsman. “He, um…yes, he’s here.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Writhing in its bedding, the dead king
twisted its head and laid cold eyes on its eldest. “…you…are… aware…,” it said,
“…of…your…kingship…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh stopped chewing, and as he did the
silence swam back out of the shadows and pooled around the bed. Brine could
actually <i>hear </i>it as it came, the sound of mute pressure falling from an
oily space, the sound of swimming to far below the surface and wondering if you
could ever make it back, which was exactly what he was wondering as he watched
his father and brother staring into each other’s eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>I’m going to break my father’s hand</i>,
he thought, morosely. <i>If Jaysh doesn’t speak and I don’t relax, I’m going to
snap every bone in his baby-bird hand.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Speaking over the bulge in his cheek, Jashandar
said, “Ye’sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine relaxed a little, but only until he
heard the next word that exited the dead thing’s gullet. For even though his
father’s body did not move—continuing to drill his eldest with those ghastly
gray eyes—it was now speaking to him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…brine…,” it said, coldly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine swallowed. “Yes, father?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…the…council…ages….,” it said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Frowning slightly, Brine said, “Yes,
father.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…each…is…old…,” the dead thing said, its
fried-egg face burning into Jaysh, “…and…soon…they…die…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> To this, Brine could only nod.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…after…your…studies…,” the dead thing
said, the purple light dimming at its chest, “…you…should…settle… here…as…learned…adviser…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The dead thing paused, possibly so Brine
could consider the offer. At that moment, though, Brine was having trouble
breathing, let alone pondering the intricacies of his future. His heart felt
like it was going to explode and he was almost certain he’d heard one his
father’s metacarpals snapping in his grip. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And what of Jaysh—<i>poor, poor Jaysh</i>—what
must he be feeling right now? Part of Brine wanted to look—to see if he were
hurt or incensed—but another part of him, the weaker part, kept his
uncomfortable gaze locked upon his father, watching as a softer purple light
began to bathe his pustuled face. After what felt like forever, it turned its
dead eyes to his.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine exhaled sharply and, from across
the bed, Jaysh began to chew. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…what…say…you…,” the dead thing asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Giving his father a pensive expression,
Brine said, “I will considered it, father. There is definitely a <i>religious</i>
need in Jashandar, and I could definitely see myself pursuing such a need, it’s
just that…” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> From the walls, the silence slithered back
out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…yes…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine clenched his teeth in indecision.
“It’s complicated,” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…is…there…someone…special…” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine wrinkled his face to show almost as
many lines as his father, then realized what his father had asked and the lines
disappeared, his face going taut with dismay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Actually father, we aren’t allowed to
engage in such relationships at Valley Rock, what with the laws of Amontus and
the sacred teachings and the pursuit of a pure mind and a wholesome body and,
to be completely honest, we’re so busy with studies and worship and the needs
of the local villages that—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…her…name…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Miriana,” Brine said, panting and out of
breath, “she’s very nice.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “…miriana…,” the dead thing said,
“…should…come… here…” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine didn’t know what to say. In truth,
Miriana <i>would</i> play a large role in where he one day settled, but there
was also his dream to consider, and so far that had held more sway over him
than his special friend. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He thought of the feeling in his dream and
the feeling he had while reading the letter from Kowin and the feelings he had
now as he thought of all the people in Jashandar who did not know Owndiah or
Amontus or the joys of worshiping at temple. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I have this…this <i>thing</i>, father,
this task I must perform.” He tried to gauge the disappointment in the king’s
pasty flesh, but quickly gave it up. As before, he found only torpor and
disease in that flesh. “Afterwards, though,” he said sympathetically, “I
promise to consider it. I do.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The dead thing lie there, its dead eyes
staring, its dead mouth apart, and Brine felt certain it would speak, felt
certain it would tell him how pleased it was with this news and how wonderful
it would be for his youngest to come back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But as it turned out, the dead thing said
nothing. It never had the chance. For as Brine made his promise to consider its
offer at a later date, the light of the Raya faded from the stone.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-34931285751636526082012-07-16T08:18:00.002-07:002012-07-16T08:47:38.347-07:00CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Roughly
fifteen paces of polished wood separated the place where Brine stood gawking at
his older brother and the place where the door-shaped darkness led to his destiny.
And not surprisingly, when finally urged to cross that pristine, yet ominous
distance, Brine did so in a cloud of black affect so magnificently dense that
it muffled sound, muted feeling, and muddled all images into various shades of
brown. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> At the time, he noticed none of this, but
later—while recovering from the emotional windstorm about to unfold in the
adjacent room—he would sit on the bed in his old sleeping chamber, elbows on
knees and eyes on the floor, and he would recall the soft press of Mums’ palm
against the small of his back—dark auburn—the dull scuffing of sandals on
hardwood floor—soft umber—and, of course, the lumpy cord of hair sweeping down
his back—<i>bright</i> and <i>brilliant</i> copper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The emptiness of the doorway, however,
remained black in these memories, a depthless and looming black that seemed to
advance from the walls. The trim along the top and sides of the door were
composed of leafy green vines—blurred rust—and twisting red briars—dirty
orange—and the nails had appeared as a pattern of ancient gray dots—wet
bistre—but the doorway itself remained a stark and impossible <i>black</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Again, it wouldn’t be until much later
that these colors would occur to him, not until the potency of his fugue waned
and the powers of his cognition returned. Until that time, the only thoughts
strong enough to filter through his fog of disillusion were those involving the
stranger that Mums had called Jashandar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Because, to be fair, the Jashandar that
Brine knew <i>never</i> answered to Jashandar, not unless throwing dirty looks
and mud clods was considered an answer. And it was only their father that
called him by that appellation, and only then because the man had expected
greatness from his eldest son, a sort of prophetic appointment so to speak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>What better way to stoke the flames of
success</i>, Brine grumbled,<i> than to name your favorite after the land he
would one day rule. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In his brother’s earlier ages, the
auspicious title seemed to have the desired effect, even as Brine was leaving
for Valley Rock ten ages ago. He distinctly recalled a boy in this castle who
stood half-a-head taller than him and who out-weighed him by two or three
stones. The boy’s face had been smooth and hairless and his locks had been neat
and clean and, more importantly, the boy had been fond of wearing his royal
attire, a fancy purple tunic with gold thread stitched down the arms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> With regard to pants, Jaysh held no
preference, but the tunic was a must and, therefore, the advisers had ordered
several of these majestic shirts tailored so that daddy’s precious boy would
have a fresh set for each consecutive day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> During Brine’s absence in the F’kari,
however, the influence of his brother’s illustrious designation had apparently
worn thin, because the pristine boy he remembered had, at some point, exchanged
his extravagantly embroidered tunic for a set of soiled rags. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <b>But never mind his looks, Rug Boy</b>,
said a dark and distorted voice deep within his core. <b>Look at the way he’s <i>acting.</i></b>
But Brine dared not to look across the titan at his brother, at least not if he
hoped to keep his calm as he reached his destination. At the same time, though,
he didn’t need to look at the man. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He’d been observing his brother since he’d
entered the anteroom with Serit and he could say, with some authority, that the
dark voice was correct. The man on the other side of the titan—the one who
rarely spoke and, if not for the rhythm of his jaw, rarely moved—did not <i>act</i>
like the Jashandar he’d grown up with. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The Jashandar he’d grown up with—the <i>bad</i>
Jashandar, for want of a better word—was much louder and much more apoplectic.
That Jashandar used to get mad at the servants and throw dishes at the walls,
or get bored after lunch and set fire to the outhouse, or sometimes, for no
reason at all, he’d sneak onto the parapets with a bucket of water and drench
one of the royal advisers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> It was usually Godfry who received the
brunt of these watery pranks—since the others eventually caught on and
remembered to look up—but Jashandar had special mistreatments for the rest of
the council as well. For Mums, he would follow her through the halls and wait
for someone to wander by so he could scream “<i>Beast-woman!</i>” and then shriek
for them to run. And for Reets, he would hobble along behind the halfling—in
perfect imitation of his limp—and wait for the halfling to lose his cool and
give chase. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <b>And let’s not forget what he did to you</b>,
the distorted voice teased from somewhere deep inside, <b>all the names he
called you, all the toys he stole, all the things he did in the gar—</b> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Yeah, yeah, yeah, </i>Brine cut in, not
wishing to revisit the incidents in the garden. The ugly voice had a point
about his brother—one which Brine himself had disclosed to Miriana during his
first season at the Rock—but the voice was also wrong as well, wrong in that
Jashandar hadn’t been <i>all</i> bad. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>It was true that Brine’s
brother had a mean streak and that his playful antics bordered on cruelty, but
what the voice didn’t talk about—and what Brine had failed to mention to his
woman-friend—was that there were times when Jashandar had actually been nice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Like the times when the winds howled or
the floors thumped and big brother had allowed Brine to crawl into his bed.
Brine remembered the two of them pulling the covers over their heads and
spending half the night telling each other that the noise were <i>probably
nothing</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Similarly, there were the holy days when
Serit led them to the temple and when Jashandar would entertain them with his
many silly faces, occasionally causing Brine to laugh until he couldn’t
breathe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> And the pie-song!</i>
Brine thought. <i>How could I forget the pie-song! <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>The pie-song had been a
wonderfully cheery tune that both brothers sang while desert was being served,
regardless of whether the desert was pie, cake, or candies. In fact, Brine had
loved the song so much that he remembered humming it while playing in the
garden. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>And Jashandar had come up with it</i>,
he thought, chancing a look from the corner of his eye and wondering absently
if the titan had not lied to him about the man beside her. Well, he doubted she
would out-and-out lie to him—especially at a sobering time like this—but she
very well could have made a mistake. She was getting old, after all, and
eyesight <i>was</i> one the first senses a titan lost. Brine simply needed to
get the monocle to his eyes and take another look. If he could do that, he
could prove—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that something as spirited and fun as
the pie-song could <i>not </i>have originated from someone as drab and
distasteful as this woodsman. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>But before he could do that—before
his hand ever touched the leather pouch at his hip—he had entered the chamber at
the back of the room and the door was shut tight behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine stopped walking and turning quickly
to his ears to assess the activity of the room. Somewhere to his right, he
could hear his bushy-faced brother scuffling with the cat-thing—who apparently
liked the sheer darkness and acidic smells no better than Brine—but the lack of
footfalls told him Jashandar wasn’t moving. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>He probably has his hands full
wrestling that thing in the dark</i>, he thought, and considered, for a moment,
feeling his way over there and making sure big brother kept hold of the little
monster. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>In
the end, though, he decided against such a move. For one thing, there was the
possibility of permanent maiming and, for another, there was the steady shift
of focus occurring in Brine’s mind, a shift from his brother’s patchwork animal
to the gut-wrenching letter he had received in the F’kari.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>This is it</i>, he thought, his eyes swelling
in the murk.<i> This is the reason I came. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>At the moment, he couldn’t <i>see</i>
the reason that had drawn him home, but he knew it was here. They wouldn’t have
sent him in, or made such a fuss about being strong in the face of adversity,
if it wasn’t here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Bearing this in mind, he stood perfectly
still and waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, aware that the only light
source in the room appeared to be a solitary candle in the center of each wall,
flickering weakly from its sconce and flanked on either side by two candles of
equal length and diameter. These additional candles, Brine noticed, had been
left purposefully extinguished. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>And have the window shutters been
nailed shut?</i> he wondered, squinting in alarm. <i>And is that putty pressed
into the seams?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> When his pupils had finally dilated, he hazarded
a step forward and noticed that the darkness was no longer a hindrance, at
least not to the eye with the monocle. To the eye without the monocle, he was
still as blind as the creature for which his brethren at Valley Rock had named
him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>Brine closed the worthless
orb and focused on the images in the lens, seeing right away that the room had
changed very little since last he had visited. Of course, that had been many
long ages ago and the visit had lasted for no more than an instant, but if he
had to guess he’d have said it looked the same. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The
greatest mystery, actually, was the purpose of that long ago visit. It seemed
like he’d been looking for someone, but he couldn’t remember whom. It also
seemed like he’d been hurt or scared—because he was definitely crying—but again
the cause of those tears was lost to him. He remembered only the sprint inside,
the sharp shriek of despair, and then one of the servants sweeping him up and
carrying him away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>But what about now?</i> he wondered,
creeping inside the room. <i>If I screamed now, would anyone come?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>He decided he wasn’t ready
to find out and made an inventory of the room, picking out the furniture and
décor materializing from the gloom. Against the far wall, a four-poster bed lay
pressed beneath one of the four candles and on his right the outline of a chair
haunted the adjacent wall. There also appeared to be ghost-chairs in the
corners behind him and directly beside the door. The only table, however, was
squatting to his left and supported the silhouettes of tins and bowls upon its
surface. These, he assumed, were producing the stringent fumes and odors that invaded
his nostrils, likely the medicines used to care for the owner of the room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>So maybe there is no owner,</i> he
hoped, his sandals scraping along the floor. <i>Maybe that letter was just a
big mistake and the owner is outside in the garden enjoying a nice lemonade
with my </i>real<i> brother.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Over the headboard of the bed, a
window-sized square materialized on the wall. It was four-hands wide and
six-hands tall and instead of hinges on the sides and latches in the middle, it
was smeared with various shades of paint and hung from a black spike driven
into the wall. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As he continued to approach the bed, Brine
watched as the paint-strokes took on definition and the shades became colors,
watching until the painting showed him a dark-skinned man standing in a rolling
green prairie, a dark gray axe clutched overhead and dirty-white monsters
springing from the reeds. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine assumed the man with the
double-headed battleaxe was Arn the Great Warrior and, turning to the walls on
either side of him, found that he was right. On his left, he saw the portrait
of a man leaning over a stack of intricate designs, an ink quill in one hand, a
measuring stick in the other. On his right, he found the depiction of a man in
green military attire, standing stiffly atop a hillside and shouting orders at
his men. These were, indeed, the Great Kings of Jashandar, the three men who
made possible the hopes and dreams of the Jashian people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> There would probably be a fourth painting
hanging on the wall behind, but Brine made it a point <i>not</i> to look at
that one. He knew that there had been a myriad number of kings since the time
of Arn, but that only <i>three</i> of them had been Great Kings, which meant
that the painting against the rear wall—the wall that the owner of this room
would see as he awoke from slumber—was likely reserved for the current
magistrate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>And if that’s the case, </i>he thought,
morosely, <i>then there is no way I can look at the thing and still make it
through the ceremony. No way. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But as he managed a few more baby steps
towards the bed, he was still not convinced there would <i>be </i>a ceremony.
As far as his one good eye was concerned, there was no one in the room. The
ghost-chairs were empty, the floors were barren, the bed looked abandoned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> At some point, there <i>had</i> been a
body occupying the mattress—he could see the residual effects of its presence
still marring the sheets—but whomever that had been was now long gone, leaving
behind a wad of disheveled blankets, a bowel of keepers salve, and a handful of
darkly-stained rags that…that looked…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine stopped, his sandals catching on the
floor as his breath caught within his chest. Up near the headboard and coming
from the center of the crushed pillows, he saw a dull and purple light leaking
out from the depression, a faded lavender glow that put him in mind of a tiny
purple moon setting beyond the headboard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Staring at it brought forth the feelings
of dread that had been pounding at his heart and screaming to be let in. <i>Because
it’s so weak</i>, he thought, helplessly, <i>so very, very weak</i>. But hadn’t
the healer warned them of this? Hadn’t he told them to hurry after Jashandar
refused his summons? Brine thought that he had. At the time, the little man’s
words had made no sense, but now they rang in his mind with an awful crystal
clarity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Purple most gone</i>, Kowin had told
them, and as Brine winced at the muted lilac glow on the crumpled sweat-stained
sheets, he saw that the healer was not wrong. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-51300305754406239972012-07-16T08:17:00.003-07:002012-07-16T08:47:25.688-07:00CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">“I
am <i>sooo </i>proud of you,” Mums said, engulfing both scout and cat-thing in
a shaggy embrace. There were groans of protest from within—not to mention a
good deal of hissing—but the titan ignored these cries and continued to sway
with her cargo, rocking them in her arms. “Just look at you,” she said, “all
the way inside this time.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The scout grunted and cat-thing spit and,
from the sound of them, Brine assumed they were both rather stunned by this
sudden display. Even so, Brine doubted they were any more stunned than <i>he</i>
was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Muminofilous—despite her bestial size and
grisly appearance—was <i>not </i>a creature of the wild and, therefore, was <i>not</i>
apt to greet this man as Reets had greeted him, unless she and the council had grown
close to the scout over time. But even if she had, Brine still wasn’t sure that
explained what he was seeing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Because if they’re so close to each
other</i>, he wondered, <i>why isn’t the scout reciprocating? Why is he disgruntled
over these affectionate displays?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Case in point, Mums had no more than set
the man down and the filthy fellow was stumbling back from her, showing no more
love for the titan than he had for the general or halfling. On a positive note,
the cat-thing did seem to have been subdued, but Brine did not believe this to
be a sign of affection. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> From where the disciple stood crouched
behind his teacher, the animal looked as though it was suffering from partial
asphyxiation. The writhing and kicking had ceased and a new state of lethargy had
settled over the beast, leaving it to lie in the scout’s bleeding arms with
barely enough strength to glare at the titan. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Taking notice of the look, Mums said, “Is
your little friend not well?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The scout shook his head.
“ee…ates-it…ere,” he said, speaking over something in his mouth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Blinking her huge, brown eyes, Mums said,
“Was that, <i>He hates it here?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The scout frowned. “ot…ee,” he said,
glancing at his angry cargo. “ephs’…a-irl.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh, it’s a <i>girl?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The scout nodded that this was so and the
titan went on to ask a number of other superfluous questions, questions that
sent a mental monkey wrench slamming down into the spinning gears of Brine’s
theory. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> If this scout visited the council on a
regular basis, then wouldn’t Mums have known the creature’s gender? And if this
precious little creature truly hated it here, wouldn’t the council have been
used to its violent display? And come to think of it—judging by the way Reets
had approached the man and by the questions Mums was asking—had they never <i>seen</i>
this horrid thing before? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> It was possible the scout left the animal
outside when he delivered his reports, but Brine doubted it. He could tell by
the way the man was holding the creature that he cared immensely for her and,
for that matter, if he were going to leave the little monster outside, this
delicate occasion would have been the time to follow through. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> So, for the council to act as though
they’d never seen her, the scout almost couldn’t be a regular emissary. And if
that were the case, then why did they insist on treating him in such an
intimate manner? Was it possible they knew him through someone el—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> From over his shoulder, the answer to that
question came yelping up from behind: “<i>Oh, baby! Baby! Honey! Oh, how are
yeh, baby? Are yeh okay? Do yeh need anythin? Yeh need me to do anythin?</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine turned to see Gariel Morlique
scampering across the room in direct route for the scout and, as had been the case
with the advisers, the warmth displayed between them was decidedly one-sided.
As the screeching woman bore down upon the man, arms reaching and tongue
waggling, the scout actually winced and drew away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “mm…ine,” he said, moving arms and
shoulders so she could not take hold. “mm…ine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “But, baby, yeh know I don’t have to go
out tonight. I—I can stay with yeh, I can. An’ we can talk or take a walk or…or
whatever yeh want.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>M...,</i>” the scout said, “<i>…Ine!</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “What…What’s that, honey? I can’t…,” she
wrinkled up her nose, grimacing at the bulge in his cheek. “What’s in your
mouth, Hon?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Still bobbing up and down, still rubbing
the creature hidden in his arms, the scout brought his lips to the mug in his
hand and jettisoned a stream of black fluid.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I said I’m <i>fine</i>.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gariel gawked at him. “You sure, baby?”
And when he said that he was, she said, “But, Sweetie, I can…I can help yeh. I
can take yeh home an’…an’ yeh know, talk an’ stuff.” She gave a nod at the word
<i>stuff </i>that caused the others in the circle to look at the floor or
ceiling, and even the scout, whose mouth had yet to fill with saliva, made it a
point not to comment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Oblivious to the awkward silence around
her, Gariel shot a baffled look at the door in the rear of the room and said,
“Well, I…I jus thought you’d be upset, yeh know, bout goin’ in there. It ain’t
gona be fun, baby, yeh know it ain’t gona be fun.” She turned back around. “I
just thought, yeh know, when you was done we’d go home an’ talk or snuggle
or—or I can make yeh some…I’ll make whatever yeh want, yeh like soup, baby? I
can ma—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gariel Morlique—who until that point had
been leaning over the scout like a concerned mother hen—reared back as if
struck in the face, the care in her eyes quickly replaced with a squinting
abhorrence. “Uh…<i>baby,</i>” she said, trying to keep her voice from joining
the caustic ranks of her face, “why—why yeh holdin that <i>thing?</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The scout glanced down at the frightened
creature in his arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gariel said, “Why doan’ yeh put it down,
baby? Jus fer a spell, huh? Yeh doan’ wanna take it <i>in</i> with yeh, baby.
Not in there, yeh doan’.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And again, the woman who’d once rescued
Brine from the bullies of his youth made another glance at the door in the back
of the room. Brine had seen the earlier look, as well as heard the earlier
reference, but he’d been so shocked at the time—by her casual reference to
carnal knowledge—that he completely failed to pay the comment much heed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> This time, however, he paid the reference
and glance <i>ample</i> heed. He even turned and searched the rear wall for
another door to which Gariel might have gestured, because surely she did not mean
the door <i>Brine</i> was to use. Surely, she had not implied this
muck-encrusted scout had news so urgent as to warrant a journey through <i>that
</i>door. But try as he might, he found nothing back there but a few dusty
decorations and a handful of chairs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> It was possible she’d made a mistake—Brine
had about as much respect for this woman’s perspicacity as he did for that of a
yipping dog—but none of the advisers had bothered correcting her. In fact, the
only one among them who seemed to share the disciple’s astonishment—the one now
giving the rear wall a similar look of concern—was the <i>scout </i>himself. When he finished, he took a
step back and closed his arms over his pet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Go where, now?” he asked, and then it was
the butcher’s daughter who donned a look of confusion, this one, Brine thought,
tinted with fear and worry and traces of panic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gariel reached out for the retreating
woodsman as if to answer his question with a caress, then seemed to remember
the vicious cargo in his arms and drew back her hand, turning to the advisers
and shaking her head. The scout, his own face wrinkling with growing alarm, was
darting his eyes from adviser to adviser as well, settling finally on the one
face that had brought him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> After making another generous contribution
to the mug, he said, “What’s she talkin bout, Serit?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The general appeared to be turning gray as
he lowered his jaw to answer, the only sound emerging a repetitive, “<i>I-I-I-I…</i>,”
that only grew worse as all heads turned to watch the epileptic display. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Tilting her massive head forward, Mums
said, “You <i>did</i> tell him, didn’t you, Serit?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Well, <i>yes</i>, I told him,” Serit
declared, brushing at the medals beneath his mail as the titan’s protuberant
brown eyes bore steadily into him. “He wasn’t overly fond of the idea <i>then</i>
either,” he concluded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “You told him what was expected once he
reached the castle,” she said doubtfully, “and you failed to take his mug
away?” She reached a shaggy hand for the receptacle. “I’m sorry, but a cup of
bodily secretion is not—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Eh, Mum,” Serit interrupted, raising one
gaunt finger and giving her a sheepish look. “Before we ventured into the
kitchen to <i>fetch </i>the cup, I’m afraid he was depositing his excess on the
castle <i>floor</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The titan stared at the thick, black
contents of the steel container, then at the strained expression on the scout’s
face. “You can keep the mug,” she said, grudgingly, “but if I were you, I would
strongly consider removing that <i>mass</i> from your jaw and leaving it <i>and</i>
the cup out here.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “ow…um?” the scout asked, his speech
already thick with saliva.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Because very soon,” Mums explained,
giving the general another accusatory glance, “Kowin will finish with his
scribing and you will take the healer’s place, at which point you might find it
useful if your <i>tongue</i> was not obstructed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The scout’s squinting eyes shot to the
door in the back of the room. He stared for a time, like a convict surveying
the entrance to his cell, then shook his head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Mums cast another baleful look at the
general, watched as Serit shrugged helplessly back, and then turned to the
scout. “Listen,” she said, “I know that it won’t be pleasant for you in there
and I know you can imagine a whole host of other activities you would rather
pursue, but I <i>also</i> know,” she told him as sweetly as she could, “that
you are one of the most resilient young men I have ever known and that you <i>will</i>
survive.” She paused and made a face, possibly a smile. “And just remember that
we would not ask this of you if it were not ab—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The rest of her message was lost as a loud
snap broke from behind them. Brine, as well as everyone else, turned to face
the door in the back of the room, all eyes watching as a second steely sound
popped in the air. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> For a moment, nothing moved—the door and
its trim seeming to stop the sands of time—and then, with a rusty scream of
hinges and the ancient groan of wood, the rectangular barrier swung back into
the wall and darkness filled the void. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine dared not speak, nor breathe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Something was moving in the shadows,
something squattish and black, its feet drowning in the hem of its black robes,
its hands swallowed by the sleeves. It waddled further from the gloom and Brine
thought he saw something squirm within the hollow of its cowl, something
pink-eyed and pale that he suddenly recognized as a face…a face that he <i>knew</i>.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> It was the royal healer Mums had
referenced earlier, the man whose chamber door used to sing with the screams of
suffering animals and whose eating habits behind the stables sent a chill up Brine’s
spine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> There were, of course, other bizarre
traits about this pale little man—some regarding his sleeping habits, others
pertaining to the strange bulges in his robes—but none of them were on Brine’s
mind at the moment. What was on the disciple’s mind now was the way the
healer’s pink and beady eyes were narrowing on the scout.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>You,</i>” the healer barked, jabbing
his colorless nail at the woodsman. “<i>You comes, now.</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The scout didn’t move.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>I say you—Comes Now!</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The scout, in the screaming silence of the
room, leaned over his mug and, without taking his eyes from the healer, added
to its contents. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The healer had no answer for this. He
turned his twitching right eye on the advisers. “<i>What wrong him?</i>” he
said. “<i>Purple most gone.</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Mums moved next to the defiant scout, made
to lay a hand on his shoulder, then thought better of it and let her shaggy paw
hover. She drew a bovine breath and searched her mind for an alternate means of
changing the scout’s stance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Listen,” she said, speaking to the scout
as she stared at the disciple. “It’s not like you’ll be going in alone. Brine’s
here,” she said, pointing to where the disciple stood crouched behind his
teacher. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The scout squinted at Brine as he had the
door in the rear of the room. Whoever this man was, he did not appear convinced
that the man with the ponytail was who the titan claimed. He shook his head at her.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Doan’ look like Brine,” he said, mildly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Mild
or not, though, Brine felt a flush of heat spreading across his face. Maybe it
was the fatigue he had accrued from his journey, or the fear of what lay in
wait for him in the shadows of the back room, but this repeated questioning of
his appearance by the rabble of this land—spooky shepherds, idiot guards,
deformed halflings—had finally left a very bad taste in his already soured
mouth, a taste he could not swallow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Stepping from behind his teacher, Brine sneered
at the dirty scout. “Well, I am. <i>I am</i>,” he said, his head nodding maniacally,
“despite how I look, or what you think—or what <i>anyone</i> thinks—” he glared
at Reets, “I <i>am</i> Brine, I am, so…so <i>who</i> are you, then? Hmm? I just
want to know—<i>Who</i> do you think <i>you</i> are?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But rather than the scout, it was the
titan who answered the disciple. She’d been closest at the time of Brine’s outburst
and had stepped forward in the event of an escalation. She stared at him for
quite some time and then said, in what Brine considered to be a somewhat <i>embarrassed</i>
tone, “This is Jashandar, Brine.” And when Brine couldn’t stop himself from
frowning, she added, “This is your <i>brother</i>.”</span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-15652152945286296952012-07-16T08:16:00.001-07:002012-07-16T08:47:13.396-07:00CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Brine
didn’t need to reach for his monocle to recognize the taller of the newcomers.
He <i>saw</i> right away the additional plume of feathers on either shoulder
plate—a military designation worn by only <i>one</i> member of the Jashian
military—and he <i>heard</i> right away the familiar jangle of pendants and
medals bouncing off his chest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Admittedly, there were several military
officers who wore these honors beneath their mail, but only <i>one</i> wore
enough to cover half his undershirt; silver disks of bravery, gold triangles of
excellence, the former dangling from turquoise bands, the latter supported by
lime ribbons. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>And that mustache, </i>Brine thought,
smiling at the distorted gray crescent drooping below his nose. <i>No one has a mustache like Serit.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The man accompanying Serit, however—the
one with the coppery-red beard and dark brown attire—Brine had no idea who this
was. If he had to hazard a guess, he would have said <i>scout</i>, but that was
purely conjecture. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He could see a trail of mud and leaves
littering the floor behind the man, so <i>scout</i> seemed as good a guess as
any. Scout <i>or</i> runner, he amended, but definitely not a common field
hand. With such delicate business at hand, Serit would not have held audience
with the man unless he was some form of messenger. And even then, considering
what was about to happen in the room behind them, it would have to be a fairly
significant message. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>But </i>hadn’t<i> something fairly
significant taken place?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Thinking back to what Stonyface had said
after rescuing him from the Shungate cretins, he believed there had. The
officer had apologized for the guards attempted assault on his wauk and
explained that the castle was a bit shorthanded after the <i>Westpost incident</i>.
What incident this was, Brine could only imagine, but it would certainly
explain this filthy harbinger’s presence in the chamber. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Watching the two men enter, Brine wondered
if the incident were related to the Mela. That particular river <i>did</i> flow
through the Western Sway—just north of Westpost, if memory served—and it had
looked rather unhealthy as he crossed over at the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">East</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Bridge</st1:placetype></st1:place>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i> But
unhealthy or not, </i>he argued, <i>why
would they empty the whole of the castle because of an impurity in the Mela?</i>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He was still struggling with that part.
Granted, the river looked like a flowing black nightmare and the banks looked
stricken with plague, but did that justify a reduction in castle security? And
even if it did, wouldn’t king and council have sent their troops east rather than
west? Upstream to the cause rather than downstream to the effects? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>Brine thought that they
would. In fact, the longer he thought about an incident capable of depleting
the defenses of the castle, the more he thought the incident would be related
to whatever had frightened the shepherd boy, the <i>thing</i> in the sky that
Brine had watched for as the young field hand caught up on his sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>…there are less of us now…</i> the boy
had said<i>…less than once were…</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine shivered at this, the back of his
neck beset by a hoard of ice-spiders. It was not lost on him that his divine
purpose might require him to <i>stay</i> in
the city of his past and, if this were the case, he did not wish to bump into
whatever it was the shepherd boy had seen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> If he were lucky, the boy was simply a
half-whit and no one had bothered to make him a sign. That’s all it would take
to clear up such misunderstandings, a simple wooden sign like the one that hung
around Stymie Croagmuck’s neck. Stymie had been the stable hand for the castle when
Brine was young and the sign around his neck had proclaimed to all—as if the
boy’s bizarre questions and incessant nose picking wouldn’t tip them off—that
Stymie was a simpleton. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>But even Stymie the feeb knew a doggy
when one crossed his path. The doggy might have a long wormy tail and thick
prominent teeth and it might live in the holes beneath the royal stables and
eat grain from <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i>horse
pails, but when Stymie was telling you about his </i>doggy<i>,
he hadn’t fabricated the creature. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine rubbed at the imaginary ice-spiders on
his neck and tried not to think about what the shepherd boy had spied in the
southern skies, focusing instead on General Branmore and the grungy man who,
Brine could now see, was <i>not</i> a runner. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> At this proximity, the disciple could make
out the pack, bow, and quiver slung over the man’s leaf-strewn shirt. Runners
kept their supplies strapped to their horses and—for the sake of speed and the
fact they didn’t spend much time in the wild—there was very little to keep. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> On the surface, Brine wasn’t sure what
difference this made, or if it made <i>any</i> difference, but he was sure
about the conclusion: The man was a scout, pure and simple. He lived in the
woods, traveled on foot, and apparently communed with nature. If Brine needed further
proof, he needn’t look any farther than the furry creature cradled in the man’s
dirty arms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Was it some breed of black-pelted ferret? Or
maybe a cat? With the creature lying half-concealed in the scout’s arms and its
head nestled against its rear flank, it was difficult to tell. Brine could see
parts of its hindquarters and most of its back—where it was missing quite a lot
of hair—but other than that, it was just fur and scars. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Well, there you have it</i>, Brine
thought. <i>You can’t be any more of a scout than that</i>.<i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Then, as if to heap even more evidence on
the scouting side of the scales, Brine looked to the hall and spied the rest of
the party, as in <i>scouting party</i>. And
maybe not all scouts traveled in groups—surely, there were some that worked the
woods alone—but he did know that there was no such a thing as a <i>party</i> of runners. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He’d known a few runners at the Rock and,
from what he’d gathered during their brief exchanges, they rode in solitude
between checkpoints and handed their message to the next member in the chain.
Thus, there was little need for them to travel in groups or pairs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Unless, </i>he conceded, <i>the message
in question was extremely urgent and there was reason to believe one of them
might be intercepted… <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But issues of urgency aside, he still did
not believe the men in the hall were runners. One of them was much too large
and the other one—the one with the long black hair and fashionable
boots—appeared to be <i>waving at him</i>. With regard to former, for the same
reason runners kept as little gear as possible on their steeds, they also
tended to be slight of build. With regard to the latter…Well, to be honest,
Brine didn’t know what to think of the latter. He was still trying to decide if
the man was a member of the king’s royal army, let alone a runner. With such a
jocular exhibition—<i>especially</i> <i>at a time like this!</i>—it seemed
unlikely that the man was an emissary. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine shot the long-haired scout a dirty
look and the man waved harder. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>The nerve of him</i>, Brine grumbled,
turning his attention to the general. Surely, Serit had told the scouts in the hall
what was about to happen, because he’d certainly told the scruffy-looking scout
beside him. Brine could tell by this scout’s shambling gait and reluctant pace,
evidence that the man held an appreciation of the situation. In fact, it almost
appeared as though the man was trying to break free of the general and return
to the hall.<i> </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit, of course, was having nothing to do
with that behavior, prodding the nervous fellow in the shoulder each time he tried
to turn around. For this reason, it took the two men quite some time to travel from
the hallway door to where Mums and Reets stood waiting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>And speaking of the advisers, </i>Brine
wondered, <i>what was Reets doing with his mouth?</i> <i>Was he sneering at the
fellow? Or was he—</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine nearly gasped. Reetsle Baggershaft—the
halfling who used to greet him in the castle by grunting biological obscenities
and asking if the boy had any chores—was <i>grinning </i>at the man. He was <i>Honest
to God </i>grinning at him. Brine didn’t think the twisted adviser knew <i>how</i>.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In
fact, accepting for the moment that titans couldn’t move the thick features of
their face, Mums appeared rather pleased with this scout as well. Or perhaps
pleased was the wrong word, but she definitely appeared more relaxed. Rather
than her usual stiff and proper stance—the stance naturally assumed by members
of the ruling class in the presence of the groveling masses—she appeared to be
at ease.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Did everyone know him?</i> Brine
wondered, glancing beside him and finding that at least one of the advisers had
no idea who the man was or, in any case, didn’t recognize him. Godfry was
squinting at the fellow as if the scout and Serit were a couple of juggling
harlequins who’d capered in with fresh fruit and flaming batons. He was also releasing
an inquisitive—yet rather <i>loud—</i>hum each time the general prodded the
scout in the arm and the scout flinched away from him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine leaned over to whisper in the old
man’s ear and distract him from his unconscious throat sound—before the
skittish scout heard one and took offense—but Godfry had already released his
loudest hum so far and was tottering over for a closer look.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>No, no, no, no, no,</i> Brine thought,
starting swiftly after the local representative. He did <i>not</i>, however,
grab hold of him. Despite the booming dismay reverberating in his head—and the
image of what might unfold once the dizzy-headed adviser made his
introduction—he did very little to impede his forward progress. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Later, he would tell himself it was
because he hadn’t wished to be rude by manhandling his former teacher, but he
would be lying. The truth was that he wanted to know what was going on just as
much as Godfry and, in all fairness, if his divine purpose was somehow related
to this urgent matter, then he <i>needed</i> to know what was going.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i> <i>And it’s not like they’ll see me</i>, he
mused, ducking behind the old man’s billowing robes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>In the same instant that
he’d decided not to stop his nosey teacher, he had also decided not to be seen.
Despite his burning curiosity and his indignant <i>right to know</i>, he had
not been invited to this impromptu meeting and, thus, he made it a point to
stay out of sight. He didn’t believe for one moment that Mums or Reets would
ask him to leave, but he wouldn’t put it past them to alter the content of
their speech, especially if they thought they were <i>protecting </i>him from
the ails of the kingdom during this sensitive period in his life. In either
case, it was best <i>not</i> to draw their attention. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> It was also best, Brine realized—peering
out from behind the protective curtain of beard and cloth—not to draw the
attention of the scout’s pet. The insane creature was either spooked by the
advisers or was sensing its owner’s discomfort and reacting in kind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As Brine gawked around the side of
Godfry’s ample robes, the little animal bucked and squirmed and acted as though
it wished to kill them all. The scout was bobbing up and down and shushing the
little fiend, but the writhing beast—which was neither cat, nor ferret, nor any
member of the known animal kingdom—continued its furious tantrum. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The disciple sank behind his teacher. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets, on the other hand, rushed right in,
completely ignoring the spitting beast and pausing only after realizing that both
of the scout’s hands were occupied. With one hand stretched beneath the leaping
cat-creature—holding it by the chest—and the other wrapped over the top of the
thing, and fisted around a mug of thick dark syrupy, the scout was not able to
shake hands. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Not to be outdone, Reets grabbed the man’s
elbow and shook it fiercely. “Look at yeh, now,” he said. “Finally got yeh out
of the brush, huh.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Again, Brine was struck by the obvious
familiarity expressed by the halfling’s body language and tone. Reets either
knew this scout or, quite possibly, this was how heathens greeted one another.
Reets, who’d been born and—for want of a better word—<i>raised</i> in the
Hinterlands was a heathen himself, so perhaps this was nothing more than the
usual backwoods kinship <i>their kind</i> expressed to one another. For all
Brine knew, they were about to spit in each other’s hands and perform some
secret handshake, or possibly slit each other’s tongues and make a blood pact.
But as shocking as either of these acts might have been, what actually happened
shocked the disciple even more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Despite the warmth and kindness displayed
by the usually-gruff halfling, the scout reacted with nothing but wintry
defiance, reeling from the twisted adviser and recoiling from his grip,
wrestling free of those disjointed fingers and stumbling back into the
general’s ever-waiting hand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> This, however, only served to send the
scout forward again, this time sidestepping the halfling and colliding with
Godfry. Seeing this, Brine raised his hands to chest height and prepared to
catch the old man. But somehow Godfry managed to catch himself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> There was a moment where the adviser
appeared to be teetering at an angle—an <i>impossible</i> angle, really—and
then he just righted himself. His arms never wheeled, his head never moved, his
slipper-clad feet remained fixed on the slippery wooden floor, but none of this
seemed to get in the way of his torso as it lifted into place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Ten ages of estrangement or not, Brine was
ready to ask about <i>that</i> peculiar
recovery. If it offended the old man, then the old man was going to be
offended. However, as he opened his mouth to phrase the question, his teacher
chose that moment to lean towards the halfling and say, “Who’s this, now?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And that was all it took. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> At the sound of the old man’s voice, the
cat-thing—already irritated by the jostling it had suffered as Jaysh struck the
adviser—went nuts. It took one look at Godfry’s offensive attire and decided
its earlier instincts about this wretched place had been correct. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Like a thing possessed, it began leaping
for the floor, clawing at the air, spitting at the world. Brine stepped back
and prepared to run. There was no chance the scout could contain the creature,
not when it was behaving like a furry piston. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Thankfully, though, as all eyes settled on
the apoplectic creature—including those of its frantic-looking owner—no one saw
the titan as she stepped in to help.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-29880080669635818442012-07-16T08:15:00.000-07:002012-07-16T08:46:58.528-07:00CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Brine’s
hand sank a little and, shortly there after, the corners of his mouth followed
suit, slipping back down like an unfortunate mudslide on the landscape of his
face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> A part of him had always known this day would
come, that the mental cracks in his teacher’s head would finally split wide and
that the contents within would spill swiftly from his mind, Brine’s identity
included. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As a child, Brine had watched the gentle
genius as he struggled to recall events from the previous day or facts from a
certain lesson. And on other occasions, his teacher had gone so far as to
forget Brine’s <i>name</i>, referring to him as <i>Tim</i> or <i>Mark </i>or <i>you
there</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>But that’s not what’s happening,</i><b>
</b>said a voice within his mind, one that sounded very similar to his own.<b> </b><i>He’s
not confused about anything right now and he’s not deep in thought. He’s just
forgotten who you are, that simple. He heard everyone speaking to you—heard them
use your name for Owndiah’s sake—and still he doesn’t remember who you are.</i>
<b> <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As if to confirm this assertion, the eldest
of the advisers selected that moment to stoop down beside the halfling and say,
“Who’s this, now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets’ brown and blue eyes swelled to the
size of titan fists. “It’s <i>Brine!</i>” he all but choked. “Yeh know <i>Brine</i>,
yeh old goat!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> A light flickered in Godfry’s eyes. “<i>Ah</i>,
<i>Brine</i>,” he said, his caterpillar eyebrows lifting at last. “That’s
right, that’s right,” he said, nodding triumphantly. “He was the one who went
south to fight the old ones.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine’s hand sank a little lower and,
beside him, Reets began to shake his head like a scabe-wolf with a rabbit in
its jaws, the skin above his beard and below his hairline turning the dark crimson
of an infected blister. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Actually, Godfry dear,” Mums said,
stepping forward before the halfling erupted, “Brine went to study at <i>Valley
Rock</i>, with the Amian <i>elders</i>.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Amians,” Godfry breathed, lifting his
gaze to the titan. “They slay old ones, do they?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Mums shook her shaggy mane. “Valley Rock
is a monastery, Godfry. It’s where they train disciples.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Disciples, you say,” said the old man blankly,
repeating the name of the institution with the same dull expression. “No,” he
said at last, “I can’t say I’ve heard of the place, but it’s still good to meet
you,” he said, giving Brine a polite, yet detached grin. “Any friend of Reets
is a friend of mine,” he explained, taking hold of Brine’s steadily sinking
hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine managed a weak grin, but didn’t
speak—<i>couldn’t </i>speak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “So,” Godfry said, still pumping his hand,
“what brings you to Onador?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Godfry!</i>” Reets barked, yanking out
his pipe and poking him with the stem. The halfling clearly had more to say,
but instead of saying it, he began coughing into his fist, having inadvertently
sucked saliva down his windpipe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Gariel dear,” Mums said, waving to the
butcher’s daughter as she stepped between Reets and Godfry, “would you be so
kind as to take Godfry back to his chair?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh, yeah, sure,” the butcher’s daughter
said, rushing over to take the old man by the arm. There was a moment’s
hesitation as the eldest advisor asked the young lady who she was, but she
quickly identified herself and the old man was on his way to the seats along
the far wall, completely oblivious of the glum-looking disciple who was staring
at the back his unkempt head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh, Brine dear,” Mums said, blocking his
view and laying a large hand on his shoulder, “it is <i>so </i>good to see you
again.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yes,” Brine muttered, his eyes unfocused
on the knots of hair at the titan’s midsection. When it finally dawned on him
what she’d said and how he’d responded, he jumped with a start. “<i>Oh, I mean</i>…I’m
sorry. My mind’s wandering.” He mustered a smile and patted the enormous hand
on his shoulder. “It’s good to see you too, Mums. It really is. I’m just…,” his
mind blanked on him and he was staring once more at her hairy gut. “I think I’m
in shock,” he said, “that’s all.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> With her heavy skin and thick fur, Mums
had never been able to do much in the way of expression. So for her, each
emotion had to be expressed through the nuances and inflections of her melodic voice,
so that when she replied to the heartbroken disciple, he could hear every
wrinkle in her sympathetic cheeks and see every line in her loving forehead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I suppose ten ages will do that to a
person,” she said, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “If you weren’t at
least a little taken aback by all of this, Brine dear, I would worry for
you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine forced a grin and was surprised by
the tears he felt welling his eyes. He supposed they were from the stress of
his journey or perhaps from the emotional overload of this long-awaited
reunion, but there was also a part of him that wondered if they weren’t there simply
to remind him of why he’d made the trek. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> A moment later, as he opened his mouth to
thank Mums for her kindness and to thank Reets for tending his gear, he became quite
convinced of this fact. He’d opened his mouth to enunciate, had compressed his
chest to exhale, but nothing happened. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Seeing this, Mums gave him another squeeze
and Reets patted him roughly on the side, but it did not help the words to
form. The greetings had been said, the small talk had been exchanged, and now
there was nothing left but the sad, sad purpose to which Godfry had already alluded.
It seemed to be standing right there with them and waiting to be referenced.
And as Brine searched the eyes of his friends, he saw that they sensed it, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I best check Brine’s gear,” Reets said,
hurrying towards the back of the chamber without so much as a wave. Brine,
however, was not offended. Reets had never been much for this sort of thing. He
was perfectly comfortable carrying Brine’s bleeding body from the gardens or
wrestling scabe-wolves with a knife wedged between his teeth, but don’t ask him
to stick around when the emotion started to flow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Following the halfling with his eyes,
Brine said, “How long do we have?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Not long,” Mums said, looking at the door
in the back of the room, “the cycle of the amulet began yesterday, so I’m
assuming tonight will be the end. It usually lasts a day.” She gave Brine a pat
on the shoulder and slipped towards the exit. “Speaking of which, why don’t I
just check on Kowin?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine watched as she lumbered to the door
in the back of the room, the door which stood in plain sight to all, but which
no one seemed capable of seeing with their eyes or referencing in their conversation.
It was the door through which Brine would be going when Mums returned, the door
through which his long journey from the Rock must finally end. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Secretly though, as he watched the titan
reaching for the handle, he hoped the thumb latch would be locked or the hinges
would be rusted. He did not wish to enter that dark and lonely place, did not
wish to <i>think </i>about entering it. There
was no telling what he would be forced to say in there and, even worse, there
was no telling what he might be forced to <i>hear</i> in— <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Movement caught his eye, something on his
right, something so slight as to barely qualify as movement. He turned his head
to inspect—assuming that someone had passed before a candle or that a breeze
had stirred one of the tapestries—but saw neither candle nor tapestry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Instead, he saw a balding old man in gray
sleeping attire, one seated by the front door and craning his head at the roomful
of guests. That was the movement Brine had seen, the slow craning of his neck
from one advisor to next, so slow that had Brine not been staring in the same
place for an extended period of time, the gradual shifting would never have
registered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine watched a little longer and the word
<i>vulture </i>popped inside his head. It was a horrible thing to say about
another human being—and it wasn’t very Amian, either—but it was true. Vultures <i>were</i>
bald, and the man’s hands <i>were </i>resting on the cane between his legs,
giving his folded arms the appearance of wings. Also contributing to this
illusion was the man’s hunched back and crooked spine, a physical malady that
caused the man’s neck to droop and his head to protrude. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The strongest similarity, however, was his
watchful nature, so furtive and sly that, until now, he’d gone completely
unnoticed. Brine had walked right past the man, had spent quite some time
greeting the others advisers, and the whole while this balding vulture-man had sat
unobserved by the door. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i> Frowning at him, Brine wondered why they’d not
been introduced. Obviously, the vulture-man was one of the king’s advisers and
a trusted colleague. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be allowed access to the room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Lathia</i>, Brine realized at last. <i>He’s
the Lathian adviser, the only other kingdom, aside from Igus and Erinthalmus,
from which Jashandar accepted diplomats. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Bearing this in mind, it made sense that Brine
hadn’t met the man. Brine had left Jashandar almost immediately following the Lathian
war, and it was an age or two later before the two kingdoms had formed their allegiances
and exchanged representatives. What did <i>not</i>
make sense, however, was the way the other advisers acted as though <i>they</i>
hadn’t met the man. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Likewise, the vulture-man wasn’t making an
effort to interact with his fellow advisers either. With all the chairs grouped
around the rear exit, it appeared as though the Lathian adviser had
purposefully dragged his chair to the hallway door, possibly so he could have a
better view of his colleagues. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>So
what am I missing?</i> Brine wondered. None of the people the vulture-man was
watching were dangerous, and yet the man continued to monitor them like a knot
of spitting vipers, his impassive gaze constantly moving from Gariel to Mums,
Mums to Reets, Reets to Godfry, Godfry to Brine, Brine to… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The gaze stopped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine took a step back and nearly dropped
his monocle. Reflex told him to look way, that he’d been caught in the act of
being rude and that the polite thing to do was divert his gaze and give the
impression that Brine, also, had been making a casual sweep of the room. But
Brine couldn’t look away. He wanted to—wanted to very, very much, actually—but
when he tried to avert his eyes, he found that his ocular ports resisted the
command, found that the communication between mind and eyes had been abruptly
severed and that hunchback’s gray stare seemed to be swallowing him whole. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Then, oddly enough, Brine’s cold sense of
loathing began to fade and, with it, his burning desire to look away. He knew
this was <i>wrong</i>, of course, knew in his head that the hunchback was a
scary man and not to be trusted, but very slowly that thought was being
saturated with an emotion that said otherwise. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> This new emotion told him that everything
was <i>all</i> <i>right</i> and that everything was going to be <i>okay</i>. He
felt his apprehension for the vulture-man ebbing from his thoughts and his fear
in general dissipating like smoke. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine heard himself think: <i>I mean,
after all, he’s just a man, isn’t he? Just a pathetic old man with a greasy
horseshoe of hair and a twisted array of vertebra. Just a decrepit old codger
sitting way over there in the shadows and minding his…wait a moment…is he
getting closer? He is getting closer, isn’t he? He’s…He’s gliding across the
room or…or maybe the room is gliding passed me? I can’t really tell, but we’re
definitely getting closer. I can’t feel my legs moving, and I can’t see his
moving, but…but we’re definitely getting closer and we’re…we’re going to
COLLIDE!—we’re going to CRASH! We’re going to— <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Sam’s boy?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine jerked at his name, the distance
between himself and the Lathian snapped back into place like a slap to the face,
his vision blurring, his head feeling dizzy…and then he felt nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Looking around the room, he saw that
everything was as it had been, the others gathered by the rear exist, their
voices mixing and mingling, the hunched spectator surveying them from afar,
turning from one to the other and acting as though he didn’t know the disciple
was in the room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Knowing better than that, Brine watched
him for a time, struggling to understand what had passed between them, but when
the understanding failed to come and it became clear there would be no repeat
occurrence of the strange connectivity, he gave up on the vulture-man and
turned to face the person who’d addressed him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Sam’s boy?” Godfry asked again, a look of
recognition struggling on his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine only stared, unsure of what to
expect. After their previous encounter, it seemed Godfry was capable to saying
almost anything and he didn’t know if he could bear another insulting remark,
especially without Mums or Reets to intervene. But of course, if Brine said
nothing, then they would end up staring at one another as he’d stared at the
dreaded vulture-man of Lathia. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine gave a mousy nod and forced a grin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I knew it!” Godfry said, his beard
lifting with one of those heartwarming smiles. “I knew it. I said, ‘That’s
Sam’s boy, there. That’s my old student come back at last!’ And it is!” He extended
his hand and, this time, when Brine took hold of it, the old man’s eyes were
alive with recognition and, quite possibly, love. “My gracious, my gracious,”
he breathed, “how long’s it been?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Too long,” Brine said, his grin becoming
a smile, and a natural one at that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “It has, it has,” Godfry said, placing a
bony hand to Brine’s shoulder. “So,” he said, turning to the room and giving it
the curious gaze of one who’d just arrived and who had no clue what was going
on, “what brings you back?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine’s smile vanished from his face. He
didn’t want to lie to Godfry—wanted nothing less in all the world—but at the
same time he had two equally perverse fears circling over his head and the
truth about his return to Onador might bring them both crashing down upon him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine’s first fear was related to the
potential faux pas that might occur once his teacher realized what was
happening in the room behind them. If Brine had nearly gone misty when Mums had
tried to soothe him, what might he do if Godfry cracked wise? He just didn’t
know. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> His second fear—which Brine considered to
be the greater of the two—was that this new information about his return might
shove his identity from the old man’s mind. If Godfry’s head was like a
porcelain cup and information was like the tea, then how much could it hold
before things began to slosh over the sides? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>And if the slosh involves my identity, </i>he
thought, grimly, <i>I’m not sure I can suffer that a second time. I’m just not.
It makes no sense, I know. But being forgotten by this charismatic old man was
the worst part of the journey, worse even than the desert and the shepherd boy,
the stranger and his—<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh, hey,” Brine said, groping for the interior
pocket of his robes and came out holding the note. It was still folded
geometrically and bearing no wrinkles, despite the cramped conditions of his
pocket and the many times he’d laid upon it. “I almost forgot,” he said,
sounding winded. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Godfry squinted at the missive. “Ah, what
have you there, Sam’s boy?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I don’t know,” Brine said, shaking the
creamy white paper, “but it’s for you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Godfry lifted his eyes from the note to
the disciple. “You came all the way home for <i>this?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “No, no. Someone gave it to me along the
way, to deliver to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Godfry boggled over the missive, then
said, “And what is it, now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine shook his head, staring at the note
and watching the light play off its alabaster surface. He’d half-expected it to
do something to his stomach as it had each time he tried to rid himself of it. But
on this occasion, it did nothing. And in a queer way that Brine did not dare to
understand, he thought that this because the note <i>knew </i>it had arrived. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “It’s a message,” he said, shaking the
thing a third time. “It’s from a man, a man named Olymun.” He glanced up,
gauging the advisor’s reaction. “Do you know anyone by that name?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Godfry looked nonplussed, but managed to
say, “I suppose I must.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Well…,” Brine said, flinching as he shook
the paper a fourth time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Oblivious to the disciple’s behavior,
Godfry took the note and held it to his face, searching it front and back.
“There’s no seal,” he said. “No name.” He flipped it over a few more times. “No
address.” He lifted his head to Brine. “Where’d you say this came from?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But before Brine could answer, the hallway
door clicked open and two more people entered the room. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-87418965763748842572012-07-16T08:13:00.001-07:002012-07-16T08:13:09.351-07:00CHAPTER TWENTY<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Brine
realized he’d stopped walking and took a look around. He stood in a long
corridor that stretched away in either direction, the darkness pushed back by
soft pools of light. He saw that sometimes the light shown in wide stable swaths
from the lanterns overhead, and sometimes in smaller unstable pockets from the
candles on the wall. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Behind him, he could see the end of the
hall and a few doors set in the dusty gray wall. Up ahead, he could see the
grainy wooden floor disappearing into the gloom, one end of a table jutting
from the shadows. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>How did I get here?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Thinking back, he remembered passing
through the Shungate, then an ornately-decorated inner door—carved with the
double-headed axe he knew so well—and then he was inside the castle, trudging
along behind the stiffly-postured officer and wondering to himself if he hadn’t
made a terrible mistake. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> His heart was pounding, his stomach churning,
every nerve in his body wriggling like a worm. He remembered thinking that the
castle was flooding him with memories and emotions, and that, in a way, the
granite colossus was trying to <i>kill</i>
him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He’d see the painting of a prairie setting
and lightheadedness would beset him. He’d smell the scent of fresh cedar from a
closet and found it difficult to breath. With every nostalgic sight and sound,
he seemed as though he was torn from his present reality and plunged deeper into
the one from his past, the one where the castle towers touched the sky and where
the edge of Onador was on the other side of forever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>But why had it stop?</i> he wondered,
turning back to the table in the gloom. <i>Or why did </i>I<i> stop, come to
think of it?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As
if in answer, a ghost-like voice whispered to him from the wall on his left,
whispering in a voice so soft that, at first, he thought it was coming from a
great distance, a distance defined in terms of <i>time</i> and not <i>space</i>,
so far away that Brine couldn’t decipher the words. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The spectral voice began to repeat itself,
growing louder and more insistent and pushing through from <i>its</i> reality
into <i>his, </i>speaking to him about paper of all things.<i> </i>But was it
wallpaper or parchment paper, a paper trail perhaps? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine turned to face the voice and found
the stony-faced soldier standing directly beside him, his callused namesake so
close that Brine couldn’t have slid a forefinger between the man’s nose and his
own ear. Brine shied back from the red-faced man, noticed the man’s hand was
extended—not <i>thumb</i>-up as if to shake, but <i>palm-</i>up as if to
take—and Brine stared at it stupidly, wondering when it was that the Jashian
military had begun to work on commission. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Your <i>papers</i>, sir,” the officer
asked, sounding more than a little flustered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Oh!</i> Right.” Brine released the robes
at his chest—wondering where, along the way, he’d decided to grab those—and
handed the man his letter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The officer thanked him, although curtly,
and gave the door set in the opposite wall a sharp and plangent rap. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine blinked at the door. He’d been so
focused on the journey that he’d missed the destination, completely overlooking
it as he emerged from his stroll down memory lane. <i>But this is it</i>, he
thought to himself, an icy sense of horror spreading through his core. <i>This
is definitely the right place.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As he studied the doorframe—a garish piece
of trim carved to resemble vines and thorns, a decorative style from the age of
Fendly—it occurred to Brine that he’d only ever been here on a handful of
occasions, none of which he recalled with any clarity. What memories he had of
this room felt like somebody else’s dreams, as if he were looking at a painting
on a wall that depicted somebody else’s life and somebody else’s time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The sound of steel grating on steel shook
him loose of his thoughts and he looked up to see a small window slide open in
the center of the door. On the other side of the rectangular slot, he could see
a dark face pressed to the opening, its features backlit by flickering flames.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Pardon the interruption, Ma’am,” the
officer said, poking the letter through the slit. A mellifluous reply came floating
through the opening, so feathery soft that Brine found himself straining to see
the speaker. He knew that voice, or <i>had </i>known it once upon a time. Then,
the shutter scraped shut, a latch clicked, and the chamber door creaked slowly
open. Candlelight danced into the hall and painted Brine’s sandals with light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gesturing into the room, the lieutenant
said, “They’re expecting you, sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Thank you,” Brine said, sounding scared
to death as he gave the man a cordial nod and stepped inside the flickering
portal. He looked around the anteroom and could not believe his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> While reading the royal invitation in his
dorm room, Brine hadn’t the slightest idea of what would greet him once he
arrived. He had imagined the scene in his mind time and time again, praying
that he would be prepared for the moment once that time had come, but never in
his wildest imaginings had he pictured a setting like this. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> There were too many people in there for one
thing; four or five at least, some of them standing, some of them sitting, some
leaning casually against the walls. The other thing that set him off was the
way they were acting. None of those he saw were behaving in the manner he’d
suspected, all of them talking and laughing and acting as though they hadn’t a
care in the world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Until <i>he</i> entered, of course. Once
he entered, the room went dead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Welcome home, Brine dear,” said a voice
on his left. It was the feathery voice from the door slot, the one he’d heard
from outside. Brine turned to face the speaker and found a large and shaggy
creature loomed over him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Mums?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The shaggy creature he had addressed as
Mums made to answer him, but before she could, a bent and limping figure rushed
forward, seized Brine by the hand, and proceeded to squeeze the life from his fingers.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Brine, ole boy!” the crippled figure
greeted, pumping his arm. “Great Gala, but yeh’ve grown!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Hel</i>-Hello,” Brine said, not
exactly sure who this was, but eager to show himself friendly, especially if it
meant disengaging those vice-like fingers. “Is that you, Ree—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The rest of his question was lost as the
shaggy creature behind him reached down with two beam-like arms and hoisted him
from the floor. He was aware of the air evacuating his lungs, the hair and
muscle smashing flat his face, and—at his back—something hard and twisted squirming
against his legs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Woman—!</i>” the squirming thing yelled
“<i>—cain’t breath, Woman!</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The floor rose up beneath Brine’s sandals
and the titan released him. He felt the gnarled creature at his back wriggling
free and muttering curses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Well, I’m sorry, Reetsle,” Mums said,
“but you <i>were</i> being rude.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I’ll give yeh rude,” Reets snapped,
staggering back to the disciple, who was now doubled over and gasping for
breath. “Look what’cha done, yeh daft cow!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Still panting, and staring at the floor, the
disciple said, “No, I’m…I’m okay…” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Is he dying?” a new voice asked, this one
permeated with confusion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Nah,” the halfling said. “Mums just
crushed im a bit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I was prying him away from those of us
who have no <i>manners</i>,” Mums defended. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Looks like he’s <i>dying</i> to me,” the
confused voice said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “He ain’t <i>dyin</i>,” Reets said, now
disgusted. “He’s jus restin. Ain’t that right, Brine?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yes,” Brine said, righting himself and
looking from one hazy face to the next, still a little lightheaded, but
realizing it had nothing to do with the dearth of oxygen in his blood and everything
to do with the swell of emotion in his chest. He knew each and every one of
these blurry faces. They were, after all, the faces he’d peered into during the
days of youth, the faces that had cheered when he’d competed, that had scolded
when he’d been bad, that had soothed when he’d be scared. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “It’s so good to see you all,” Brine said,
his voice tight with emotion, his vision blurred by tears. “I trust you’ve been
well in His eyes?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> From out of the sea of hazy faces, he
heard their voices admitting that they had been well, then asking if the same
could be said for him. He said that it could, and then went about distributing
the perfunctory hugs and handshakes associated with such reunions. Until he
came to a set of rather stiff and twisted fingers and realized they were pointing
at him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> From behind the fingers, he heard Reets
say, “<i>What’s with your head, boy?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine brushed the stubble over his ears.
“My, um…my <i>what?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “You’re hair, son,” Reets clarified.
“Where’d it <i>go?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh, that,” Brine said, still rubbing his
head. “That’s an Amian tradition.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Moving behind the young man, Reets said,
“Oh, yeah? Well, what’s that thing flappin round in the—<i>Great Gala!</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 1.0in 5.0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine pulled the braid of hair over his
shoulder and cradled it like a babe. “That’s my Wauk,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “A <i>walk?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yes—I mean no.” Brine’s smile was
altogether gone. “That’s how it sounds, but it’s actually spelled differently.
It’s…it’s a symbol of the walk we take with Amontus, so that’s…that’s why we…um…,”
he trailed off, suddenly unable to think, his mind flooded with feelings he’d
not known in a very long time, feelings leaking from the castle and impairing
his mind. He drew his eyes from the halfling and directed them at Mums. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “You’re fine, Brine dear,” the titan
assured him. “Reetlse is just being rude. As I’m sure you are aware by now,
some things <i>never</i> change.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Ceptin’ fer Brine’s head,” the halfling
said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Reetsle,” Mums suggested, “why not take
Brine’s things?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I can tell yeh this much,” Reets went on,
“if’n Rendel ever tol’ me to shave my head and grow myself a ponytail, I’d tell
the War God exactly where—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “The <i>gear</i>, Reetsle<i>.</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Ah’right! Ah’right!</i>” he yammered,
yanking up the bags and traipsing to the back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Now, Brine dear,” Mums said, gesturing to
what—in Brine’s ruined vision—appeared to be a purple drapery with a gray stain
down its middle, “I’m sure you remember Godfry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh, yes,” Brine said, digging excitedly
for his lens.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “And this,” Mums said, moving the brown
blur of her hand to the next figure—this one a pallid white, with tinges of
green in the middle—“this is Gariel.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine glanced up and grinned amicably. He
had no recollection of this Gariel-person, but he didn’t let it get him down.
He was too excited about seeing Godfry, the one man responsible opening his
mind to literature and philosophy and his deep love of learning. Unlike this
Gariel-person, with whom he was <i>supposedly</i> acquainted, he could never
forget Godfry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He shoved the circular glass in the socket
of his eye, made to focus on his childhood mentor, and found his eyes inexorably
drawn to the Gariel-person. Eventually, he spied the skimpy green outfit pulled
taut across her chest and tugged high upon her thighs, but this was not before
being slapped in the eyeballs by her creamy white flesh above and below. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Forcing the monocle to the region of her
head, Brine tried very hard to study her face, searching her broad smile and
spiky orange hair for some semblance of familiarity. When he found none, he
began to wonder if Mums had plucked the wrong person from the streets. Surely
he’d have remembered those huge green eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “It’s <i>Gariel…</i>is it?” Brine asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Gariel cocked her head to the side,
feigning hurt feelings. “Oh, come on now, Brine. I know yeh ‘member me! <i>Gariel</i>,”
she said, accusingly. “<i>Gariel Morlique</i>,” she insisted. “I used to play
with yeh when them other boys wou’nt. Used to make em stop when they was chasin
yeh with dead lizards and stuff. ‘<i>Member?</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Through the seeing lens, Brine stared, his
twisted mouth betraying any desire he had to agree with the woman. There <i>had
</i>been a little girl from his youth that fit that description, one that had
stood up for him when the other half of their posse was at its worst—which had
been <i>most</i> days—but that little girl had been built like a beanpole and,
if memory served, her locks had been long, sandy, and tangled in knots.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As Brine recalled, <i>that</i> little girl
hadn’t had a mother and her father, it seemed, had been too busy to take a comb
to her hair. So ultimately, the poor little thing had just run around looking
like a ragamuffin. Not that anyone had ever <i>called</i> her a ragamuffin.
Perhaps it was her negligent parents or the harsh city streets, but in either
case, the little girl that Brine remembered had been meaner than a snake. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Your father was a <i>butcher?</i>” he
asked, watching her face light up. “And at the end of the day, he used to let
us play with the, uh…the <i>guts…</i>and leftovers?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Grinning like an alligator, the woman with
the pointy hair leaned in and hugged him, causing Brine to breaking several
laws and mandates from the Words of the Good Living. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 1.0in 5.0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “The very one!” Gariel beamed, holding him
tight. “How yeh been, Brine? <i>How yeh been!</i> I ain’t seen yeh in a coon’s
age.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>I’m
well!</i>” he said, trying to disengage the embrace without <i>appearing</i> to
disengage the embrace. “I’m—I’m very well…very, very, <i>very</i> well.” He
pried her arms away, pretending to do so in order to take a better look at her
and finding this experience only marginally less profane than rubbing up
against her. “So, um…how—<i>how are you?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 1.0in 5.0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Well, as you can see,” she drew a proud
breath, her emaciated chest bones cracking with the effort, “life’s been good
to me, blessed me with health—Blessed <i>both</i> of us, I’d say.” Her eyes ran
teasingly down his robes, violating him through the fabric. “They keep yeh fit
down there in the desert, don’t they? Why if I didn’t have—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets, having returned from depositing
Brine’s gear at the door in the back of the anteroom, shoved the butcher’s
daughter to one side and pulled Godfry to the fore. “Say hi to Godfry,” he
said, giving the scantly-clad woman a querulous look. The scantly-clad woman
gave the look right back and, for one fiery moment, appeared ready to curse the
twisted adviser straight out the door. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In the end, though, she did not. She
waited until the warfare finished flashing in her eyes, folded her arms across
her chest, and found the strength to do as Reets asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 1.0in 5.0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine, however, saw none of this. He was
staring fixedly at his beloved teacher and taking it all in: the thick book under
his right arm, the drooping beard on his chest, the long and flowing gown
pooling on the floor. As Mums had said, something never change, and in the book
of definitions where that was written, he was sure there’d be a picture of
Godfry drawn in the notations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> His gown, Brine saw, was just as hideous
as the ones from his childhood. If he had to guess, he would have said that this
eye-watering color was a rotten-plum purple and that the seizure-inducing
pattern was of a hundred pink frogs with their heads squashed in. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 1.0in 5.0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>But none of that matters in the scheme
of things, not when the man inside is the kindest, most patient—most </i>brilliant<i>
man in all of Jashandar.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 1.0in 5.0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And so, giddy with excitement and nearly
lightheaded with joy, Brine thrust out his hand, smiled until it hurt, and
said, “<i>Godfry!</i>” Not the most eloquent of greetings, he had to admit, but
it hardly mattered, not when the elderly recipient of the greeting was only
going to stare at him like some strange and whistling fish.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-15102328786014398152012-07-16T08:12:00.000-07:002012-07-16T08:12:06.389-07:00CHAPTER NINETEEN<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Jaysh
waited patiently for Iman to pick the shadow out of the distance, cognizant of
the fact that most people didn’t have a large blue watcher lurking in the
background and that most people would need a few moments to recognize what they
were seeing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Eventually, though, Iman <i>did </i>recognize
what he was seeing—indicated by the way his intense look of <i>curiosity</i>
became an intense look of <i>confusion</i>—and Jaysh began to nod, nodding even
as Iman turned his stupefied gaze upon him and searched his face for answers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “You think...,” Iman said at last, staring
at the woodsman like one stares at a crazy person, “…that your big blue friend
down there…,” he pointed weakly to the south, “…is the <i>mystery killer?</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh’s nodding never let up. He knew how
outrageous it must sound, knew that something as heavy as the shadow was going
to leave tracks in the soil, and that it couldn’t climb the busted trees behind
him, or fly through the air. But at the same time, he knew the shadow was
perfectly capable of crushing a bear or a bovine, and the runny red holes in
the victims’ hides could have been made with a couple of the thing’s fingers,
maybe the index and middle, or the middle and ring. Jaysh could imagine the
creature drawing back its arm and driving in its crystalline digits straight
through the animal’s hide. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Why it would do this, he didn’t know. But
for that matter, he didn’t know why the shadow did much of anything. <i>Like
them times it ain’t there</i>, he thought, pulling his eyes from Iman and
staring at the creature. <i>Like them times I wake up or look round an’ it
ain’t watchin me no more. I don’t know it’s killin things when it ain’t here,
but I don’t know it ain’t killin neither.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “That thing ain’t right,” Jaysh said,
keeping his eyes on the shadow and spitting a stream of fluid from the side of
his mouth. “It ain’t right.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Tracking the line of saliva with his eyes,
Iman said, “Oh, I agree wholeheartedly, Jaysh-ole-buddy. I do. But that doesn’t
make it a killer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Doan’ make it in’cent neither,” Jaysh
shot back, “and I reckon that thing showed up bout the same time as them
happ’nins.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Well, not the <i>same </i>time, but even
if it had—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> From
behind them, Serit said, in a voice bristling with alarm, “I say, gentlemen, is
something the matter?” The old man could have been speaking to either of them,
but when Jaysh turn around, he found the general staring at his dear old
friend, as if Serit had naturally assumed the feud had been Iman doing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “The <i>matter?</i>” Iman said, taking
offense at the general’s insinuating gaze and speaking in his most sarcastic of
tones. “Nothing’s the <i>matter</i>, Sir. Actually, everything is peachy keen.
Jaysh, here,” he said, hooking a thumb at the woodsman, “has just located our
mystery killer. It’s just down there,” he said, gesturing to the shadow’s
hiding place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit turned his ancient eyes to the
forest in the south and searched them for <i>much </i>longer than Iman had
searched them. “Where exactly should I be—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Right <i>there</i>,” Iman said, waggling
his finger and making an exasperated face. “You’ve seen it before. It’s
that…oh, that thing…it looks like glass, like someone chiseled it out of
diamonds?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Chiseled?” Serit said, thumb and forefinger
deep in his lip hair. “Do you mean the <i>kryst?</i>” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh had no idea, quickly exchanging a
look with Iman, who also looked blank. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Maybe,” Iman said, turning to the
general. “Is that what it’s called?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But instead of answering his subordinate,
Serit turned to the woodsman and said, “Tell me, young Jaysh, has this creature
been watching you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh stopped chewing, a surge of icy
winds whistling through him. The creature had, of course, been watching him for
the past three cycles, but he could not speak these words. He could only stand
there and stare at the military general while his mouth filled with spit and
his mind filled with wonder. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Could it be possible that Serit Branmore—commander-in-chief
for the whole of the Jashian military—knew the true identity of the parasitic
shadow? Considering the shadow was a creature of the outside world, and that Serit
rarely left the castle, it seemed unlikely the old man would know the beast.
But so far he’d nailed it two times running. The thing did, indeed, look like
diamonds and it did, indeed, spend a good deal of its time staring.<i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Beside him, apparently seeing the look of
shock stretched on his good friend’s face, Jaysh heard Iman step forward and
say, “I think that’s a <i>yes</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit glanced at the captain. “Then it is
probably the kryst,” he said. “The kryst is the only large, diamond-like
watcher of which I know.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Kryst?</i>” Iman asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yes, like <i>crystal</i>,” the general
confirmed. “At some point, I believe, it was named for the giant crystalline
statue it resembles. But why one would accuse it of…,” Serit’s voice faded away
as he remembered the place from where this conversation had stemmed. He glanced
across at the smashed animal heaped upon the ground. “Why would you…,” his face
developed a slightly alarmed expression. “Has the kryst <i>done</i> something,
young Jaysh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh thought about that for a moment.
“Nothing to me,” he said, “but it’s been goin’ after Zeph, once’t I fall
asleep. An’ my gear.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit didn’t move. He was still facing the
bear, but Jaysh could see he was staring <i>through</i> the animal to the green
conflagration beyond, his mind whirling swiftly like the shiny gears of a
clock. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Eventually, he said, “Even if that were <i>true—</i>and
I can’t see how it could be—there is quite a bit of difference between <i>this</i>,”
he waved disgustedly at the bear, “and frightening away one’s pet. Did you
actually <i>see </i>the kryst commit these offenses?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh swallowed. “Well, it sort’a does’em
when I’m sleepin, so—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Then is it possible,” Serit cut in,
turning and fixing him with a look, “that someone <i>else</i> committed them?
Someone like your woman-friend or—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “She ain’t my woman-friend,” Jaysh said,
taking his turn to cut in, “an’ I doan’ sleep at her place, no how,” and then,
with the feel of a slow motion nightmare—those horrible black dreams in which
the dreamer knew exactly what would happen, but remained powerless to stop
it—Jaysh watched as his dear old friend’s face lit up and his mouth spread
wide. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “That’s right,” Iman said, eager to make
his inane contribution, “when I tracked him down, Jaysh was sleeping on the
Hill.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “The <i>Hill?</i>” Serit said, the corners
of his mustache raised in a sneer. “<i>Our </i>Hill?” he said again, staring at
the captain as if he were witnessing some bizarre theatre unfolding in the
forest. “The one with <i>the pillars?</i>” he said again, making as if to face
the woodsman, then stopping at the last moment and keeping his eyes on Iman.
“Are you <i>certain?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman didn’t answer. He merely stood there
glancing back and forth between his boss and his friend while his face adopted
a look Jaysh had not seen since the days of their youth: Iman’s classic <i>oh-crap-I-screwed-up</i>
look, second only in popularity to his <i>oh-crap-how-do-I-fix-it</i> look. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> When finally he could speak, he said,
“I…uh…can’t…,” and then he just gave up, letting his voice trail off as he
crept towards the woodsman. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh lowered his head, acutely aware of a
greasy film spreading along the inside of his bowels, a sensation he’d learned
long ago to associate with shame; Although, why the general’s response should
elicit such a response, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like the woodsman was the
kind of person who spent a lot of time worrying about the opinions of others.
And yet, for some inexplicable reason, the old man’s words—or, rather, his <i>tone</i>—had
the woodsman feeling like he were six-ages old and had just tripped on the
cobbles and landed face-first in the street, his palms stinging, his knees
smarting, the air around him filling with laughter… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>The</i> <i>Hill</i>,” Serit muttered
again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> At this, Jaysh looked up, finding the
general still avoiding his eyes and finding Iman all but crawling into his
face. The captain was no more than a stride away and staring straight at him,
his face a mask of the <i>oh-crap-how-do-I-fix-it </i>look<i>. </i>But Jaysh wasn’t going to help him.
He dropped his gaze and began to chew. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Beside him, in his best tones of false
indignation—which almost succeeded in hiding the sound of his authentic
despair—Iman said, “Well, why <i>couldn’t </i>it be this Cyst-thingy? What do
we, uh…what do we know about this nosey creature<i>,</i> anyway?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit turned to the creature’s hiding
place in the bushes. “Quite a lot, actually,” he said. “We have whole tomes of
historical documentation devoted to the kryst’s behaviors, whole bookshelves of
observations detailing its idioms and actions. <i>And</i>,” he added,
poignantly, “had either of you paid one iota of attention during your
elementary studies, you would already know this.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit turned and gave each an appraising
look. “Do I even want to know how much Jashian history either of you
remembers?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh lowered his shaggy head further. He
and Iman had spent very little time in elementary studies. On most days, they
skipped them entirely, sneaking into the Sway to search for groundhogs and uglings,
or wandering into the Promise to throw corncobs at the Leresh. And on those mornings
when they couldn’t break for the city limits before being spotted by an
authority figure and forced to attend, they spent their time in the temple
engaged in tasks completely unrelated to their studies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh preferred to sleep, selecting the
pews in the back of the temple and slouching down until his butt fell between the
seat and wall. Iman preferred to take a seat near the aisle so he could talk to
the other students or stare out the front doors at the people in the street.
Needless to say, Jaysh didn’t need to look beside him to know that Iman was
wearing the same shameful look of ignorance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I <i>see</i>,” Serit said, speaking in
the disappointed tones of one who held history to be sacred. “If we had more
time,” the old man said, checking the strips of sky within the canopy of foliage,
“I would be more than happy to refresh your memories on the subject, but as it
is—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Something raw and feral reared up inside the
woodsman and he heard himself say, “I got time.” And then he watched as the two
military officers began competing for the Most Alarmed Expression Award. On his
right, Iman was trying to stare a hole in the side of the woodsman’s head, and
on his left the general looked as though someone had stolen his pendants. “That
is,” Jaysh added, politely, “if’n you got time.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit exchanged another surreptitious
glance with Iman. “We don’t have much,” he said. “But first, let me see if I understand.
<i>You</i>,” he asked, nodding carefully to the woodsman, “want <i>me</i>,” he
said, looking more and more frazzled by the moment, “to tell you about the <i>kryst?</i>”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The raw and feral thing reared up once
more and Jaysh nodded his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit winced and shared a third desperate
look with the captain, a look that implied his inner workings were being pulled
apart at the seams. The captain, however, only cocked his head to one side and
shrugged. Serit turned back to the woodsman and sighed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I suppose we have a <i>few </i>moments,”
he said, ambling to the nearest trunk and sliding down its face. “But you <i>do
</i>understand, young Jaysh, that we are under a time constraint and that this <i>cannot</i>
be a complete account?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh had no idea what <i>constraint</i>
the old man was talking about—or what the word even meant—but he could tell by
the old man’s body language and by the inflection at the end of his sentence
that Serit was waiting on some form of consent, so he gave him a nod. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit signed heavily, and Jaysh could tell
that he did not approve. But approve or not, he did as he was asked, lifting his
eyes to the treetops and beginning to mutter the word <i>timeframe</i>
repeatedly to himself, speaking the word in a slow and deliberate cadence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh leaned forward and licked his lips,
eager to finally have answers. But as he stood listening to the general
chanting about timeframes, he had the sneaking suspicion that <i>he</i> wasn’t
the only one who was eager to begin. The general looked fairly eager himself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Sure, Serit had made a good show of his
reluctance when the woodsman had first asked, going on and on about neglected
studies and constraints of the time, but now that he was wading into the
storytelling process, Jaysh thought his voice
sounded calmer, his posture more relaxed, the lines in the face less pronounced.
What was more, his nods were more confident, his stare more intense, and when
finally he spoke, Jaysh thought he was listening to himself ramble on about the
woods. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Now, to fully understand the kryst,”
Serit said, seeking out the woodsman’s eyes, “you must first understand the
timeframe in which it was discovered.” He paused. “You <i>do</i> remember your eras,
do you not?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh stared at him, than at the captain.
He was familiar with his own age, to within about five digits, but since he
didn’t think that was what the general was asking, he kept his lips shut and
his jaws chewing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Beside him, Iman said, “They have
something to do with <i>kings?</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “They had <i>everything</i> to do with
kings,” Serit said. “Do you happen to recall which ones?” His eyes lanced
between woodsman and captain and, again, Jaysh imagined that his dear old
friend must have looked as clueless as he felt, because after only a moment,
the general said, in his most haughty of tones, “<i>Arn</i>, <i>Fendly</i>, and
<i>Galimose</i>, better known as the Great Warrior, the Great Architect, and
the Great Strategist, the three men who made possible this great kingdom wh—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Oh!</i>” Iman exclaimed, throwing his
hands in the air. “I have a question! About the first one!” He stole a look a
Jaysh and his Oh-crap-I-screwed-up face was coming out, but even as it did, he
kept talking, as if he were helpless to prevent it. “And it’s <i>sort of</i>
related.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit’s mustache bristled. “You’re
question about Arn,” he asked, his voice saturated with skepticism, “is related
to the <i>kryst?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Eyes still fastened on Jaysh, Iman’s
grimace worsened. “It’s related to the killings,” he said, “which is what Jaysh
is <i>really</i> talking about.” He turned back to his commanding officer.
“See, the other day, when I was having a conversation with this lieutenant at
Westpost, we were talking about the…oh, you know…,” he twirled his finger in
the air, “…those things, you know, that killed everyone, back in the old
days…?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit waited, then said, “The old ones?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yes! The old ones—<i>Them</i>. Anyway, we
were talking about the old ones and I was trying to understand why these
killings weren’t their handiwork, and this lieutenant out there—this <i>Badgerup</i>,
or whatever his name—he was telling me that Arn had chased away the old ones
and that they couldn’t come back. He said that if they <i>had </i>come back,
the defenses at Westpost would know about it. And I was just about to ask what
he was talking about when Jaysh had to leave, so anyhow, I still don’t
understand how we can be <i>sure</i> these
attacks weren’t caused by old ones.” He exhaled deeply. “See what I mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit gave his captain another worried
look that seemed to say—at least in Jaysh’s mind—<i>How is it that you’re a
captain?</i> But of course, Jaysh knew the general was well aware of the answer,
just as the hothead lieutenant at Westpost had been aware of the answer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit
said, “I am afraid I do not see the connection between the history of the kryst
and the history of the old ones, so this will have wait unt—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>No, no, no,</i>” Iman exclaimed,
practically jumping up and down, “it is <i>related! </i>It <i>is!</i> See, you
and I both know it can’t be that walking statue down there—No offense, Jaysh,”
he said, not bothering to look over, “so anyhow, I was thinking, if there was a
chance it was one of these old ones, and you could confirm that, then you won’t
have to go on and on about this kryst<i> nonsense</i>, am I right?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit’s mustache dropped like a rock.
“First of all,” he said, “I do not need to recount a history lesson to confirm
that the identity of the mystery killer is <i>not</i> an old one, and <i>second</i>,
young Iman, I believe young Jaysh is interested in this <i>kryst nonsense—</i>even
if you are not—and does not wish to have his inquiry interrupted by—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “But he doesn’t care,” Iman said, turning
to his friend. “You don’t care. Do you, Jaysh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh looked at him. What was he going to
do, argue with the great silver-tongued captain of the Jashian military? It
wasn’t like he would win. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Nah,” he said, offering a shrug, “I doan’
care.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit gave his captain another exasperated
look and glanced purposefully at the slivers of sky. “Very well,” he said, “the
officer at Westpost was talking about the Mad Man’s Pass, the chasm through
which the old one’s fled after Arn defeated the dreaded Kragen.” Serit tapped
the green ax on his shoulder plate at the mention of the Great Warrior, but
before he could go on the good captain had his hand in the air.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Sorry,” Iman said, reading the general’s
irate expression. “but what’s a Kragen?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit sighed, still unable to believe the
dearth of understanding in an officer of the king’s army. “It was the king of
the old ones,” he said. “Though not a king as you and I understand them to be.
It was only a title among peasants,” he explained, raising his eyebrows. “May I
continue?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman still looked perplexed, but he nodded
that the general could proceed and Serit said, “As the Westpost lieutenant has
pointed out, it is true that the Mad Man’s Pass was a primary factor in the
placement and maintenance of Westpost facility. Primarily because it was always
assumed that since the creatures left through the pass, it would be through the
pass they would one day return—<i>If</i>,” he added strongly, “there ever was a
return and, to date, there is no reason to expect there will be. Now,” he said,
turning to Jaysh, “with regard to the kryst—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “They <i>all</i> left?” Iman asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yes, they <i>all</i> left,” Serit said,
“now, the kryst on the other—” <i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “They all just…<i>ran for it? </i>Through
the pass?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Seeing that this was never going to end
until the captain was satisfied, Serit took a <i>very </i>deep breath and said,
“Admittedly, the land at that time was wild and without a proper historian, but
the legends that endured until quill met parchment clearly<i> </i>state that
the old ones <i>fled across the pass</i>. Now, admittedly,” he said, using a
tone of concession, “it very well could be that the locals who harbored these
tales either intentionally fabricated them or that the tales themselves were
accidentally distorted over time, which is a natural occurrence in the oral
tradition. <i>But</i>,” he said, erecting a finger, “the historical records
that exist were gathered from numerous sources in the kingdom and from the
oldest family names; the Denbauks, the Ballentines, the <i>Januserys</i>,” he
added, giving the captain a complimentary nod. “It’s not as though a single
man, woman, or child was responsible for the creation of our historical
documents.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman lifted his gaze to the busted birch.
“That’s incredible,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Indeed,” Serit said, checking the
overhead light. “Any <i>other</i> questions?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “No,” Iman told the general. But even as
he spoke, Jaysh didn’t believe him. There was something about the way his dear
old friend was staring at those splinters that told him this issue was not yet
over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> If Serit had any doubts about the
captain’s truthfulness, however, he hid them well. Iman had barely finished the
<i>o</i> in <i>no</i> and the general had already returned to the woodsman’s
original question.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “So after Arn defeated the Kragen—” his
fingers brushed the green ax on his shoulder plate, “—the old ones fled the land
and this time became known as the Era of Purification. And it was this era that
made possible the next period of time, known as the Era of Development, the key
figure of this time being King Fendly, or the Great Architect. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Fendly, as I am sure you’re aware, was
the king who started much of the city’s infrastructure, the streets and
sanitation, watchtowers and bulwarks. Castle Arn was built during this time.
Irrigation was implemented in the fields of Arn’s Promise, gold extraction was
developed at the Devil’s Dome. It was also during this time that people stopped
referred to the land as Drugana and came to know it as the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Kingdom</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Jashandar</st1:placename></st1:place>.”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “But afterwards, by some ironic twist of
fate, these accomplishments of peace and progress were actually the violent
seeds that brought forth the bloody time that followed: the Era of Warfare
marked by the reign of King Galimose, the Great Strategist. You see, it was
during this time that Jashandar’s accomplishments attracted the attention of
both neighboring and distant lands alike.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Counting on his fingers, he said, “The
most significant were the engagements with the metropolises of the F’kari, the
battles with the Nameless from the Uncharted, the wars with the halflings of
Erinthalmus, and finally—from your own childhoods, in fact—the conflict with
Lathia, which made the list not because of how it was fought—Owndiah knows it
was the briefest and most one-sided engagement in Jashian history—but because
of how it ended,” and with that, he gave the woodsman a meaningful nod and a
sad expression.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh frowned at this, and when the
general failed to elaborate thereon, he made a quick glance at Iman to see if
his dear old friend found the nod and look as suspicious as he did. Iman,
however, did not. The captain was staring numbly at the general and, if
anything, appeared to be bored out of his mind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “But getting back to your original
question of the kryst’s character, I told you this history of the eras to offer
you some understanding of the length of time our kingdom has existed and to
afford you some understanding of the how long our crystal friend has proven itself
trustworthy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “If exception is made regarding the
kryst’s character, you need to understand that it has been around a very long
time and that, during that time, it had never raised a hand against any member
of the Jashian populace. There are a few Nameless and Lathians who ended up
worse for wear at the hands of the protectorate, but never a Jashian, not once
during all those generations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “To be exact,” he said, letting his eyes lose
focus, “I believe they appeared in the time of Fendly, one on the castle site
while Fendly was overseeing construction and the other at the king’s dwelling
where his family was residing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “According to the histories, it was quite an
experience. One moment, there was nothing but labors and guards and the next moment
there was this large, blue statue standing amongst them as if it had—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “There’s <i>two </i>of them things?” Jaysh
asked, jabbing a finger over his shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I’m sorry,” Serit said, looking up as if
he hadn’t heard, although he had to have heard. The woodsman was standing right
in front of him now and he’d practically shouted the question.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Is this other’un gona show up<i> </i>too?”
Jaysh asked, his voice an octave higher. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit stared at him and, to the woodsman’s
horror, it looked as though a plug had been removed at the old man’s base and
all of the historical enthusiasm had been drained from his being. His face went
slack, his eyes lost their gleam, his giant mustache—which had been sticking
straight out with every enunciation—began to sag over his lips. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “There <i>were </i>two,” Serit corrected,
“but as you well know, young Jaysh—you of <i>all</i> people—” he said, placing
poignant emphasis on the pronoun, “the castle kryst is <i>no more</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> With the base of his neck coming alive
with goose flesh, Jaysh said, “It ain’t comin around then, huh.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Still staring at the woodsman, his face a
knot of pain and worry, Serit said, “No. It isn’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Good,” Jaysh said, shifting his gaze to
Iman. Surely, Iman was as confused by all of this as he was. They’d grown up
together, for Sira’s sake, and Iman knew as well as he that there was no such
thing as a <i>castle</i> kryst. And sure enough, when he found his dear old
friend’s face, it did look confused—his dark brows hoisted, his pensive lips
pursed—only his dear old friend’s look of confusion was not directed at the
general…but at<i> him</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “You feeling okay?” Iman asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I’m fine,” Jaysh said, feeling the sudden
urge to move <i>away</i> from his dear old
friend. He stumbled towards his pack and quiver, watching from the corners of
one eye as Iman turned to exchange another knowing look with the general and
the general shaking his head and beginning to crawl to his feet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Why don’t you have a seat, young Jaysh,”
Serit suggested. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I’m good,” Jaysh said, grabbing his pack
and holding it like a shield.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I don’t think you are,” Iman said, using
a gentle tone that did not to suit him. “I think you’re—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Said I’m <i>fine</i>,” Jaysh said,
grabbing up his quiver without taking his eyes from the captain. “Ain’t yeh
s’pose to be som’eres?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And in that same small voice, the one that
had no business coming from his dear old friend, Iman said, “Not anymore.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh stared at the man in the long black
hair and light-brown boots, the man he thought was his dear old friend, but now
looked nothing like him. Because his dear old friend was always smirking or
grinning and this strange fellow was frowning deeply. And whereas Iman was
always sporting bright and sparkling eyes, this sorry sack had only dark ugly
pools where his eyes should be. And while Iman was always moving about with a
spring in his step and a swagger in his gait, the stranger coming at him was
moving around like he had slag in his boots. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Young Jaysh.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> It was Serit’s voice, coming from over his
shoulder. While Jaysh was staring at Iman’s transformation, the general had
snuck up behind him. “Young Jaysh, I’m afraid you have to come with us.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh spun on him, and nearly tripped.
“What fer?” he barked, his eyes darting between the general and captain.
“‘Cause I cain’t <i>‘member </i>stuff like you?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “No,” Serit said, his voice now as small and
terrifying as the man who <i>looked</i> like Iman Janusery. “No,” he said
again, shaking his head as he advanced, “that’s not it at all.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh opened his mouth to tell him to keep
his distance, the goose flesh on the back of his neck squirming like mad, but
before he could, the man who looked like Iman beat him to it, just like the
real Iman might have done. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Jaysh, old buddy,” the man said, “<i>why</i>
do you think it came to you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh’s mouth was still open, like a fish
out of water, but no words came. The words were there, tripping over themselves
in their eagerness to get out of his head, slamming into one another in their
fear and unease, but for whatever reason, his larynx had swelled shut and the
words were forced to crawl down his esophagus and hide in his belly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “What do you think it’s been <i>doing?</i>” the man who looked like Iman
asked, now only a stride away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh didn’t know and neither did he care.
He cared only for running into the woods and hiding in the brush, something
he’d grown quite adept at over the previous ten ages. But try as he might, his
petrified legs refused to move and he found himself helpless to do anything but
stare at the creature in the brush, the one Serit had called a kryst. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> It was still there, he saw, still hiding
in the woods, still staring at him as it had for the last three cycles. Only
this time, as the creature stared with those pupil-less blue eyes, the woodsman
stared <i>back, </i>staring as if the force of his stare might cause the thing
to explode into pieces. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But instead of an eruption of sparkling stone,
there was only Serit’s hand lighting upon his shoulder. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Young Jaysh,” the old man said, breathing
out the words, “I’m afraid it’s time.” </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-57430036101803438532012-07-16T08:10:00.002-07:002012-07-16T08:10:33.744-07:00CHAPTER EIGHTEEN<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Halfway
to the guards, Brine shifted his gaze to the gateway looming in the distance
and realized, with some irritation, that he could not recall its name. Now in
the scheme of things, this was a trivial piece of information and would in no
way impede his admission to the castle, but at the same time it irked him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He’d used this gate many times in the days
of his youth and he <i>knew </i>he knew the name. It was like staring at the
face of an old friend—the scrambled letters of their title etched deeply in the
ancient canvas of his mind—and <i>still </i>failing to decode their name. He
had a sneaking suspicion the name should have been something other than it was,
something like Swaygate or Meadowgate, but that was all that came to him as—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Shungate!</i> <i>It was the Shungate.</i>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He remembered this because, at some point during
the Age of Development, the kings and council had taken it upon themselves to
name it after the forest to the south, an act of pure insanity as far as Brine
was concerned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Considering the gate lie nowhere <i>near</i>
the Shun—was, in fact, separated from the Shun by at least half a league of
lush pasture—Brine had felt the entryway would have been more aptly dubbed, <i>Swaygate</i>.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Of course, the original architect—or
rather, the <i>Great Architect</i>, as he was known—had done this with all four
of the castle’s primary gateways. The fields of Arn’s Promise did not border
Harvestgate, the banks of the River Mela were nowhere near Rivergate, and the
peaks of the Kilashan were actually several leagues <i>east</i> of the
Stonegate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Shungate,” Brine muttered, indulging
himself a bemusing little grin and shaking his head. It was no wonder he hadn’t
remembered. “See,” he told himself, nodding at the gate, “I’m not crazy.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>No</i>, a small internal voice quickly
answered, <i>but if you keep grinning like a fool and talking to yourself, the
gate guards will probably feel differently.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine dropped his gaze to the two
gray-green shapes on either side of the wicket gate. He’d been so obsessed with
recalling the name of the gate that he’d completely forgotten the guards. From
what he could tell, though, they hadn’t noticed his grinning, or his monologue.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Without the monocle, they were still hazy
shapes against the castle walls, little more than gray blurs of chain mail atop
green smudges of pants, but he could tell they weren’t moving. Neither man
appeared to be nudging the other in the ribs and pointing at the grinning
lunatic walking towards them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> On the contrary, the man on the left
continued leaning on the long black pole tipped over his shoulder and, as far
as Brine could tell, was staring at nothing. The man on the right appeared to
be busying himself with a brown harp-like contraption and hadn’t bothered
lifting his helmet once, which was fine with Brine. He had always hated those
ugly things. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Well, he didn’t hate the <i>whole </i>helmet.
The insignias on the side weren’t too bad—the double-edged battleaxes—and the
green feathers pluming from the top weren’t so scary. It was the face shield
Brine had issue with, the ugly steel masks that had always reminded him of the
misshapen faces people carved on gourds during harvest day festivities, an act
of celebration that Brine had never quite understood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The face shields, on the other hand, he
understood perfectly well. As an instrument of warfare, they were designed to
strike fear and loathing into the hearts of the enemy. And they were working. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> But stay calm</i>,
he warned, watching in horror as both masked defenders finally heard his
footsteps and slowly came to life, the one with the pole standing to attention
while the one with the harp took a step forward. <i>Just give them a greeting, </i>he
advised, <i>give a greeting, state your purpose, and put these ugly things
behind you, just like that. Easy as pie, right? Right. Now what was I doing?
Oh, yeah. Stating my greeting and giving a pur—No, wait. That wasn’t it.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>The guard with the stringed
contraption took another step forward. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine stopped and opened his mouth, an
inarticulate noise escaping his throat. “H-Hello,” he said, offering a
jittering bow of respect to both staring helmets. “I trust you are well in his
eyes.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> After what felt like an eternity of
silence—both sets of eye-slits continuing to drill at his face—the helmet on
the right panned around the city and said, “Someone <i>watchin </i>us?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh, no. I’m sorry,” Brine said, giving
his head a thorough shaking and waiting for the man on the right to stop
scanning the streets. “That’s just an expression—a <i>greeting</i> really—it’s
just a greeting.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Ick-<i>spreshun?</i>” one of the steel
masks spat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yes,” Brine said, his head volleying
between the two masks, unsure who was speaking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “A <i>spreshun</i>, huh,” one of the men
said, though Brine still wasn’t sure which one. He thought it was the one on
the right—the one holding what he now saw was a crossbow—but it was difficult
to tell. “This’a <i>game</i>, boy?” the man asked. “Yeh playin games, are yeh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “N-No—No <i>sir</i>.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “No games, huh.” The guard with the
crossbow advanced further and looked Brine up one side and the down the other.
“So what <i>are</i> yeh doin’, boy?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine tried to swallow. “I—I’m…I’m
visiting.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Crossbow froze in his tracks, his flat and
creepy visage fixed on Brine’s face. After a moment, he turned to the man
against the wall—the man carrying what Brine now saw to be a pike—and exchanged
an expressionless glance. Indistinct chuckling echoed from the pikeman, and Crossbow
said, “Well, looky here, Rellin, got ourselves a vis’tor.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Pikeman—who was apparently known as
Rellin—sniggered through his nose. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Got us a funny-lookin vis’tor,” Crossbow
said, lifting his weapon and jabbing the bolt at the shorn sides of the
disciple’s head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Flinching at the barbed bolt-tip, Brine
said, “I-I have my letter…if you’d—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Wha’ yeh reckon happened to his hair,”
Crossbow asked, lowering his loaded weapon and pressing his eye slits into
Brine’s face. “An’ why yeh reckon he keeps squintin at us? Yeh reckon he thinks
we’re a couple’a maggots or somethin?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “The luh-letter is in my robes,” Brine
said, not daring to reach for it. “I can show yo—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Sweet Spawn of Sira!” Crossbow exclaimed,
leaning behind Brine. “He’s got a <i>ponytail!</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Rellin brayed like a donkey and leaned on
his spear. Seeing this, Brine finally realized the mistake that he’d made. He
shouldn’t have come here. He should have gone around to another gate, or scaled
the mortar grooves in the wall, or even burrowed inside using his flute as a
pick, but he should <i>not </i>have come near these two men.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “It’s…It’s a Wauk,” Brine said, “but
really, I don’t want to be a problem, I have the letter ri—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Did he say <i>walk</i>, Rellin?” Crossbow
said, pressing the grill of his helmet into Brine’s face. “Did he say he’s
wearin a <i>walk</i> on the back’a his head?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine’s lower jaw tottered like a man
freezing in the Dead Lands. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Did yeh, boy?” Crossbow asked, tapping
Brine’s chest with the bolt of his weapon and tapping it so hard that Brine felt
sure it had broke the skin. “Is that what yeh said?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Over the pikeman’s moronic guffawing,
Brine heard himself say, “It represents <i>my</i> walk, my <i>Amian</i> walk,
with Owndiah.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Crossbow’s steel grill hung frozen in the
air. “Rellin,” he barked, “what’s a own-die-yee, yeh reckon?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine’s eyes widened as they had while
staring at the sweatless old man in the F’kari. He couldn’t believe what he was
hearing. It was one thing to have never <i>seen</i> a wauk or to have never <i>heard</i>
of Amontus, but Owndiah? They had to be playing with him. <i>Crossbow</i> had
to be playing with him and this was just part of the game. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>But even if it’s a game</i><b>, </b>his
inner voice chided, <i>do you think Crossbow’s going to like it when you don’t
play along? <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Seeing the wisdom in that admonition,
Brine said, “He’s your God. Owndiah’s your God.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “D’jou hear that, Rellin?” Crossbow asked.
“Boy says he’s got a god what makes him wear his hair like a woman.” Crossbow’s
steel helmet shook in mock exasperation. “Well, I doan’ know about that,” he
said. “I doan’ know if the boys inside’ll go fer a felluh with a ponytail.”
Over his shoulder, he said, “Wha’ yeh think, Rellin? Think it’s safe fer a
felluh with a ponytail to go inside?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Rellin filled his helmet with more muffled
laughter and said, “He might…they might thinks him a woman, or…or one’a dem men
what kisses on dem other men…what you calls dem?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Pukes</i>,” Crossbow said. “I calls em
pukes. I calls em that, cause you’d have to be plum <i>sick</i> to step over a fair
lass fer some felluh’s bushy beard.” His faceplate touched Brine’s nose. “You a
<i>puke</i>, boy? <i>Are yeh?</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Eyes scrunched shut and head tilted back,
Brine managed to shake his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Crossbow huffed. “See now, I din’t think
yeh was. Smart-lookin boy like you. Now, turn round,” he said. “Turn round an’
face them buildin’s.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> A bead of sweat ran through the stubble on
the side of Brine’s head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Wha’der yeh deaf, boy?” Crossbow shouted.
“I said get your face round to them buildin’s.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> From Crossbow’s lower body, there came the
zip of steel leaving leather. Brine kept his eyes scrunched shut, daring not to
look.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Turn roun’, boy. Turn roun’ or I’ll cut
yeh.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine said, “I-I can go. I don’t ha—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> A fiery needle of pain blossomed in Brine shoulder
and he gasped, drawing back and grabbing his stinging flesh before the next
blow could be dealt. He turned quickly around to face the southern buildings.
Behind him, Crossbow’s breathing moved closer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Pl-Please,” Brine whispered, listening to
the sound of Crossbow’s namesake clattering on the cobbles, “I’ll go around…” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Rellin,” Crossbow said, “put your spear
on this beard-lover.” On the cobbles behind, Brine heard the clomp of the
pikeman’s boots and imagined the shadow of something long and thin beside him
on the ground. “He moves,” Crossbow said, “you run im through.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Something jerked against Brine’s wauk and
his head flew back, chin yanking up, lips parting. The pain in his hair
follicles was like nothing he’d ever felt—like the scalp itself was being torn
from the skull—but still he did not struggle. If he were lucky, they’d only cut
off his wauk and let him go. But if he were unlucky…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Hold real still, now, puke,” Crossbow
warned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine did, flinching only slightly as his
wauk stiffened and the blade was brought to bear. After that, he knew only the
anguish of his heart and the searing pain in his scalp, and he was pretty sure
he was crying. It was impossible to tell with his eyes scrunched shut, but
that’s how he felt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> After that, he was vaguely aware of the
wicket gate as its latch popped loose and its ancient hinges squealed on the
frame. Then it felt like the stinging pressure at the back of his head was
lessening and that the weight of his wuak had slumped against his back. And was
he falling forward? He thought that he was, but before he knew for certain, he
felt his knees strike the cobblestones. Then he was rolling to his side and
opening his eyes, watching the shadow of the pike moving slowly away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Behind him, someone was yelling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Oursler!</i>” a voice bellowed from
behind. “<i>Rellin!</i>” the voice added. “<i>Those helmets on too tight or is
there some reason I have to repeat your puss-wad names!</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine was terrified to turn around, but at
the same time—with the screaming so loud and angry—he was also too terrified <i>not</i>
to turn around. So, in order to compromise, he crawled forward a few paces and <i>then</i>
turned his head to the ruckus behind, turning around to see a third soldier exiting
the gate, this one dressed in the same gray mail and green pants. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> That having been said, Brine didn’t think <i>this</i>
man was a guard. To Brine, the man looked more like an officer in the king’s
army, indicated by the dented lines pressed onto his shoulder plates and by the
way Crossbow and Rellin stood stone still as the man pressed his trembling
cheeks in their faceplates and screamed himself red.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>So</i>,” the stony-faced officer was
saying once the harangue had died to a roar, “<i>do either of you puss-wads
want to try explaining yourselves?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Oursler shot up a hand and pointed at the
disciple. “It were this—this <i>beard-lovin</i>
puke, Sir! He come in here a-yellin an’ a-cursin an’ a-sayin he was—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> With fingers and palm straight as the
castle walls, Stonyface held up his hand to Oursler and turned to Rellin. The
pikeman jumped at first, recovered slowly, then said, “Da’s…Da’s right. We
think’d him an, uh…an, uh…one’a dem men what tries to kill people in the—” The
officer gave Rellin the palm, wincing at the private’s butchery of the Jashian
tongue. He turned back to the lesser of the two linguistic evils. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “An <i>assassin?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Ye’sir!” Oursler said, nodding so hard
his head rattled in his helmet. “So I tol’im, I said, ‘Push off, boy!’ I did! I
tol’im. But he wouldn’t go! He jus kep a-cursin us! So—So I was jus about to
take’im to the city limits, yeh know, get’im as fer from the king as I could,
but then—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “You saw fit to <i>cut </i>his hair?” the officer finished. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Oursler balked. “Uh…no’sir. I mean,
ye’sir, but that come after.” He glanced at Rellin for support, then said, “He
turned wild on us, sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Wild,” Stonyface said, his creek-pebble
eyes disappearing in a scowl. “A <i>wild </i>assassin.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Daft silence emanated from his guards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Stonyface said, “Did either of you take
the time to notice this man is unarmed?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Oursler never moved, but Rellin made the
mistake of turning his helmet and inspecting the disciple, completely taken
aback as his superior swatted him in the head and screamed, “<i>Private-Rellin-can-you-tell-me-the-protocol-for-someone-seeking-the-king’s-audience?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reeling on his booted heels, Rellin said,
“We puts the spear to’im,” and then he was grunting again as the officer
swatted the other side. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Oursler said, “But, sir, yeh said the
king’s sick. Yeh said no one was—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Stonyface whirled on him. “<i>Protocol-Oursler!</i>”
he shouted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">“<i>I-don’t-want-to-hear-what-I-said!-I-want-to-hear-the-protocol-for-a-man-seeking-the-king’s-audience!</i>”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Oursler was leaning back so far that any
further movement would have resulted in a fall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Papers!</i>” the officer screamed. “<i>You
ask to see papers! Whether the king’s ill, healthy, or on a banning holiday,
you ask to see the papers—Always!</i>” He backed out of the guard’s face. “So
did you? Did you ask to see this man’s papers, Oursler?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> There was a pause, ever so slight, and
then the guard said, “No’sir.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Stonyface’s eyes narrowed, eyelash to
eyelash, his grim mouth froze in fuming contemplation and his shirt front
heaving with the raging of his lungs. “I want <i>both</i> of you to pay <i>very
</i>close attention,” he said, marching to where Brine was now standing with
his wauk clutched to his chest. “Sir, what is your purpose here today?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine, who’d been watching the officer’s
aggressive display with growing apprehension, stood speechless until it became
clear he was not about to be swatted. “I…I have an appointment.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “With <i>whom</i>, sir?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “The…the king.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Without a hint of disdain, Stonyface said,
“Considering the king’s current situation, that is highly unlikely, sir, but,”
he added, with the air of someone trying to prove a point, “do you have the
appropriate paperwork?” And as Brine began to dig for the letter, the officer
turned and nodded to his guards, emphasizing the simplicity of their task. When
he turned back, Brine handed him the letter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The man with the plumes fountaining from
his shoulders took the missive, opened it, and ran his unfriendly eyes along
its wildly-looping scrawl. Then slowly, at the corner of each eye, his features
softened, and towards the body of the letter, he actually exposed his corneas
to the air. Stopping in his reading, he jerked his head to Brine and gave him a
scrutinizing look, his bulging eyes following the disciple’s robes from shaved
head to sandaled toe. Afterwards, he consulted the letter and, while doing so,
something must have clicked in his head because his face quickly assumed its
previously granite cast. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Folding the parchment in two, he said, “I
apologize for the actions of my men, Sir. I’m sure you understand that we’re a
bit shorthanded after the Westpost incident. Honestly, sir, had my best men not
been deployed only yesterday, I’d never have these two anywhere near the general
public. No offense taken, Sir? Or shall I have them flogged? Demoted?” He shook
his head, seeking direction. “<i>Exiled?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine glanced at the two soldiers, then
back to the officer. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I’m sure they’ve
learned their lesson.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Probably not, Sir,” he said. “But they
will. I assure you that, Sir.” He handed the missive back to Brine. “Now, Sir,
if you would follow me.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And Brine did, pausing only as the
lieutenant stopped next to Oursler and Rellin and administer a healthy swat to
the back of each man’s head. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-44277117062700932802012-07-16T08:08:00.003-07:002012-07-16T08:08:31.178-07:00CHAPTER SEVENTEEN<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">They
say you can never go back, or at least that’s what Brine had always heard. Now,
however, as he stood staring at the massive slabs that comprised Castle Arn, he
came to the realization that one actually <i>could</i> go back, but only if one
were willing to suffer a nervous breakdown of the severest degree. He knew this
because, as he peered through his seeing lens at the ominous gray walls and
looming black spires, he was <i>having </i>a nervous breakdown of the severest
degree. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> His heart felt as though it was trying to
break free of his chest and his arms felt as though they had worms writhing
beneath the skin. Clear lines of sweat coursed rivulets down the side of the
head and a dark stain of perspiration spread ominously down his front. He was shaking,
too, his whole body quivering like a pudding.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Anyone watching from the towers would have
no alternative but to perceive the disciple as an epileptic suffering from a
seizure. He clearly was not cold, not with the blistering sun in the sky and
the heavy robes on his back, and clearly there were copious amounts of salty
fluid oozing from his pores. They would have no idea that Brine was coming
undone on the inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Of course, Brine had no idea <i>why</i> he
was coming undone on the inside. It wasn’t as though he were risking attack by scaling
the castle walls or infiltrating the sewer system. And it wasn’t as though anything
<i>bad</i> was going to happen once he was inside.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> At least not to <i>him</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He drew what felt like his hundredth warm
and dusty breath and tried, once again, to steady the hand holding his monocle.
And when this failed to work, he raised his other hand and grabbed the
monocle-hand by the wrist. It continued to shimmy—for no other reason than the
stabilizing arms was doing a good deal of shimmying itself—but the vibrations
were more tolerable and he could see that something was wrong with the setting
before him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He brought the circular glass closer to
his eye and squinted, searching for the cause.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Is it the standards?</i> he wondered,
studying the gray swaths of cloth hanging motionless and still in the
suffocating air. The battleaxes painted thereon were still double-headed and
still drawn with the same green paint he’d always associated with pea soup, but
still there was something wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> Is it the dimensions? </i>he
wondered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>He wiped an irritating
trickle of sweat from his brow and decided that, yes, the dimensions <i>were</i>
wrong. The old banners had faded in the sun and someone, for whatever reason,
had drawn these <i>new </i>axes to a much smaller scale. He had no idea why
they would do such a thing—perhaps they were running low on pea-green paint
that day—but the emblems were clearly smaller than the ones he remembered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In fact, generally speaking, much of what
he was seeing appeared smaller than before. He moved the seeing lens from the
turrets on his right to spires on his left and each appeared somewhat shorter
than he recalled. And to tell the truth, hadn’t the gate been thicker as well?
Hadn’t it spanned the length of three cottages and required a team of men just
to open? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> If so, they’d downgraded the gate as well,
because what Brine saw before him was barely the width of one cottage and the
two men standing to either side could have swung it wide with little or no
discomfort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Feeling the first signs of lightheadedness
coming on, Brine turned to the surrounding cottages and gave them a quick
appraisal, finding that they, too, had suffered a slight reduction in size.
Doorways he’d have run through as a child were now so low that he would have to
duck. And windows he’d have wriggled through as a boy were now barely large enough
to receive his head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In many cases, he could not only <i>see</i>
the wooden shingles of the rooftops, but he could see <i>over</i> them to the
city beyond, in some instances all the way to the southern edge of Onador, a
destination that, as a child, had felt like the other end of the world. It now
appeared to be no more than ten blocks away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But how could he be wrong about a trip
he’d made so many times as a boy?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He could see Kline’s bakery along the way,
the store where he used to rest his weary legs and think, as he did, that he’d
very much like one of the Kline’s famous sourdough rolls. He also recalled
thinking that it was most unfair for the Kline’s to pipe that tantalizing aroma
into the streets. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> After the Kline’s, his next resting place
was Baufle’s smithy, an establishment owned by a stocky little man with a
glistening bald head and thick, soot-covered arms. Brine couldn’t remember the
man’s first name, but this something-or-other Baufle did not like spectators,
especially <i>young</i> spectators. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine would stop there as long as he
could, mesmerized by the glowing orange steel and the brilliant yellows sparks,
Baufle’s hammer crashing down again and again on the nearly-molten slab of ore,
the force of the blows reverberating through his teeth. And then Baufle would
take notice and shoo him down the street. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> By then, Brine was usually feeling
refreshed and ready to finish the last of his everlasting journey, a journey
that now appeared to consist of two rows of residential cottages and one
overgrown lot of comparable size. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>But how can that be?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine removed the monocle, cleaned it on
his sleeve, and plopped it back into place. The distance from Baufle’s smithy
to the Kline’s appeared to be less than the distance from Baufle’s to the Sway,
and the distance from the Kline’s to where he stood now appeared to be shorter
still, which meant he was either losing his precious mind or the city of his
youth was shriveling like a grape. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He lowered his gaze from Kline’s bakery to
the alleyway before him, half-expecting a dwarf or gnome to come waddling
around the corner, one of the many citizens of Onador having kept pace with
their city’s dwindling size. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> No one came around the corner, human-sized
to otherwise, but it <i>had</i> started him to think; When he finally met the
people of his past—the people he’d left behind—would <i>they</i> appear to have
shrunk as well? Would he be looking down the tops of their wizen heads and
listening to their faint and squeaky voices? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He didn’t think so. For one thing, the
shepherd boy had looked and sounded normal, as had the handful of other
Jashians he’d seen milling about the city: the children skipping on the walks, the
women hanging out their wash, the old men watching from their stoops. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> If there was anything wrong with these
good people, it was their quantity and not their size. He supposed he’d been
aware of this strange paucity of life, somewhere back in the recesses of his
mind, but he had not paid it much heed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> With his body unaccustomed to travel and
his mind absorbed with thoughts of Olymun and his inexplicable note, Brine had not
had much time or energy to worry about the number of live bodies he’d met along
the road. What was more, he hadn’t <i>expected</i> to meet many bodies along
the initial stretch of road, those sections leading through the blistering
wastes of the F’kari and the remote hills of Lathia, places where vacuity was
the norm and solitude a way of life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But Jashandar, on the other hand, was a
different story. With its temperate climes and fertile soil, the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Kingdom</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Jashandar</st1:placename></st1:place> fostered a progressive way of
life unknown to the struggling lands to the south; boys herding sheep and girls
gathering berries, men guiding plows and women hewing wheat. And within the
city, the level of activity was simply staggering, mills grinding, markets
clogged, the air heavy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine pocketed his monocle. He didn’t need
it to see that the images of his childhood were grossly out of place. Details might
be lost on his miserable eyes, but movements were not, or in this case the lack
thereof. He needed no visual aid to pick out the vacant alleys and empty
streets, the faceless windows and figureless doors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In a way, it was like a hole had opened in
fabric of space and sucked out the citizenry of Onador, taking with it his hope
and his memory and much of his past.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>…there are less of us…</i>a voice
whispered<i>…less than once were…</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Brine spun towards the castle, another
shudder of nerves washing his shoulders and an urge to run for the hills
threading his mind. He found the strength to resist and focused instead on the
feeling from his dream, the feeling that wasn’t a feeling at all, but the voice
he’d heard while reading his letter, the one that had urged him home to this castle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> …and for all those seeking their
purpose…their God will provide… <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And with that, he drew a precious breath
of air and started towards the gate, shuffling his sandal-laden feet and
closing on the guards. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-63918142517342251492012-07-16T08:07:00.000-07:002012-07-16T08:07:17.531-07:00CHAPTER SIXTEEN<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Very
slowly—<i>and with great feeling</i>—Jaysh slid back around the elm and placed
his head against the bark, wondering glumly if he should see what the grinning
idiot wanted or if he should continue holding his tongue and let his dear old
friend stumbled right on by. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He was leaning towards the latter, and
rightfully so. This was, after all, his fourth failed hobby in a row and he had
a lot of work ahead of him if he hoped to end the pattern. He had either an <i>old
</i>kingdom to fix or a <i>new </i>kingdom to find, and neither of those options
left him much time for helping his dear old friend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Last night, during
the-horse-ride-that-wouldn’t-end, the good captain had told Jaysh all about
today’s assignment, an assignment that entailed visiting the Devil’s Dome and
investigating the disappearance of the golden one. And without fail, Iman had
invited Jaysh to accompany him only half a dozen times, to which Jaysh had responded
in the negative. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Interestingly enough, this had absolutely
no affect on his dear old friend, even though Iman didn’t know a boar’s track
from a goat’s hair or a lie down from a rut mark. The council had given Iman a
quest and a-questing he would go, never mind the fact that he didn’t know what
he was doing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>‘Til he got down there an’ had a look
around</i>, Jaysh thought. ‘<i>Til he got down there, fig’erd he was in over
his head, an’ went scurryin fer help. An’ where yeh reckon he goes fer his help?
Why, down there in the sticks to find his hilljack friend. Cause even though Iman
ain’t got no mind fer scoutin, he’s still a clever one. He knows if’n he stomps
hard enough an’ if’n he talks long enough, </i>I’ll<i> find him</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And he was right. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Slipping around the elm and using the
harshest tone he could muster, Jaysh said, “<i>Down here</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman stopped dead in his tracks, his head
jerking to and fro and looking everywhere but the place where Jaysh was
standing. When Jaysh yelled a second time, the captain spotted him and began to
grin, nudging his partner in the arm and moving to intercept, high-stepping the
briars and swinging at the cobwebs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Well, fancy that,” Iman said jovially,
“here we are lost in the wood and there stands the finest scout in all the
land.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh kept his eyes on the captain,
ignoring the man behind him who had, apparently, eaten his fill of dead bugs
and spiders and was wiping frantically at his face. Jaysh was waiting for the smiling
loudmouth in the elk-skin boots to forego the sweet talk and make his
proposition. The sooner he did that, the sooner Jaysh could turn him down. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Possibly reading this look, Iman smiled a
little wider and said, “So how’s forest day?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh tilted his head and unloaded a
cheekful of saliva in the leaves. “Not good.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I didn’t think so,” Iman said, looking
distractedly around the woods. “We’d have never found you, if it was.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>That was true</i>, Jaysh thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “But if it makes you feel better,” the
captain said, his gaze dropping to the pool of spit, “my Dome expedition didn’t
pan out either.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yeh doan’ say.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I do,” Iman went on, “I was actually on
my way there when—right out of the blue—I was intercepted by <i>another</i> of
your dear old friends.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh stopped chewing and frowned,
puzzling over the word <i>in’ercepted</i>. He was unfamiliar with the meaning
of the word—something the other man had <i>done</i> to Iman, apparently—but he
got the feeling it meant the other man had somehow <i>stopped</i> Iman’s
mission, which would mean that Jaysh’s Iman-got-stumped theory was now
teetering on the edge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As if to add to the woodsman’s emerging
doubt, Iman stepped aside, gestured to the man who’d <i>in’ercepted</i> him,
and said, “Look who it is.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh did, and felt the tight knots of
confusion smoothing into shock.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> His other dear old friend hadn’t moved any
closer since doing battle with the gossamer snares, but he had removed his
feathery helmet. This was probably so as to clean the desiccated insects from
the face shield, but it might also have been so he could have an unobstructed
look at the forest around him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> With his headgear under one arm and his
other arm pulled protectively to his chest—shoulders slightly hunched as if
beset upon by cool winds—the officer inspected his surroundings with all the
mounting apprehension of a barn mouse surveying a hayloft of owls. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> At the sound of his introduction, he took
a few steps forward, ceased his scan of the woods, and gave the woodsman the
pained expression of a man who was one good shout away from leaping from his
skin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Hel-Hello, young Jaysh,” Serit said,
prying a hand from his chest and extending it to the woodsman. “I trust you are
in good spirits this morning?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh glanced at the proffered hand. “I’m
good,” he said. “You?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I am surviving,” the general admitted,
retracting his hand and taking no offense at the slight. Speaking to the
overhead boughs and interlacing branches, he said, “Oh—and by the way—I must
say, splendid work on the Sway and Westpost missions. The council and I were
most impressed by both endeavors. Most impressed. It’s always refreshing to
hear from a <i>specialist</i> in his field.”
He was now inspecting the splintered birch and its jutting splinters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh chewed numbly on his vine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “What, uh…What <i>day</i> is today?” Serit
asked, moving towards the shattered trunk with a look on his face that clearly
could not justify what he was seeing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Hunt Day,” Jaysh said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Hunt day,” Serit mimed, placing the tip
of his long and spindly finger to the point of one spur and tapping it lightly.
“And what was it you were hunting?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh’s eyes shifted from the general to
the tree trunk. “Mos’ly deer,” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Indeed,” the general said, withdrawing
his hand and frowning at the woods, “and did you hap—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Serit,” Iman said, stepping forward and
giving the old man a look. “Don’t you think—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “General Branmore, if you please,” Serit
intoned, giving the look right back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Right,” Iman mumbled, clearly irritated,
“but shouldn’t we be—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Young Iman,” Serit said, speaking in the
strict tones of a frustrated parent, “I am certain a few moments of palaver
with young Jaysh will not set us back unduly, <i>hmm?</i>” Ignoring the
captain’s exasperated sigh, he turned to the staring woodsman and said, “Now,
hunt day, young Jaysh, that is one of your favorites, is it not?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh studied the general’s mustache,
nerves rattling like dead branches in the wind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “It was,” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yes, I thought as much,” Serit said,
completely missing the transition from <i>is</i> to <i>was</i> and making his
perfunctory scan of forest. “But today there were no fruits for your labors? Is
that what I’m to understood fr—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yonder,” Jaysh said, nodding to the right
and watching as the two officers turned, straighten themselves, and peered in
unison at the thing that looked like a hairy feed sack. Their faces softened in
curious wonder and then, as they crept forward, wrinkling in dismayed. Closer
still, and General Branmore gasped. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh could empathize. From where he sat,
he could no longer see the details of the kill, but like the crushed cow from
the Sway, the details would never leave him; The way the frame had been bent
back on itself and the spine had been twisted so badly that, in places, it was
difficult to tell the forepaws from the hind paws. He’d found them eventually,
that much had happened, but he’d had no such luck with the head. With the head,
he’d either failed to locate it or recognize it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Steadily retreating from the thing, Serit
said, “What…what was…?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “A bear,” Jaysh said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>A bear?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Pausing to chew the contents of his mouth,
Jaysh said, “I think.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit was shaking his head. “A bear,” he
breathed, still marveling at the impossibility of this claim. “Well, young
Jaysh, I must say you certainly did a <i>masterful</i> job of…of doing…,” he
trailed off, still in search of the right word to describe the butchery before
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> To the right of the heap and squatting
down for a closer inspection, Iman said, “This wasn’t Jaysh.” Serit looked to
the woodsman for clarification, then back to Iman, who waddled a little further
around the kill and said, “This looks like the cow from the circle.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh began to nod. “Looks the same, doan’
it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yes…it…does,” Iman said, speaking in that
thoughtful monotone that implied his mouth was running while his mind was elsewhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Staring passed the bloated carcass to the
woods beyond, Jaysh said, “I foun’ a pack’a scabe-wolves down yonder, tore up
the same.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Sway killer?” Iman asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Could’a been,” Jaysh said. “That’un
there’s got one’a them runny, red holes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Does it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yep,” Jaysh said, giving a nod. “Some of
the scabes din’t, but that’un does.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman looked up, staring straight at him.
“Not all the scabes had them?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Not all of’em,” Jaysh said, pointing to
the bear, “and that’un there, it’s only got the one while—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “—while the cow had two,” Iman finished,
dropping his gaze to the kill. “So what are they?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh didn’t know, but the fact that they
held no consistent pattern bothered him. For a mind like his—a concrete-sequential
model with an <i>extreme </i>preference for visual stimuli—this made absolutely
no sense. If these animals had been slain by the same predator—and clearly they
had, based upon the broken carcasses and packed soil—then either all should
have puncture wounds or none should have puncture wounds. At least then, with a
discernible pattern, Jaysh might have been able to hazard some kind of a guess.
As it were, he felt lost and confused and a little overwhelmed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Is it possible,” Serit asked, “that these
openings were made by the animal itself?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The general’s voice had come from
somewhere behind him and Jaysh had to turn around to find him. After his
initial shock, the general had backpedaled as far from the dead bear as
possible. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The woodsman gawked at him, and it
seemed—judging by the way his eyes were darted between Jaysh and the
captain—that Iman was gawking as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Compound fractures?</i>” Serit
offered, when the gawking persisted. “Tears in the flesh from the animal’s fractured
bones?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">
Jaysh nodded, his chewing pace returning to normal. He’d never seen a
bone tear through the skin before, but he knew it was possible. Some of the
patrons of the Wound—the older ones who’d survived the war with Lathia—they’d
seen plenty of it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> According to them, it was a common
occurrence for soldiers on both sides to either be knocked lose of the grapples
and shattered on the ground or to lose track of the siege machinery and tumble
beneath the wheels. In either event, there were bone shards sticking out all
over, thighs and shins, forearms and ribs, but mostly ribs. If you listened to
them, the ribs seemed to be the weakest bone in the human body. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I s’pose,” Jaysh said, thinking of the
many sweats he’d broke while trying to force his skinning knife through the
side of a bear hide. But there again, bear hide wasn’t plate armor or chain
mail and he reckoned that, with enough force and a thick enough shard of bone,
anything was possible. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> From the vicinity of the bear, Iman said,
“Jaysh, did you see any <i>bones</i> in the holes on the scabes?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh was shaking his head even before he
turned around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I didn’t see any on the cow,” Iman said.
“None on this thing either,” he added, pointing to the bear and locking eyes
with the general. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Serit cleared his throat and said,
“Perhaps, they were pulled back <i>in?</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh looked around at Iman, but the good
captain had already returned to his bear, obviously placing little credence in
the general’s Retracting Bone Theory. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Spitting out a stream of black, Jaysh
said, “I doan’ know bout bones, but whatever killed the bear,” he said,
adjusting his gaze to the canopy above, “it come through up there.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman turned to him, followed his gaze to
the displaced greenery, and spied the wrist-thin branches above, snapped and
dangling. The biggest among them might have been as wide as his calf-muscle,
but not by much. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The captain took a step towards them and
stopped, sweeping his eyes in a diagonal trajectory from the broken limbs to the
shattered birch, and from the shattered birch to the dead bear slumped at his
boots. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Glaring at it for a time, Iman then looked
back to the twisted branches in the treetops and made one of the befuddled
expressions he used to make in the temples when the disciples would ask him
spiritual questions about Owndiah and Glory and creatures of the Pit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman said, “I’d like to ask how something
large enough to kill a bear could be supported by treetops so small…,” he shook
his head, “…but of course this is the same creature that doesn’t leave tracks…
so I’m not going to.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The question—if there’d <i>been</i> a
question—hadn’t really been directed at him, but Jaysh’s felt compelled to
raise and lower his shoulders all the same. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “This is just wrong,” Iman said, dropping
his eyes to the woodsman. “Very, very wrong,” he said, turning to Serit. “Like <i>ugling
</i>wrong, you know?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh scratched his beard. “That what this
was?” he asked. “An uglin?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Still staring at Serit, Iman was shaking
his head. “From what I’ve heard at the Wound, uglings don’t come out too often.
I mean, what’s it been, since we were kids that we had one on the loose?” He
looked at Serit for confirmation, found the old man looking around the forest,
and said, “And if it were an ugling, we’d have seen it by now. I hear they come
out like a pack of wild dogs, jumping up and down, howling at the moon.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh thought back to a set of tracks he’d
found along the rim of the Bottoms—back before he decided never to go near the
place—and had to agree. The markings he’d seen there had been of a creature
that ran on two legs and left perfect goat tracks in the mud, pointed on top
and round on the bottom. But even more disturbing than the thought of an upright
Billy goat was the realization that the Billy goat had never hesitated as it
came sprinting out from the misted shoals and went charging into the Sway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Ignoring his impulse to flee, Jaysh had
followed the trail until it opened up into a wide set of galloping prints. The creature
having apparently dropped down on all-fours like a bear, but instead of having
goat hooves all around, the forelegs of this monstrosity ended in paws, like a
coyote. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The four-legged run had ended at the intersection
of <i>real </i>hoof prints further into the Sway, probably those of a steer or
bull, though Jaysh would never know. The owner of the <i>real</i> hoof prints
was no where to be found. There was only the dried blood on the grass and the
hoof-and-paw tracks racing back into the Bottoms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh had wisely let them go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman said, “There’s probably a better chance
it’s an old one, but according to that man, Butterolf,” he glanced at the
general, “there’s not much chance of that either. Butterolf was pretty sure we
were looking for something that keeps to the shadows.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And just like that, as the word <i>shadows
</i>left the good captain’s lips, Jaysh felt a blistering thought come alive in
his head, a thought so pregnant with possibilities that he wondered why he
hadn’t asked it before. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Is that what we’re lookin fer?” he asked.
“Somethin in the shaduhs?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman studied him for a moment, and then
nodded that is was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh turned to the trunks and undergrowth
where last he’d seen his crystal admirer and, sure enough, it was still there.
He raised a hand and pointed an accusatory finger at the place where chips of
blue and flares of white could be seen dancing in the emerald screen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “How bout that thing?” he said.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-21293726944551558462012-07-16T08:04:00.001-07:002012-07-16T08:04:44.701-07:00CHAPTER FIFTEEN<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; tab-stops: 1.0in 5.0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Deep in the Forrest of the Shun and early on the
following day, Jaysh the woodsman found it necessary to put the day’s events on
hold and take a moment to collect his thoughts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; tab-stops: 1.0in 5.0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Until
then, the day had proven no worse than the previous three days—not a <i>good</i>
day, by any stretch of the imagination—but at least it hadn’t been so bad that
he couldn’t cope. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; tab-stops: 1.0in 5.0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> For
example, when he awoke this morning to find his pack gone, his arrows scattered,
and his pet missing, he had coped. He had found the shadow standing with the
statues, he had given the horrible thing a passing scowl, and he had gone
patiently about fining his gear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; tab-stops: 1.0in 5.0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Later
that morning, when his regularly scheduled hobby—Hunt Day—turned out to be
another regularly scheduled <i>disaster</i>, he had coped again. He had taken
the vine from his shirt, he had bit a piece from the end, and he had let the
juices do their work. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Later still, after wasting half the
morning by traipsing through the Shun and finding nothing but empty runs and
barren meadows, he’d continued to cope. He’d bitten off a little <i>more </i>of
the vine and he’d chew it a little <i>longer</i> and he’d told himself that
things <i>had</i> to get better. Sira knew
they couldn’t get worse…<i>Could they?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> A few empty valleys later, he found a pack
of scabe-wolves scattered about a clearing, and realized that things <i>could</i>
get worse—a <i>lot</i> worse. And if there was any doubt, it was quickly
squashed when he marched two valleys deeper and found what appeared to be a
shaggy mound of fur lying in a heap. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> It was then that his day finally reached
the breaking point and he could no longer cope. Because it was then, after spending
some time poking the blob of hair with a stick, that he realized the scarcity of
wildlife in the Shun had nothing to do with withering resources or changing
seasons. The deer hadn’t left the wilderness in search of edible vegetation and
the geese hadn’t migrated in search of acceptable climes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> They had fled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh laid the stick down and stepped back
from the lump of hair, unable to look away. After some time, his despair got
the better of him and he <i>had </i>to look away. He found a place several
yards away from the shaggy lump and dropped himself in the leaves, his head
spinning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He stared at the crunchy brown carpet
between his moccasins and waited for the dizziness to fade. It was not the <i>good</i>
kind of dizziness associated with the vine. It was the bad kind. The kind
associated with puking up his guts and lying nauseated on the ground. The
dizziness did not abate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> For a fleeting moment, he felt an urge to scan
the woods for the lump’s maker, to run his eyes along the clogging underbrush
and the colonnade of trunks, positive that the thing was still here in the
forest and creeping upon him from the rear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He resisted the urge, reminding himself
that the creature he sought had crept upon, and dispatched, two major predators
of the Shun, leaving behind no tracks or markings in the process. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Instead, he turned his gaze to one of the
shattered trees above, the closet being a young birch that looked to be as
thick as a man’s thigh at its base and not much smaller at the place where it forked
into its boughs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh couldn’t imagine the force necessary
to snap the thing in two, but that was exactly what had happened. His eyes scoured
the area where the top of the tree now hung down from the trunk. There, the
wood had splintered into a broad fan of wooden teeth, some of the splintery
shards as long as his forearm. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> On his very best day, he couldn’t have
torn the smallest of those shards from its base. And yet something had cracked
the whole of the tree like a campfire twig, and had done so without leaving a
single track in the soil. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> After crawling around the lump of fur, the
only clue Jaysh could find involved the oval of flattened undergrowth in which
the mound lay, the leaves smashed flat, the briars laid smooth, the dead fall
broken and driven deep into the dirt. Seeing it, he could not help but think of
the circle of matted reeds in the Sway, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh tried to imagine how something like
that had happened and could only think of the grist stone from the mill. He imagined
someone unhooking it from the gearing and rolling it into the Sway, then the
Shun. He spat vine juice from the corner of his lips and let the matter go<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Thinking about it was exacerbating his
dizziness, and he didn’t think he could handle much more without spilling his
breakfast in the leaves. He let his mind wander and his eyes lose focus, listening
to the forest to the north. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Someone up there was moving around. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh had been hearing snippets of the
intruders for quite some time, but hadn’t given them much thought. For one
thing, he’d been too busy with the blob and, for another, they had hadn’t
sounded threatening. <i>Lost</i>, perhaps,
but not threatening. They would wander to the east for awhile, march back to
the west for a time, then stop abruptly and turn back the east. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The chances were good that these were <i>not</i>
Jaysh’s people, meaning that they were not trappers or hunters or scouts. More
than likely, they were city folk who’d wandered off the trail and gotten lost
in the woods. In which case, Jaysh would have to lead them back to the <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Lathian Road</st1:address></st1:street> and
point them in the right direction. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> On most occasions, he did this to get them
out of his woods and away from his game, but today he’d be doing it because
leaving them there would be nothing short of murder. And he was already having
enough trouble sleeping at night without murder on his conscious. Unless of
course they were merchants… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> If they were merchants, he’d have to think
about it. <i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He absolutely hated merchants. The last
band of wayward travelers had <i>been</i> merchants and they’d nearly bartered
him out of the shoes on his feet and the shirt on his back. They’d hassled him
for his knife, his pack, asking him what was <i>in </i>his pack, asking him if
he had anything at <i>home</i> he would like to trade. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Judging by the jingling of their packs and
tinkling of their bags, Jaysh didn’t reckon they dealt in pelts or roots or
shiny bits of rock, and surely to goodness they could take one look at the
woodsman and see that he did. Never the less, the hounding had continued and
Jaysh vowed to avoid them at all cost. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Or in this case</i>, he mused, <i>to keep
em from treadin over the top of me</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Moving behind a giant elm, Jaysh stilled
his jaw and cocked an ear to the side, listening for the telltale sounds of
clinking metal wares and clacking wooden goods. What he heard instead was the
sound of voices, the sound of grown men speaking in the forest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh shook his head and wondered what in
the world the man could be talking about. Outside of trees, briars, and the
occasional dead fall, there wasn’t much going on out here. He held his breath
and sat up straight, squinting at the voices and, at first, seeing nothing more
than <span style="display: none;">e He </span>distortion in the
leaves. But after a few moments more, the outline of two men emerged from the trees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh slid behind the elm and released a
sigh. Merchants never traveled in tandem and seldom in groups smaller than five.
In this way, merchants reminded Jaysh of the dead scabe-wolves he’d found a few
valleys over, always traveling in packs so that the <i>hounding</i> was more
efficient. <i>But if’n they ain’t merchants</i>, he wondered, <i>what are they?</i>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> For a time, Jaysh toyed with the idea that
they were hunters or scouts who had heard about the attacks at Westpost and who
had decided to watch each other’s backs. But the more he thought about it, the
less likely that seem. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Hunting wasn’t the sort of hobby one
performed as a couple. First of all, the less noise and body odor one brought
into the woods, the better. And second, hunting by one’s self cut way back on
mistaking one’s friend for a prized buck and shooting them squarely between the
horns. So if they weren’t hunters…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jaysh peaked back around the elm and found
the strangers no more than twenty paces away, close enough to see that he was
correct. They weren’t hunters. Hunters never wore that much chain mail and body
armor and they seldom hunted with throwing knives and short swords. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> These two buffoons were soldiers—<i>officers</i>,
judging by the green feathers pluming from the one man’s helmet and the three
jagged stripes chiseled into the other man’s shoulder plates. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> From where they were walking now, Jaysh
could see these markings as plainly as he could see the green battle-axes on
their chest plates and the long dark hair of the man without the helmet, the
man who was apparently leading the procession and who’s mouth couldn’t hold
still for…longer than… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> </span><i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Oh, no. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-60962915655635656882012-07-16T04:47:00.001-07:002012-07-16T04:47:27.708-07:00CHAPTER FOURTEEN<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Reets
groaned like an old bear. “Not again,” he mumbled, tracking the ruckus to the
side of the bed and finding the eldest of the advisors peeking over the rim of
his book, one corner of his mouth glistening with drool. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “He passed?” Godfry asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “No yet,” Reets chided. “I told yeh I’d
wake yeh if’n he did.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Did you, now,” Godfry said, blinking
heavily at the crumpled mattress and scratching his massive brush-pile mane.
Finding no answers there, he said, “What was that about death, then?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Fixin problems, Godfry,” Reets said. “Had
nothin to do with ole Sam.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Godfry screwed up his face. “Problems, you
say.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yep.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Like the rivers?” Godfry asked. “And that
fellow with no skin?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets let the limping strides of his boots
echo in the room before saying, “Yep.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Ah, good, good,” Godfry said. “Any
solutions then?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets looked to the rafters, wondering how
to proceed. He would have preferred that Godfry return to his book and,
ultimately, to slumber. But since the old man seemed intent on remaining awake—and
since he was, <i>technically</i>, part of the royal council—Reets decided to humor
him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Jabbing a crooked finger at the slurping
darkness in the corner, the halfling said, “Won’t be no solutions so long as ole
<i>big mouth </i>keeps gettin in the way.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Godfry mouthed the word <i>big mouth</i>
and turned in the direction of the halfling’s finger. Watching this, Reets
thought for sure the old man would either ask him to explain who was in the
corner or why their mouth was so large. But instead, the ancient counselor
raised his bushy white brows and began to nod, bobbing his head up and down as
one does when what they hear resonates to the core. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I see, I see,” he mumbled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> From her seclusion in the shadows, the
titan said, “As usual, Godfry dear, Counselor Baggershaft will not be satisfied
until we declare war on every rock and rill this side of Erinthalmus. And our
friend, Counselor Sneel,” she added, helpfully, “still suffers from the
delusion that all things can be solved by hiring his impoverished brethren to
the south.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Ahhh,” Godfry said, his head tottering.
“Yes, that sounds about right.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Curling his upper lip, Reets shot the old
coot a dirty look and said, “Wha’ do <i>you</i> know bout anythin,
sleepy-head?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The wintery haystack of hair tottered
towards him. “What’s that, now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “You heard me,” Reets snapped. “Stead’a
sittin over there and playin the fool, why doan’ <i>you</i> try comin up with answers? <i>You</i>
been here longer than the rest’a us.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Godfry stared at him—no surprise
there—then began to dig in his beard. “I’m not sure I can say,” he offered
weakly. “I’m not sure anything like this has ever happened,” he added. “We had
the occasional ugling wander out of the Bottoms, and every once in a while
someone would go to close to the Harriun and get suck in by whatever it is that
sucks people in, but…but we never had anything like this, never a lost river or
a crushed animal or…or anything like this.” He shook his head at the memories
or, possibly, the lack thereof.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets made a self-righteously huff and
said, “No solutions, huh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Godfry pulled his hand from his beard.
“No. No, I don’t think so,” he said. “What did we have so far? It was the,
um…the military, yes.” He nodded at Reets. “And then the mercenaries,” he said,
pointing to Bal. Turning to the corner, he gawked openly for a time, then said,
“What was Mums’ idea?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets allowed himself a smirk. “Ask her,
why doan’ yeh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> This couldn’t have worked out better. Reets
had gona after the feeb and was now getting a piece of the big mouth as well,
putting her right out there to squirm. He knew this because they would <i>never
</i>hear the Muminofilous Solution to the happenings. That just wasn’t her
style. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Her style—also known as the <i>coward’s</i>
style—was to sit on the fence and throw stones at everyone else, tearing apart
their ideas, while being sure to protect and conceal her own. And when asked to
share those precious ideas, she would tell them all to pack sand. Well, not in
those exact words—she’d be diplomatic about it—but rest assured there’d be no
solution. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I agree with Godfry,” Mums said, and when
the halfling nearly fell over, she added, “I think this is a new phase in the
history of the land.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Regaining his balance, Reets stopped his
pacing and turned to face her, embracing the shadows and inertia and awaiting
her response. But instead of hearing a response, he watched as something
enormous—crafted of old yak skins and dusty llama hides—stood to its feet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> First came the knees, followed by the
elbows and shoulders, and then Mums was lumbering out of the darkness and into
the candle light, something with tree-trunk legs and long swinging arms,
something that had to duck each rafter as it moved to the four-poster. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Once there, she rested her huge,
liquid-brown eyes on the mattress and studied the rumpled blankets in the middle…
and the purple glow at the headboard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “He’s dying,” Mums said, and somehow that
obvious statement took the halfling off guard. Perhaps it was hearing such a
harsh declaration stated in the titan’s sweet and mellifluous tones, but he
felt the words sink a little deeper in his chest. He liked old Sam. They all
did. For that matter, anyone who ever met him did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Still gaining his bearing, Reets limped to
the foot of the bed and completed the political pattern; a counselor on each
side of the mattress: Igus, Erinthalmus, and Onador, respectively. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Craning his head over the bed, straining
every warped tendon in his atrophied neck, Reets peered at the white and wasted
face peaking up from the covers. It was the face of death to some—the face of <i>horror</i>
to others—but to the halfling, it was the face of an old friend. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He remembered, distinctly, the day he’d
been appointed to this crummy little kingdom on the other side of nowhere and
he’d not been pleased. He’d already heard rumors of how weak and whiny the
humans were—just a step up from the titans, when you got down to it—and he was
dreading his arrival like a swift kick to the groin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Samrod Denbauk, however—the king of that
crummy little kingdom and Great Diplomat to so many other lands—had changed all
that. Old Sam, as he was known to friends and family and subjects, had met the
twisted halfling not at the roundtable or at the throne room, but at a tiny
inner door set in the Rivergate on the west end of the castle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Sam had been smiling broadly and extending
both hands at the time, one hand to grip the halfling’s twisted digits and the
other to clap over the top and squeeze. Reets let him, responding with the
traditional halfling greeting—a curt grunt and nod—and then waiting for the
silly-hearted suck-up’s true colors to shine through. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But that never happened. Old Sam greeted
everyone like that. Some he even hugged, pulling them in with both arms and
pounding them on the back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Old Sam</i>, he thought grimly, peering
down at the pale and wrinkled face. <i>Good ole Sam</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In a voice that matched Reets’ expression,
Mums said, “He ruled well, did he not? Arn may have tamed the land and Fendly
may have built it and Galimose might have defended it, but it was old Sam
who…,” she trailed off, a long and rueful sigh escaping her lips, “…it was old
Sam who peopled it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> On the other side of the bed, Godfry made
a dry and rasping noise with his throat. When Reets looked over, he caught the
old man smiling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “But now,” Mums said, pointing at the dull
glow at the king’s throat, “his light leaves him, as did his royal protector.”
She gestured to the room. “The king’s <i>own</i> protector—that has never left his
side or the side of <i>any</i> king before
him—has forsaken our loving king, forsaken him not from spite or complacency,
but from simple resignation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “For our good king is beyond the point of
saving. Not by <i>war</i>,” she announced, locking eyes with Reets, “not by <i>men</i>,”
she reiterated, turning to Bal. “Please remember that,” she said, turning to
Godfry, “because when it comes time to address the happenings and seek out a
course of action, you should be prepared for the eventuality that our land is
as sick as our king.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> She stepped back from the bed, silence
descending and candle lights dancing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “But unlike kingdoms…,” Balthus wheezed,
“…kings have heirs.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh, I agree,” Mums said, “but Sam’s heirs
are not Sam, and they will not carry on as Sam, no more than Sam carried on as
his father.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Wrinkling his face, Reets said, “Are yeh
sayin his heirs won’t fare so well? Cause we ah’ready know—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Mums whirled on him. “I am not speaking of
heirs, Reetsle. I am speaking of <i>land</i>, the land that is waking up and
will soon replace the kingdom we know. I have this deep and unpleasant feeling
that this <i>new</i> land is going to burst from its cage like a wild beast—<i>And
when that time comes</i>,” she said, lumbering to the shuttered window opposite
the bed and indicating it with a thick and furry finger, “the kingdom we call
Jashandar will be no more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>That</i> kingdom will whither and die
while something dark and terrible rises in its stead. I am, of course, speaking
of the monster that Arn suppressed over an epoch ago, the monster which Sam’s ancestors
referred to as <i>Drugana</i>.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">
Reets looked around at his fellow counselors, eager to see if they
looked as confused as he felt, but if Balthus were struggling with the titan’s
speech, he made no outward sign other than to lick his scaly lips. Godfry, on
the other hand, had slumped in his chair and was snoring at the ceiling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets pulled the pipe from his gnarled
lips and poked the stem at her. “Tha’s a load of pig swill,” he said,
emphasizing <i>pig</i> <i>swill </i>with a stab of the pipe. “But even if it
weren’t, woman, yeh still din’t give us no course’a action.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The titan stared at him. “I thought it was
self-evident,” she said, speaking in a tone that was somewhat cold and
heartless. “We leave.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets mouthed the word, refusing to give
it power by speaking it aloud. Retreat—the titan’s cowardly answer for
practically everything—was the only profanity <i>not </i>allowed in the
Halfling Book of Curse Words, worse even than using a halfling’s full name. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Still wrestling with this, Reets heard
Godfry speaking near the bed, a low and muttering sound that sounded like it
was coming from the other side of the world. He turned to face him, still
reeling from the titan’s bizarre solution and only half-interested in what the
eldest of the counselors had to say. But as he lay eyes on local
representative, he found him still slouched in his chair and very much asleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> A cold draft stole through the halfling as
he thought back to the voice. It hadn’t really <i>sounded</i> like Godfry now that he gave the voice some reflection. It
had sounded dull and ethereal, not unlike the whisper of a moan seeping from a
dream. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Part of that interpretation could have
been his atrocious halfling hearing—which was akin to wearing steel mugs tied
over both ears—but quality aside, there <i>had</i> been a voice at the bed,
because he could see the other two advisors moving steadily towards it, Mums
reaching the mattress in two massive strides and Balthus shuffling forward with
the soft caress of his slippers and the hard tap of his cane.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Tell me it weren’t him</i>, Reets
thought, limping to the bed and hooking his fingers in the sheets. But as he
twisted his deformed neck over the blankets once more, he saw that it <i>was</i>
him. He knew this even before he heard his spooky voice a second time, even
before he saw his quivering lips trying to form the words. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He knew this because he could see the Raya
Amulet around the king’s neck and noticed the way it <i>blazed</i> with purple
light. But in case there was any doubt, he watched as the king wrestled his
mouth into place and spoke again his low and ghostly words: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>…it…</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>“<i>…is…</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>…time…</i>” </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-21851224657524445472012-07-16T04:45:00.000-07:002012-07-16T04:45:13.294-07:00CHAPTER THIRTEEN<br />
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<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">As
the chamber door thudded against its post and the metal latch clicked into its
groove, Reetsle Baggershaft had his blue and brown eye fixed upon the floor.
Some might have thought him studying knotholes that resembled faces, or seeking
coins between the planks, but he wasn’t engaged in either of those activities. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets kept his eyes upon the floor because
of the man who’d just left the room, the man who ranked as captain in the
Jashian military and who was currently leading the investigation into the
happenings. Reets couldn’t stand the <i>sight</i>
of him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Obviously, humans and halflings had different
standards for masculinity, but upon one standard the two races tended to agree—<i>beardedness—</i>and
it was there that Reets found the captain lacking. Women couldn’t grow beards
and men could, so there you had it. Women were to have clean cheeks, men were
to have shaggy cheeks, and any deviation from the standard was different and
wrong and subject to social sanctions of the severest degree. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And yet, this <i>man—</i>quote,
unquote—who just left the room had one of the smoothest, cleanest faces that Reets
had ever seen. And worse than that, this <i>man </i>had somehow been allowed to
ascend the social and military ranks of the kingdom without the slightest bit
of obstruction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In his homeland of Erinthalmus, Reets knew
that a halfling with a face like <i>that</i> would have been beaten mercilessly,
dragged to the edge of the village, and then tossed out on his ear. And had
they found this same halfling wearing elk-skin boots—the kind of soft-skinned
leather used in nurseries to swaddle infants—they’d have beat him for that, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But Reets didn’t need to despise the good
captain for his looks alone. He was perfectly willing—and <i>able</i>—to despise him for his actions as well. Take these lackluster
reports for example. What exactly was Reets and the council to do with the sort
of ignoramus nonsense the captain was bringing back? Typically, in an
investigation, an officer went into the field to <i>resolve</i> questions about
an incident, but not the fancy-man. He came back with a full report on what he <i>didn’t</i>
know, what he <i>hadn’t </i>found. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> What <i>really</i> infuriated Reets, however—more
so than fancy’s abysmal performance in the field—was the fact that Reetlse had <i>known</i>
this would happen. And not only had he known it would happen, he had <i>warned</i>
his fellow advisors that it would happen, had told them outright that unless
the mission was to find an ale skin in a brothel house they were sending the
wrong soldier. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> And how had they responded?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> Yes,</i> <i>Reetsle,</i>
they had<i> </i>said. W<i>e are aware of his scouting deficiencies, </i>they
had said. <i>But his ability to scout isn’t really the issue, is it?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> Ain’t it? </i>Reets
had said. <i>I thought we was lookin into them happenin’s?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> Well, Reetsle, </i>they
had said, <i>if you’d been paying attention in our last meeting, instead of
pacing the room and counting the splinters in the floorboards, you’d know that
the happenings are of a </i>secondary <i>concern and that the health of the
magistrate is our </i>primary <i>concern.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>That had been Mums. Only
Mums dared to call Reets by his full name, an act—in Reets’ halfling country of
Erinthalmus—akin to discussing a bowl movement at the supper table. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But what did he expect? Mums was a stupid
titan cow from the Dead Lands of Igus and he’d learned long ago to ignore
anything that spewed from her stupid cow-like mouth. If she wanted to call him
by his full name, let her. If she wanted to play blind-cow and pretend the fancy-man
had hidden worth—<i>‘specially after hearin that goat-puke of a report he’d jus
laid on us</i>—then she was one seriously damaged cow and Reets was better off
bypassing the fancy-issue and pressing on to the larger matter at hand, which
was the amelioration of the happenings and the restoration of the kingdom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Because whether or not the big-mouth titan
wanted to admit it, fretting over the king’s health made absolutely no sense
when the kingdom itself was crumpling out from under them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Meeting the far wall of the bedchamber,
Reetlse wheeled back the way he’d come and said, “Did I not <i>tell</i> yeh
this would happen? Did I not <i>warn</i> yeh about the man?” He limped along on
his uneven legs and let his words reverberate. “Missin skin. Missin
soldiers…Bunch’a giant handprints in the soil.” He shook his misshapen head.
“That boy’s cockamamie reports ain’t nothin but murder on the ears—<i>An’ yeh
all know it</i>.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He hobbled along on his twisted feet and waited
for one of his colleagues to offer their support. But what he heard instead was
a litany of other gutless sounds: One of them sipping nosily at her disgusting beverage,
another snoring raucously at the ceiling, the last showing his disproval by
making no sound at all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Cowards</i>,
he thought, detouring from his circuitous route and stopping before the
furniture for which the chamber was named. He rose up on his crooked toes and
peered across the tangled sheets of the mattress. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>“I doan’ reckon we need to
hear no more’a Janu’ery’s forked tongue,” Reets said, using the fancy-man’s
proper name and pronouncing it <i>Jan-yery</i>, despite the innumerable times
he’d been corrected by both captain <i>and </i>council. “I reckon it’s purty-much
clear what needs doin’.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In the shadows of one poorly-lit corner,
the slurping noises came to a halt and the hidden slurper said, in a voice that
flowed across the muddled, medicine-stinking air like audible streams of milk
and honey, “And what, pray tell, would that be, my good Reetsle?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “We go to <i>war</i>,” Reets barked. “We mobilize
them troops.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Shifting her weight in the gloom, Mums
said, “Mobilize them against what, Reetsle dear?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets sighed, pulling his pipe and leaf
pouch from the pocket of his shirt. “You heard Janu’ery same as me, Mums—An’
doan’ bother tellin me most’a what he said ain’t worth a bucket of goat swill,
cause I ah’ready know it—” he pulled the ties of the pouch free with his teeth
and dumped the contents in the bowl of his pipe “—but puke or no puke, what
come through loud’n clear is that it ain’t just rivers and sheep no more. Our
boys’ve been attacked.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Mums parted the shadows of the corner with
an enormous shaggy hand and set what appeared to be a steaming bucket of liquid
on the floor. “That does appear to be the case,” she said, sounding
disappointed. “But again, Reetsle, did you happen to catch a <i>description</i>
of the attacker?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Nope,” Reets said, veering to the wall
and plucking a candle from the sconce. “E’ry time we try an’ send our boys to <i>get</i>
one…,” he tipped his pipe to the flame and sucked a yellow stripe of fire down
the bowl, “…you an’ your big cow’s mouth gets in the way.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Mums hummed thoughtfully as she pretended
to process this, but Reetlse was not fooled. They had covered this ground
before—<i>several</i> times before—and she knew exactly what she was doing.
After awhile, she said, “So this is <i>reconnaissance </i>you’re advocating.”
And after that, “I’m sorry, Reetsle, I thought you mentioned <i>war</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I did,” Reets said, setting the candle back
in its bracket and reminding himself that it wasn’t Mums’ fault she was a
gutless coward. She was a titan, after all, and like all titans from Igus,
she’d been raised in a culture of cowardice and taught to think without consulting
their spines. “Yeh cain’t call it recon, Mumsy, not no more, not when people’s
dyin. When they sta—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Dying—Eh? What? What’s that?</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The voice was weak and raspy and riddled
with panic, the sort of voice you’d expect from a desiccated corpse suddenly
spooked from its grave. But as disturbing as that image might be, Reets did not
leap for cover or spin for battle. He simply kept on limping, and wishing very
hard that the owner of the voice would go back to sleep and allow the
deliberation to continue. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> That did not happen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> When Reets reached the far end of the room
and performed his about-face, he could see the whole of the bedchamber sprawled
before him, complete with tables and chairs, dressers and bureaus, even the
enormous four-poster bed pressed back against the wall. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Sitting in a chair on the other side of
the four-poster—his wrinkled eyes bulging, his white brows raised—was the
oldest living man that the halfling had ever seen. Admittedly, very little of
the old man’s face was visible between his long wispy beard and his tangled head
of hair, but what face <i>was</i> visible looked to be sagging and pale and lined
with wrinkles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Did it happen?” the old man asked,
peering from the bedding beside him to the irritated halfling across the room.
“Did he go? <i>Did he?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “No, Godfry,” Reets sighed, the bowl of
his pipe bouncing up and down. “Everythin’s fine,” he said. “Why not go back to
your book, huh?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Godfry’s massive brows moved further up
his forehead and his lower jaw began to totter, signs that meant the old man
had <i>no</i> intention of returning to his book. Reets groaned to himself and
continued limping. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Had it been anyone else disregarding the
halfling’s command, Reets might have rushed them or cursed him or at least
waved them an obscene gesture. But with Godfry, Reets knew the blatant
disregard had more to do with the old man’s mind than his manners, so he let
the matter go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Godfry was, after all, the most senior of
the advisors—well into his nineties, or<i> older</i>—and if that didn’t
contribute to a man’s senility, then Reetsle didn’t know what did. It also
didn’t help matters that Godfry had been a bit of an <i>odd duck</i> even before the amnesia and dementia.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> For as far back as Reets could recall, Godfry
had always been fond of those especially thick tomes with the egregiously long words,
the ones with the eye-straining print and absolutely no pictures. Reets had
flipped through one once, and it had taken the rest of the day to rid himself
of the headache it had caused. And yet, every time he saw Godfry, the old man
had one with him; the gardens, the council, headed to the privy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In Reets’ estimation, it was no wonder the
man’s mind had finally gone. Every halfling knew that the brain was just like the
body, and that if you overused it—or, in this case, <i>abused</i> it—it would
eventually wear down. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But at the same time, Reets had often
wondered if aspects of Godfry’s mental illness had not been in place even <i>before</i>
the tomes. Because surely it would have taken several decades of reading before
a human mind deteriorated, and Godfry had been rumored to wear those <i>ghastly</i>
outfits even in the days of his youth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Tonight, for example—after being summoned
to the king’s bedchamber for yet another crucial meeting regarding the happenings—the
local representative for Jashandar came sporting sunset-orange robes with tiny,
red fishes sown into the fabric. The robes hadn’t seemed inappropriate to
Godfry then, as he came hobbling into the room with his giant-sized book under
one arm, and they didn’t seem inappropriate to him now, as he gave the wadded
covers of the bed another worried glance and then turned his attention to the
halfling, who refused to make eye-contact. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I could have sworn someone mentioned <i>dying</i>,” Godfry said, watching Reets
hobbled across the floor. “Wasn’t you, Reets?” But again, the halfling gave the
old man the cold shoulder, keeping his head down and his eyes unfocused. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Giving up on the halfling, Godfry swung
his bushy white head to the corner. “Mums,” he called. “Mums, did you hear
something about <i>dying?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “No, Godfry dear,” the titan lied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Really,” the oldest of the advisors said,
twisting his enormous beard to the door and squinting at the stooped figure who
sat there. “Balthus?” he cried. “Bal, did you <i>say</i> or…did you <i>hear </i>anything
about someone dying?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Like the halfling before him, the hunched
figure by the door did not reply. He just sat there and continued slumping in
his chair, looking for-all-the-world like a drooping sculpture of mashed potatoes,
one hand on the armrest—perhaps to hold himself up—and the other on the crooked
line of his cane.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Can you hear me, Bal?” Godfry called,
leaning forward and brushing back the hair on one side of his head. When the
stooped man <i>still </i>made no reply, Godfry turned to the shadowy corner,
then the hobbling halfling, and found that neither of them was speaking to him either.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets was praying to Rendel again and
Mums, more than likely, was chanting to her fates, both of them waiting
patiently for the eldest of the advisors to notice the book in his hands, lower
his face to the pages, and then slump heavily to one side. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> When the old man’s snoring finally
resumed, Reets said, “Ah’right, where was we?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I believe,” Mums clarified, her voice
wafting from the darkness, “you were fabricating an enemy for us to declare war
upon.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets snorted. “Ain’t me doin’ it,” he said.
“It’s your boy, fancy, there. He’s the one makin up dead soldiers and marks in the
soil. I’m jus tryin to fix a problem.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “By making it <i>worse?</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “No, by—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I would have thought,” Mums interrupted,
“that after the tragedy that befell us at the end of the Lathian war, you’d
have learned your lesson. But since you apparently have not, please allow me to
reiterate that in warfare,” she said, sounding rather smug, “it isn’t always
the <i>enemy</i> who suffers.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I knows
that, woman. But I also knows we’re <i>sufferin</i> ah’ready. Or did yeh miss
the bit where that feller got himself skinned alive?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I did not,” Mums answered, “but as awful
as that is, Reetsle, until we have more information about the skinn<i>er</i>, I
don’t see the purpose of mobilizing our forces and putting even more lives at
ri—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Muminofilous...” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets missed a step and staggered, so
taken aback he was by the sound of that voice, not so much because of the
voice’s low and breathy tone, but because of the voice’s unexpected emergence
in matters of Jashian counsel and governance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>An’ he liked to never cut people off</i>,
Reets thought, turning so he could see both advisers at the same time, the
outline of a Mum’s mane in the corner and the silhouette of Bal’s hunched back
by the door. He watched as the two stared at each other for what he considered
to be a very undiplomatic length of time.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>Around them, the candles
flickered and Godfry snored.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Muminofilous...,” the stooped figure
breathed, “…what game do you play?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Mums lifted her steaming bucket from the
floor and withdrew it to the shadows. “Why, Counselor Sneel,” she said,
brightly, sipping at her drink, “I believe sitting over there by the door has
severely affected your ability to hear.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Balthus leaned over the head of his cane,
chapped lips peeling back to reveal rows of bent and yellowed teeth. He wasn’t
smiling. He was simply parting his jaws so as to extend his yeast-coated tongue
to his dry and flaking lips. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “It is not an issue of hearing…,” he said,
“…but an issue of believing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Balthus, dear,” Mums said, feigning offense,
“are you accusing me of dissembling?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Still licking at his lips, the
representative from Lathia said that he was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Mums drew a deep breath. “Well then,
Counselor Sneel, if that is the case, then perhaps you wouldn’t mind
elucidating for us the source of my mendacity.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Balthus withdrew his tongue. “As I
understand…,” he sighed, reaching inside the pocket of his gray sleeping
attire, “…the Mela is defiled…the Leresh is dry.” He withdrew a small square of
cloth—originally white, but now stained red and brown—and cleared his left
nostril therein. “The golden one is missing…,” he said, “…our livestock are hunted.”
He cleared the right nostril, then wiped at his nose. “An element of risk…,” he
said at last, “…is already upon us.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Oh,
he’s got’er now</i>, Reets cheered, spinning to the corner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “And if I concur, Counselor Sneel,” the
titan asked cordially, “what then do you purpose?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Balthus stared impassively—appeared to
have gone to sleep with his eyes open—then said, “I know of laborers to the
south…men of skills and specialties.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Or send <i>our</i> troops,” Reets
interrupted. “Doan’ forget <i>our</i> boys, Mums.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “No, we certainly wouldn’t want to do
that,” Mum said, dryly. “But let me see if I have this. These men—these <i>mercenaries</i>
and <i>soldiers</i>—they’ll be entering the Bottoms, will they?” Without
waiting for an answer, she said, “Well, naturally, they will. That <i>is </i>where
the Mela flows and they <i>will</i> want to inspect every league of those banks
if they hope to locate the infection.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets cleared his throat. “Well, I
reckon—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “That’s assuming, of course,” Mums
continued, “that the impurities in the river have fallen in from above. They
very well may have infiltrated from below, which is a reasonable possibility
considering what crawls through the slime of the Bottoms. But of course, there
is no evidence the cause is even located in the Bottoms. It might very well lie
several leagues to the east, in the uncharted lands of the Nameless.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Or it <i>might be</i> in the Sway,” Reets
said, rolling his pipe across his mouth. “<i>You</i> doan’ know.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “That is true,” Mums agreed, “but even if
it <i>is</i> located in the Sway, and even if your men redeem it <i>overnight</i>,
what of the other happenings? What of the <i>Leresh?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “What of it?” Reets barked. “It’s jus
clo—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “It is <i>not</i> clogged,” Mums assert.
“Think for a moment, Reetsle. If it were clogged—if a tree or obstruction had
fallen across the shallows—it would have dwindled gradually. The debris and
silt would have choked it over time. But as we both know, the water levels of
the Leresh dropped over night. They dropped as swiftly as the waters of the
Dell rose and as swiftly as the waters of Blue Hole turned warm and filmy. If
this is not the work of yet another cave, I will be very much surprised.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Well, get ready fer a surprise then,
woman, cause Serit din’t see no cave.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “In the <i>Promise</i>, no,” she
corrected, “but no search was made of the terrain to the north, the Harriun or
the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Dead</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Lands</st1:placetype></st1:place>.” Sipping at her brew, she added,
“Now, considering the noises and smells coming from the healer’s chambers, I
can’t say I blame General Branmore for keeping his visit brief. Never the less,
there could be any number of caves or sinkholes beyond the Fields of Arn. And
if so, what would you have us do, Reetsle? What do you purpose if this time,
instead of a subterranean pool spewing forth water and uglings, we have a
precipice into the depths of the world?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I reckon we could…,” Reets trailed off,
searching the floorboards. “We could irr’gate, cou’nt we?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “And if the chasm is a league wide and,
say, <i>two across?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Watching the wood knots pass beneath his
feet, Reets struggled to <i>imagine</i> a split that large, let alone find a
solution for running water across it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> From the vicinity of the door, the Lathian
counselor suggested an aqueduct.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “A <i>league</i> wide?” Mums challenged,
her lightless corner rustling with movement. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Well…maybe,” Reets said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “No,” Mums countered, “there is no <i>maybe</i>.
A league of aqueduct is structurally impossible, so let us not waste time on
fantasy. Tell me, instead, of the golden one. I want to know how you plan to
corral the beast.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets glanced at the door, but Balthus
offered no assistance, only blank stares. Dropping his eyes to the floor, the
halfling said, “Well, we cain’t rightly say ‘til after tomorrow, woman. We gota
have a report ‘fore we go to plan anythin.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh, no we do not. You were the one who
opened this discussion by pointing how we <i>didn’t </i>need another report. I
believe your exact words had something along the lines of <i>goat puke</i>, but
the essence was that we need not endure another failed report from Captain
Janusery and that we were, in fact, going to war. So, please, Reetsle, share
with us the war strategy necessary for procuring a man-eating old one.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets limped in silence. “I doan’ know,”
he said, speaking the purest of truth. “We could lure it, I reckon.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Lure it with <i>what?</i>” she demanded.
“The only things the creature has ever showed an interest in were gold and
prairie cows, and—I’m afraid—you have access to neither—<i>Which</i>,” she said
testily, “brings me to the last happening your men shall be loosed upon: the
tracking of the Sway killer. So tell me…,” she paused for a fine sip of the
brew, “…how is it that your men plan to track and kill a creature that cannot
be seen?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets shot a crooked finger in the air. “Here
now!” he protested. “Yeh cain’t say that no more. We got prints.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Not in the east, you don’t,” Mums
countered. “The handprints were waged against Jashandar’s finest, who—by your
definition—can take care of themselves. No, Reetsle, I’m talking about our poor,
defenseless livestock in the southeast.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Reets watched his boots for awhile, then
said, “We could move a few of the boys across the way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “And do <i>what?</i>” Mums asked. “Look
for clues that our <i>finest scout</i> could not find? And those were your
words, were they not, Reetlse? Did you not label young Jaysh as the finest
scout in all of Jashandar?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I did,” Reets said, the feeling of
painting himself into a corner rushing to his chest, “but there’s…if there were
more of em…more heads and eyes…that’d help.” He was nodding now, pleased with his
own improvisational thinking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Mums sighed. “Honestly, Reetlse, I have
issue with that,” she said, “for the same reason I’d have issue with you flooding
the Sway with blind men.” She took another sip. “But for the sake of argument, <i>which
</i>army did you purpose to send?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Which arm—?</i>” Reets threw up his
hands and spun on her, opening his mouth and preparing to scream that she knew
good-and-bloody-well what army he purposed to send. Before he could, though,
the adviser from Lathia cut him off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Muminofilous…,” the Lathian croaked, “…we
are all aware that the army withers.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .7pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “A <i>fourth</i> its regular size, is that
not so, Blathus?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Ignoring the loaded question, the
counselor said, “But this is not a question of man power…for if the general
cannot spare his men…I am sure there are men to be hired.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Yes, I’m sure there are,” the titan
conceded. “I’m sure we could invite the whole of Lathia and set them up in
tents, but if they know as little as our good Captain of tracking and hunting,
then I’m afraid you’re <i>still </i>pursuing a dead-end street.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Dead!</i>” came a cry from the
vicinity of the bed, this one followed by a startled snort and a flurry of
pages. “<i>Did he go?</i>” </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4422523024070632474.post-20988990321677460422012-07-16T02:55:00.000-07:002012-07-16T02:55:00.761-07:00CHAPTER TWELVE<br /><br /><br /><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Iman
took his hand from his hilt and filled his lungs until bursting. “The
attacker,” he said, exhaling slowly and taking his seat, “what was it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Batterolf was already shaking his head.
“Don’t know,” he said. “We never saw it. It was…it must have been…,” his eyes
rolled up as he hazarded a guess, “…it had to be midnight or later, the middle
of the night, much too dark to see.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman nodded. “Tracks?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Batterolf stared at him for a time, as if
the question had made no sense, then gave a nod. “Yeah,” he said, “if you want
to call them that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “So they were <i>odd?</i>” Iman asked.
“Your men said they were odd.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Batterolf turned his gaze to the
thistle-strewn cloak. “What’d your man say?” When Iman shrugged and opened his
mouth to say he didn’t know, the lieutenant cut him off. “That’s right,” he
said, still staring at Jaysh, “you haven’t had time.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman folded his arms, but decided to let
the comment slide. It had been made without spite and sounded nothing like the
raging idiot from moments ago. The man who sat across from him now had an
almost wistful look, the look of a religious fanatic waiting for a sign, or
maybe it was just fear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> In any case, judging by the way he was
staring at Jaysh, it had something to do with the woodsman. And since Iman
didn’t think the raging idiot knew Jaysh—and certainly didn’t recognize him
with the cloak and hood—he thought the fascination had something to do with the
horrible thing the two of them had <i>seen</i>.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Clearing his throat, Batterolf said, “I’ve
been stationed out here for the whole of my military career. Held surveillance
of the Blades, led recon into the Shun, patrols along the Harriun. I’ve seen
every league this place has to offer and committed most of it to memory. So
when I say I’ve seen what crawls and creeps around here, that’s exactly what I
mean. I’ve seen it all. Prints. Droppings. Deer. Coyotes. Vermin…,” he paused
to shake his head, “…What I saw out there the other night was something else.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman waited, then said, “What’d they look
like?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Batterolf’s eyes lost focus and he
appeared to be staring through the woodsman and the grain bags and far into the
hills. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Like hands.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman gave a start. “<i>Hands?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Big</i> hands,” Batterolf said,
holding up his own and spreading them wide enough for a halfling battle-axe to
fit between the palms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman blinked. “That <i>is</i> big,” he said, wondering if the lieutenant were yanking his
chain. “What about the feet?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Eyes in the distance, Batterolf said,
“There were no feet, or at least no footprints. Just the hand prints. That, and
the place where the grass was smashed down.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Smashed down?” Iman said, face
brightening. “Like a circle?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “No,” Batterolf said, taking a breath. “It
was a trail, like the grass was pressed down by…,” he trailed off, popping his
knuckles, “…it wasn’t like an animal pushing through the brush. It was more
like something had <i>rolled</i> through the prairie, like an oil cask or…or
something heavy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman made a face. “Something heavy,” he
said, trying not to lose his temper. “Heavy <i>and</i> round,” he added,
remembering Jaysh’s report about the dreaded cow-killer and how it failed to
leave its tracks. He was growing tired of reports where the laws of physics
were not duly followed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Somewhat testily, he said, “What of the
men it attacked, did they see it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Batterolf stared at the horizon a little
longer, then slowly turned to face him. “Privates Dael and Private Briggins,”
he said. “They didn’t have much to say.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman narrowed his eyes. Private<i> Dael?</i>
Private<i> Briggins?</i> He didn’t remember those names, not even vaguely, and
that was odd since he’d spent the better part of the afternoon interviewing
(and playing cubes with) the five men involved in the incident.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Dael and Briggins,” he said, “did I speak
them?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Batterolf shook his head. “Briggins died
in the infirmary shortly after the attack and Dael…,” he broke into a stare,
“…it took Private Dael.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman glanced at the western quadrant.
“Oh,” he said, speaking softly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Staring at the ground now, Batterolf said,
“The other’s, the ones you interviewed, they think Dael’s with the royal healer
at Castle Arn, Captain Tane’s orders.” Still staring at the growing shadows, he
said, “But Dael might have been the lucky one. Briggins was in no shape before
he died. He’d gone mad as a hat and just sat around jabbering like a squirrel,
jumping if you spoke to him, screaming if you touched him…,” he shook his head,
“…not that anyone would.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Frowning, Iman said, “Would what…Would <i>touch</i>
<i>him?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Batterolf lifted his gaze and nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, “he looked like something pink and skinless and ready for the
cook pot.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman’s mouth fell open and, at first, he
thought he hadn’t heard correctly, that maybe the crackling fire had
interrupted the lieutenant’s speech. The longer he stood, though, with his
mouth gaping and his eyes searching, the more he realized he <i>had </i>heard
correctly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> The lieutenant said, “That’s how he was
when we found him. No weapon, no clothes, just a raw thing slumped in the
grass, red and white and smelling of—” he stopped and gave his head a little
shake. “I don’t know what he smelled like, to tell the truth, but when we first
got there, when we saw him in the grass, we thought <i>he</i> was the attacker,
the way he looked, the way he smelled…,” his finger joints were all popped, but
still he squeezed them, “…if one of the men hadn’t heard him mumbling and
realized it was him, we might have skewered him on the spot.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Possibly out of respect for the emotion he
saw etched in the other man’s face, not to mention seeping through his fists,
Iman gave Batterolf a moment to recover before saying, “But he was jabbering?”
And when the other man nodded, Iman said, in a casual tone of voice, “What
about?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Batterolf stopped daydreaming and turned
to face him, giving the investigating captain a long hard look. “Bout the old
ones,” he said, “and the Mad Man’s Pass.” He paused, appeared to be sizing the
captain up, then added, “But you can’t put stock in anything he said.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Why’s that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Cause he wasn’t right,” Batterolf said.
“He wasn’t right in his mind. He <i>couldn’t </i>be. You should have seen him.
He was missing his hair, parts of his face, he was leaking fluid all over and
refusing his blankets, acting like they <i>burned</i>
when we tried to put them over him. So he just lay there losing his fluids and
blubbering on and on about old ones and how they’d come through the pass and
jumped him and Dael, but…,” he winced and looked away, “…but you had to see
him. He couldn’t have been right, not the way he looked.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman shrugged. “So if it isn’t an old
one,” he said, tapping his finger on the table, “what is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “I don’t know,” Batterolf shot back.
“There’re rumors and talk and some people have their ideas, but it’s like I
said before, we didn’t—” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Give me your best guess.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Batterolf shuffled his feet, clearly
uncomfortable with what he considered to be poor soldiering. But in the end,
the part of this man that had committed the Western Sway to memory <i>did </i>have
an opinion. Straightening his back, he said, “Some say it’s an ugling. And I
guess it could be. Wouldn’t be the first time one of them came up from the
Bottoms and went after our men.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman glanced east, as if trying to see the
misted rim of the Bottoms. What the lieutenant was saying held merit, but Iman
was still skeptical. To say that <i>sometimes </i>things creep out of the
Bottoms was to say that <i>sometimes </i>meteors fell out of the sky and it
wasn’t like the populace of the kingdom was neck-deep in either. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Have we ever <i>had</i> an ugling this far
west?” Iman asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Batterolf stared for a moment, then curled
his upper lip. “Have we ever had the Leresh dry up? Or the Mela turn black?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <i>Well, that was true</i>, Iman thought,
offering a conciliatory nod, <i>but while were on the subject of impossible
events…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>“Hey, let me play Sira’s
Advocate for a moment,” he said, “because I know when I get back to the royal
council, they will.” Lips pursed, thinking hard about the question, he said,
“When you say it’s madness for Briggins to spout off about old ones coming
back, why is that exactly? I mean, I know I’m just an incompetent captain who
doesn’t know beans about protocol, but <i>didn’t</i> the old ones use to live
here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Batterolf looked incensed. “<i>Yeah</i>,”
he roared, “about fifty generations ago.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman raised his eyebrows and hummed a
curious little hum. He remembered spending time in elementary school as a
boy—Owndiah knew his parents hadn’t wanted him around—but he was usually seated
in the aisle and whispering to the other students, so learning tended to be
something <i>other </i>children did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> But in those few instances where he’d
managed to keep his mouth shut and his ears open, he did recall hearing
something about the old ones leaving their homeland. All but the golden one,
that was. That yellow half-breed had stayed behind in its southern lair even
when its brethren fled the kingdom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Although, according to the latest reports
from the gold-extractions teams, the golden one’s descendant might have finally
joined the others. It hadn’t been spotted in over a moon cycle and Iman was
actually going there in the morning to look for clues. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> He did not, however, share this with the
lieutenant as the man was launching into yet another passionate lecture and did
not appear the least bit interested in Iman’s thoughts or opinions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “Arn freed us,” Batterolf was saying,
tapping the green battleaxe on his shoulder plate at the mention of their
founder. “Arn drove the pale fiends through the pass and into the Dead Lands,”
he said, tapping the battleaxe once more. “Do you even <i>know </i>who Arn is?”
he asked, giving the axe one last tap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman felt a little insulted by this
question and thought the lieutenant would have been hard pressed to find a man
in this kingdom who <i>wasn’t</i> familiar with the legends of the Great
Warrior, that hulking mountain of muscle who’d left his home in the Hinter to
seek his fame and fortune here in the Drugana. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman knew this because ever <i>man </i>here
had once been a <i>little boy,</i> and ever little boys had wanted to <i>be </i>the
Great Warrior, grabbing up whatever was handy and pretending to drive the old
ones west. For Iman, his imaginary axe had been one of his father’s
collectibles from off the trophy room wall and he’d used it to drive the family
cats out of the house and into the vacant lot next door. As he recalled, it had
been great fun until his mother discovered his mistreatment of her cats and
sought to drive <i>him </i>from the house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> As the memory of his mother’s livid face
faded from his mind, Iman said, “What’s your point?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> “My point,” Batterolf said, “is that Arn—”
fingers to the battleaxe “—is the man you need to thank every time you wake up in
the morning and nothing’s trying to claw its way into your home and chew you to
pieces.” Jamming a finger to the west, he said, “He drove them out, and <i>out</i> they’ve stayed, and I can say that
with confidence because those of us out here at the Post have made <i>sure </i>of it. After the last of the wars,
when the other outposts were either torn down or downsized, why do you think
king and council left Westpost standing?” He shook his head for effect. “Why
not close it like Northpost and Southpost, or withdraw all but a handful of men
like Eastpost?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Between them, something popped in the fire
and sent tiny sparks streaking through the night. Batterolf said, “Is there
anything else…<i>Captain?</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> Iman thought there was, but it would have
to wait. From the corner of his eye, he could see the cloak and its cat-thing
departing for the corrals. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06818234948631752059noreply@blogger.com