I was laid out on a table in old Everrnak’s tent. He stood stooped low over me with his arms outstretched. The long dust coloured sleeves of his threadbare robe lightly brushed over my skin. I was laying there naked while his spectral hands pulled spun strings of his emotionless mana. They ran away from him and into my body. One of his three apprentices was stationed just beyond the shut flaps of the tent to ensure us both privacy.

  I tried to lift up my head so I could survey the damage and found that it was still far too challenging for me to move. Instead my head tilted. Drifting my gaze to the side. I could feel the cold mana strings pulling bits of my broken ribs back to where they belonged and spooling themselves over the various fractures fissuring up and down both of my arms. The one thread wriggling itself into my spine’s central bundle of nerves was mercifully dulling some of the pain from this procedure.

“It’s been-” my words were cut off by a painful cough.

I choked and sputtered a few times before steadying my breath and trying again.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve needed you to mend me.”

Everrnak didn’t respond. He never did. Still I’d rather hear my own voice instead of the constant clicking, groaning and clacking coming from the ancient man as he worked. Each of his breaths sounded like squeaky old bellows struggling to fan life back into the dying flame of a blacksmith’s forge.

“That was good work out there today. You know, with the broken wheel and all,” I said absently, “I’d say the pair of us pretty much single handedly saved the show. But I guess I should have known that wouldn’t be the only trouble I’d run into out there. Us being in the capitol usually means at least a couple of things are bound to go wrong, doesn’t it?”

My eyes drifted across the pile of stacked trunks taking up most of his tent’s interior. Each one was made from lumber cut from the Wandering Woods and the metal fastenings were forged from a disgusting quantity of iron taken from spilled blood. They were all locked with a special key that he’d originally carved for himself from ironwood.

  When myself and the others had first formed the troupe Everrnak only had a small number of puppets he kept for personal reasons. He only ever spoke through them when, way back then, he still occasionally had things to say that weren’t scripted. After our decades long grift began he’d went wild making the things in earnest but always keeping them buried under lock and key when they weren’t needed. The key became something that he feared losing beyond reason until he saw some sort of twisted light. He flayed the flesh from his left index finger and used wire to bind the bones into a firm rod. And then he painstakingly shaved a perfect replica of the key’s grooves and edges into his very bones. After that the original key was never seen again.

  I rolled my eyes downward and tilted my chin to better take some of Everrnak’s appearance in. His hood was down to help him focus, revealing a face that had more lines than a person could count. They were like the deep grooves you see running across thin, dry sheets of tree bark. There wasn’t a single trace of hair wisping off of him. His nose had been eaten away by time leaving him with two small holes that sat under the center of his sunken eyes. Those unknowable spheres appeared to have already been swallowed back into his skull, only just glinting through the layer of thick darkness that ate them. His mouth looked like a thin line cut into dry leather.

  Unlike with his nose he did still have the skin of his ears. They were shriveled into lumpy wrinkles of loose flesh with lobes that sagged halfway down to his neck.

“Must have felt a little weird for you though. I mean Fellorne was your home once, right?”

Everrnak suddenly tugged harder than I felt was needed on a string wrapped around one of my tender ribs. His way of telling me that if I spoke much more then he wouldn’t hesitate to make an unfortunate mistake with my mending. I decided to keep myself quiet until he finished.

  Once my bones had all been gathered and set back into place he’d cut his strings of mana off and let them worm their way inside me. Snipping them off at the tips of his spectral fingers with a wordless command. Several of the lines wrapped themselves around my damaged ribs to keep all of the pieces from moving, having already done the same to the bones in my hands, wrists and arms. Others stitched themselves through all of the small holes carved into my organs by all the many sharp pieces of my previously splintered ribs.

  I tilted my head up just in time to see a thin red thread trail out from his cloak before slithering its way inside my chest. I felt it bunched up over my heart. Gently beading itself inward on each pulsing beat. This was mana that he’d spun to replace my lost blood. An ability of his that taxed him enough that he’d be out at least until morning. A rare thing for him to use indeed.

“Hey,” I said while slowly trying to sit, “Thanks for patching me up again. I mean it. That’s the worst off I’ve been in a real long while.”

His back was already turned to me so he could shuffle away. I watched him lift the lid on a large and narrow trunk, built the perfect size for a compact husk of a man. He climbed inside and slammed shut the lid. There was a light click as he stuck his finger inside the lock and turned it from within.

  Sitting naked on a table, though not technically nude I’d realized, I tried to raise my arms over my head and stretch. Instead they just kind of twitched around at my sides without much enthusiasm. They were only a little scraped and bruised but the skin was painfully swollen and felt too tight.

  My hands hadn’t felt them thanks to their unnaturally perfect fit but I saw that my gloves were still on. That sealed it. If even Everrnak hadn’t been able to remove them then they had to be cursed. Still, I’d felt the threads mending inside my hands too but they were just about the only part of me that wasn’t throbbing with pain. If I was lucky maybe this new curse wouldn’t be a bad one.

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  I turned my head down to my ribs and grimaced at the size and colours of my new bruise. It ran from inside my left armpit all the way down passed my hip to the top of my thigh. The side of my breast was tender and purple and I could see that the damage extended almost to my bellybutton. I could only imagine it was worse around the back considering that the adventurer had also stomped on my spine.

  Everrnak had been kind enough to clean the blood and dirt off of me so after I was finally able to stand all that was left was getting dressed before making a walk of shame from the puppet master’s tent. I just knew Garris and the others weren’t going to let me live this down. At least not until the next time someone from the troupe came back so thoroughly beaten after a successful show.

  It took quite some time to pull my head and arms through my tunic. There were now several rips, tears and holes from the wrists to my elbows and all but one of the buttons on my right sleeve were missing. The whole thing spattered with dried splotches and splashes of mine and another person’s blood. The seam connecting the left sleeve to the rest of the shirt had become split under the arm. I pulled up my underwear, grateful that they weren’t soiled.

  Getting my ratty old socks back on required a pause between applying the right after the left. My body was very much against me moving it on that side. I had to lean my head way down to wipe some of the sweat off on my arm before going through the painstaking motions required to tuck my ears back inside my cap.

  After struggling through pulling on my overalls I only bothered to fasten the bib on the right side, letting it sag diagonally across my chest with the left strap dangling freely against my back. My boots were only just above ankle high and easy enough to slip into though I didn’t bother messing with the laces. I thought better than to try fighting with the pack of bedrolls to get it onto my back. Instead I just looped my right hand around one of the straps and let it drag across the ground as I walked.

  Stepping outside the tent I could feel a chilled breeze fluttering the shreds of denim on the back of my left leg. The wakeful moon was well on her way to setting.

  A young woman in a formless dark gray robe stepped aside to let me pass. She peered at me through thin slits of eyes on a flat faced owl mask that she had once carved from a scrap piece of wood. All of Everrnak’s apprentices were made to wear masks and forbidden from ever speaking without a puppet acting as their mouth pieces. It was painted pristine white, the beak and trim around the edges were dusted in glittering gold. The owl apprentice bowed to me before taking her leave.

  Our camp was made far off in the back corner of a farmer’s sprawling and empty fields. The land being owned by yet another of Boss Strise’s endless list of acquaintances. We were nestled into the dirt of the field nearest to the imposing vanguard of trees lining the border of the Fellorne Woods.

  The ground was hard, uneven and muddy. It hadn’t been tilled yet since the previous year. There was an assortment of patchwork tents strewn around a shallow pit we’d made for our fire. Parked beside our covered wagon were two uncovered ones and hitched near them was a black scaled prairie strider and two brown horses. Until recently we’d only had one horse and two carts so I supposed Boss Strise had let Charlie keep what he’d stolen for us to escape the city. Not very surprising given that old Boss would be able to make great use of it himself.

  Most of the troupe looked to be sat around the fire contentedly eating hot bowls of soup and passing around flasks, smokes and bottles. There wasn’t a line outside of the mess tent so I decided to drag my heels over for my own half portion.

  Lucky for me nobody had mind to notice me yet.

  Passing by the tent the owl apprentice had flown into I heard a gentle cooing coming from within. They came in rhythmic spurts along with the soft rustling of fabric and a faint cawing. No doubt the crow apprentice trying to remain unheard. I paused a moment to wonder if the sparrow apprentice was still waiting his turn or had already spent himself with the crow. It felt as though something else were missing but I couldn’t place it. I supposed it didn’t really matter since I was never involved in the first place.

  I had to use my shoulder and elbow to push open the flaps hanging in front of the mess tent. Unlike outside where everything smelled of mud and dirt the air inside of the tent was pungent with an odour that smelled exceptionally delicious.

  The soup witch stood just above my waist and used a large wooden ladle as a cane, cupping the scoop in her knobbly dark fingers and supporting her weight with the handle. Her large iron cauldron sat blackened with fire and age in the middle of the floor while she stood off to the side, overseeing the pouring.

  A small line of troupe mates was formed behind the girl currently ladling soup into her bowl. She wore a plain linen dress and had long dark hair that still held its shine even in the low light. To her side stood a boy barely half her height. His hair was shaggy and unkempt and appeared to be burying his ears. It was dark like his sister’s but not quite as remarkable somehow. He wore loose trousers with patches covering the knees. They were fastened to his waist by a length of cord instead of a belt and he wore a simple tunic similar in size and style to my own, only his was green, and he had tucked all the excess fabric into his trousers.

  She filled the bowl then handed it to him, taking the empty one he offered in return. I watched her pour herself soup and lost myself. Totally transfixed. After she was done they both walked out passed me, not so much as sparing me a glance before disappearing out of the tent.

  I shook my head and filed in behind the man at the back of the line. It was one of the newer members of the brute squad. Trilles? I think that’s what his name was. When it was my turn the soup witch came forward to stop me.

“I thought you ought to know,” she told me, “That Strise has decided to let you off the hook and eat whole rations again, dear.”

“Well that’s about the first good thing to happen to me all day. But why the sudden change of heart? He said my punishment was supposed to last ‘til Summer.”

“Well all I know is he said you’d need to keep your energy up if he was going to have you healthy enough to perform again in Barken. Though just so you know, off the record, I’m always against it when he settles on this punishment for any of you lot. My soup was never meant to be dangled in front of people like that. It’s a real shame what we’ve become, isn’t it?”

We fell into a somber silence. Marguerite took one hand from her upside down ladle and used it to slowly offer me a bowl. I took it in my left hand and let her serve me from the pot. It was chock full of root vegetables and what looked to be barnleaf grain.

“Where did we get these grains from?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Oh that? Well you should know, dear,” her voice perking up now that I’d mentioned the soup, “Why they came in with you, Charlie and Mr. Garris. There were a bunch of sacks of the stuff loaded up in that cart you three stole. Of course Strise send half of it off to get milled for palmrolls but I get to keep all the rest to cook with!”

We never needed herbs or spices. Her unique magic allowed her to recreate the taste of any flavour she’d ever known. Right down to recapturing a lost feeling and rendering it down into the broth filling each bowl.

“I guess I do sort of remember something about being rolled onto some sacks on the way back,” I muttered.

The old lady chuckled and placed a wooden spoon into my bowl.