CHAPTER 3 : EGGS TO GO

“The Endless was dying, its seas had dried up, leaving behind salted land that grew nothing. The sun boiled and the winds froze and the people cried out for a savior.” ~ Yevin Yangur, Endless Scrolls, Volume 1

EGG

Wells are stupid.

In the Clouds, water is brought to you in golden jugs balanced on the heads of servants. Or from a convenient tap in a marble tub. Down here it apparently grows from a hole in the ground.

It’s mud water, basically.

Animals.

My palms are already covered in blisters after a week of tilling the fields. They rip open all over again as I wrench the rope down, trying to lift this cursed bucket from what feels like the depths of eternity.

Pull. Breathe. Pull. Breathe.

Around me are gaggles of witches, laughing while they gaze at flowers, insects and birds. Some of the younger girls are sitting on a crooked fence beside a nearby herb garden, swinging their feet. Others are chasing chickens around, placing bets on who can catch the most.

I notice the same girl with dark hair out of the corner of my eye. She is squatting beside the chicken coop and studying Norasmus intently, all while scribbling notes with what is clearly a rooster-feather quill. Is that why her fingertips are black? From ink?

Norasmus looks rightfully offended, and is making a point to ignore her.

I follow his lead and return my eyes to the rope.

Pull. Breathe. Pull. Breathe.

Twice the rope slides away from me, and my palms sting as the fibers tear through my already tender skin.

I am literally bleeding for your stupid water! My back heaves up and down as I try to catch my breath, and cold sweat drips down the back of my neck.

All I can smell is manure.

Pull. Breathe. Pull—

By the time I see the bucket the muscles in my arms are screaming. Water sloshes over the sides as it swings back and forth. I secure the rope to a hook on the side of the well and lean over the edge, stretching to reach the bucket. It's a hair's width away from my fingertips. I lean further—

"AHHH!" I tumble head first over the ledge. My heart leaps into my throat as the seemingly bottomless hole opens up before me, like the throat of a terrible monster. My arms windmill as I try to grab hold of something, anything—and snag the bucket.

It jolts and slips a few feet, plunging me into darkness, then jolts again mid-air, stopping short.

I'm hanging by my fingertips and the bucket tilts, cascading water over my body. Some make it into my mouth and I sputter. It tastes like dirt. My legs swing freely beneath me, and I kick frantically, trying to find purchase.

"H-help!" I shout. I try grabbing the wall with my feet, but it's slippery with moss, and the heels of my shoes slide right off. I squeeze my eyes shut. "Please, help!"

"This must be so embarrassing for you."

I open my eyes to see a tanned, heart-shaped face peer over the ledge of the wall. A rooster feather quill is tucked behind her ear, and she's resting her chin on her palm, unhurried.

"P-pull me up!"

"I could..." She taps her chin with her free finger. “But the havoc you've made is perfect."

"What are you talking about?!"

"I think I just won the assignment. I can't wait to see the look on Revory's face."

"Are you crazy?! I'm slipping!"

The girl blows a strand of licorice-black hair from her eyes. Her face disappears in a flash and all I'm left with is a disc of white light. I wait, but nothing happens. My hands are shaking. Has she abandoned me? Any second and I'll fall into the abyss. I don't want to die covered in manure!

Suddenly, the bucket rocks and the pulley squeaks as I'm slowly lifted out of the well. I rise over the ledge and see a few dozen faces staring back at me. Half of Little Abbey has come to watch.

Face red, I swing my body back and forth and leap, hitting the ledge with my stomach. It knocks the wind out of me. Feet scrambling, I manage to haul myself over the well’s stone wall and land on my back in the dirt, exhausted.

The girl with the rooster feather, who's long hair reminds me of an ink blot, smacks her hands together. "What a waste of havoc," she says, then turns on her heel and strolls away.

One of the witches snickers, then another, and soon they’re all laughing at me.

A young girl, the one who looks like a dandelion puff and can't do magic at all, asks if I'm alright. She offers me her hand, but I smack it away.

"I hate you!" I shout.

The others' laughter quickly dies.

The girl looks hurt.

My stomach clenches. I feel like I'm going to throw up. "Just...leave me alone!"

I throw Bavetna's canteen at the base of the well, where it bounces and lands in a tuft of grass, and storm away.

They can get their own water. I'm done. I'm leaving. I don't care if I get eaten by wolves. It has to be better than this.

I pass the coop, and Norasmus gives me a sympathetic caw. The chickens glare at me, beady eyes twinkling. I try to kick a few as I walk, but they flutter out of the way and peck at my heels.

I'm not sure when I break into a run, but somehow I’m running, and the potato fields are a blur of brown that turn into a blur of green as I enter the tree line.

In the palace, I never ran. Servants carried me on a pillowed palanquin wherever I needed to go. But I find a kind of satisfying freedom from running. It feels like I’m flying. The wind stings my eyes and my legs grow heavy as stones but I don’t care.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

It isn’t long until I need to catch my breath. I stop in the middle of a thicket and brace my hands on my knees, gasping for air.

My clothes are soaked from the well water, and the breeze that rustles the leaves high above my head makes me shiver. I regret leaving the canteen behind, I should have taken it with me. Maybe a few eggs too. The broken blisters on my palms are throbbing.

I consider going back for supplies, despite the Warden's warning not to steal from Little Abbey, but the thought of going back there, where everyone laughed at me, feels impossible.

Maybe I can find transport back to the Clouds. A winged horse will do. Surely someone will take me. Perhaps the oracles will change their minds again. If they haven't found my replacement yet...I could convince them. Yes. I'll just have to explain that I am definitely the Endless King and that they have to take me back.

They just have to.

I start walking, albeit slower. I'm not sure which direction, so I pick one and try to stick to it, keeping myself going in a straight line.

The trees are as tall as Little Abbey, and their roots are easily as wide as the columns back at the palace. Green and purple moss blanket the rocks that jut out of the ground—a primary feature of Rock Valley. They're everywhere, big, small, and often in unusual shapes. One looks like a mushroom turned upside down, another vaguely resembles a two-headed troll, a third is hugged so tightly by two trees that it’s been lifted off the ground as they grew.

I alter my path to avoid them, or any ravines and cliffs I come across, winding through the forest in a serpentine path. Dead leaves, exposed after the winter snow melt, crunch under my feet. My stomach rumbles. I haven't eaten since my egg at lunch.

Doubt nags at the back of my mind. Maybe I should go back. Get supplies. Find the road...I pause and look around, frowning. Now...where did I come from?

All the trees look the same, and there's very little light streaming through the pine needle canopy.

Suddenly, a CRUNCH sounds to my right, loud as thunder.

I jump, fists raised. "H-Hello?" I call out, hating how shaky my voice sounds. "B-Bavetna, is that y-you?"

CRUNCH.

A shiver rolls up my spine. Instinct sparks like an old, forgotten lantern with a little oil left inside. Something is very, very wrong. Something bad is coming. I should definitely run. I need to get away. I have to—

An explosion of dry leaves bursts into the air and I scream...only to see a small jackalope race across the forest floor and disappear into the undergrowth.

Instantly I feel silly.

I exhale in relief and run my fingers through my hair. Laughter bubbles at the back of my throat.

That's when I spot the eye.

It’s staring at me from behind a tree, half its face obscured by the trunk. It isn’t moving, just watching me. Its eye is the colour of fresh blood.

Every hair on my body stands on end. I freeze. We stare at each other. The forest seems to hold its breath.

Slowly, horribly, it moves. Two red eyes now, and around them is darkness, shifting like smoke, or ink, or both. From within the cloud I see four feet, with five claws, each the size of my arms. They cut into the soil as they walk, sinking deep from the weight.

How does smoke have weight?

The black pulls apart beneath the eyes, and a slice of mouth appears, along with needle-like teeth that curve and lace into each other.

It’s smiling at me.

I’m dead.

My feet finally get the signal to move. I turn on my heel and run just as a clawed swipe crashes into the ground where I was standing.

It chases me.

I duck and weave around trees as the creature’s claws scramble to grab me. They eviscerate tree trunks and rocks, creating a dust cloud of splinters and stone that follow only steps behind me.

My feet trip over themselves as the ground dips into a slight hill and I tumble head over heels, my fall only ending when I abruptly roll into a tree. My back slams against the trunk, giving me full view of the smiling thing that’s barreling towards me.

I brace myself for impact.

A burning arrow whizzes past my cheek, so close I can feel the flames lick my skin. It strikes the thing dead between the eyes. The monster stops short and crashes into the ground, screaming and clawing at its face as the flames spread, eating the smoke.

Within seconds it's consumed, leaving only a burning stain on the forest floor, along with a pile of teeth and claws. Its two eyes seem to harden, solidifying into red gems, and bounce to rest at my feet, staring up at me, lifeless.

Bavetna, holding a pale bow made of some kind of horn, emerges from the trees. The jingle of the bells on her clothes is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. “Did it touch you?” she asks.

“Huh? No.” My head is spinning. I’m unable to tear my gaze away from the monster’s eyes. They’re smooth and shiny, like cut diamonds. Driven by curiosity, I pick one up and examine it. Strange. It’s cold to the touch. Like ice.

“Are you sure?” She grabs me by the shoulders and picks me up, turning me from side to side, examining me for wounds.

“Yes,” I say, annoyed, and she drops me.

“This is serious. Undershadows can infect you. If you get even the smallest scratch, you’ll turn into one of them.”

Bile rises in my throat. “You’re saying that...thing...used to be a person?”

“Egg.”

“It didn’t touch me,” I say firmly.

Bavetna narrows her eyes at me. After a moment, she holsters her bow on her shoulder. “Good.” She turns and gathers the claws, teeth and eye into an animal skin pouch. “You keep the other eye,” she says.

“I don’t want it.” I hold it out to her.

“Undershadow eyes have their uses. Keep it. If only to remind you of this day.”

Shame burns the tips of my ears red. “I’m sorry I ran away,” I whisper hoarsely, “but I can’t stay here.”

Bavetna closes her eyes. “You must.”

“I’ll do whatever the Silk Sisters want,” I plead, “I’ll be better. I’ll study harder. I...I don’t belong down here.”

“You will, in time. I will teach you—”

“T-to be a potato farmer?” I sputter. “To live with a bunch of horrible witches for the rest of my life? I was supposed to be King! The Endless King! And you, and them, you’re ants. You’re nothing! I’m—”

“A very spoiled little boy who does not understand the way the world works,” she says solemnly, "yet."

I stop short. “I’m fifteen,” I say, “I’m a man.”

She bursts out laughing.

“Stop it,” I say, feeling small, “all you people do is laugh at me.” I start pacing back and forth, kicking the leaves with my shoes. “The witches, the warden, the chickens, you—”

“You are very funny, little Egg.”

“I am not funny!” I stomp my foot, but she only laughs harder.

My anger is slipping away. Bavetna’s laugh is completely opposite to her usual serious personality. It’s loud and free and full of snorts. I start to smile, then force it down. No. I’m supposed to be furious.

“Come, let me look at your hands,” she says, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, “you’re bleeding.”

Thank you for noticing. Exhaustion hits me like a runaway wagon. I'm too tired to argue anymore. Giving in, I show her my palms.

She pulls a small jar of salve from her pouch that smells like mint leaves, slathers it on and wraps my palms in cloth. “Blisters,” she says, still holding my hands, “toughen over time. But it requires hard work and patience.”

“You’re not telling me something,” I say, “I’m not stupid.”

“No,” she sighs, “you are not.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

“No.”

“When?” I ask, exasperated.

Bavetna grasps my shoulder and squeezes. “When you are ready.”