The morning came far too soon. Nate’s entire body ached as he sat up. The rocks he had slept on left creases and pock marks all over his exposed flesh. The air was chill, and he groaned as he realized that he was still in this bizarre world, wearing nothing but a make-shift loin cloth.
Elred still sat in her meditative position. Her eyes opened as Nate stirred and pulled himself heavily to his feet. Groaning in protest, he tried in vain to stretch the stiffness from his body as his joints cracked in anger over their treatment.
He glanced over at Charlie, who had shifted in the night, his limbs sprawled out at random angles, his mouth open, a trickle of drool weaved through his sparse goatee.
“Good morning,” Elred said. She placed some freshly prepared skewers of meat over the fire that she had stoked and fed all night. “I assume you are hungry.”
Nate nodded. “Yes, thanks.” He glanced over at Sam, who still snored softly, curled up like a cat inside the lion skin cloak.
Nate stiffly limped over to the river that softly burbled over smooth, gray pebbles. The cold water was refreshing as he washed his hands and face, and rinsed his mouth. One day in, and already his breath smelled so bad he wasn’t sure if he needed a toothbrush or toilet paper.
“Ugh,” Sam groaned as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. “We’re still in this stupid place? Sleeping on rocks?” She twisted her back sharply, a spiral of snaps and pops rolled up her spine. “My chiropractor is going to be so pissed.”
Charlie farted loudly and bolted upright.
“What!” he shouted, his face creased with panic, his long hair tangled and sticking out in odd directions. It wasn’t the first time he had farted himself awake. Nor would it be the last.
He pressed his palm into his temple in a vain attempt to contain the pounding headache all three shared. “What time is it?”
Nobody answered. They washed, ate, and relieved themselves in as much privacy as their surroundings permitted. They were unusually quiet as Elred studied them.
Finally, Sam broke the silence. “Where are we going exactly?” she grimaced, her head still pounding. “I mean, how much farther is it?”
“It is two days to the nearest hamlet, Edgebreak.” Elred looked them up and down. “Maybe longer, depending on how fast you can move. There we can purchase clothing and mounts. From there, it is another day’s travel to Whitespire.”
“And that’s where the head of your order is?” Nate asked.
Elred nodded. “Yes, along with the Council of Kings. They will be most interested in your story.”
The three friends exchanged a look. It was Charlie who finally gave words to what they were all thinking. “Will any of them know how to send us back?”
“Truthfully, I do not know,” Elred answered. “I have not heard of such magics before.” She smiled sadly as their faces fell. “But be of good cheer. If the Aether has called you to us, then the Aether can send you back. If that is your destiny.”
Nate stood, and walked over to one of the tall, twisted trees near their encampment and yanked a thick branch free. He picked up Eldred’s spare dagger and hacked the smaller branches off. He repeated the process two more times, and carried the staves to his friends.
“So we don’t stumble anymore,” he said as he handed them over. “And if anything happens, we won’t be completely defenseless.”
“Turn around,” Sam said, taking the blade from Nate. She removed her cloak, and cut six long strips off before rewrapping what was left around her body. She then began to wind one of the strips around her feet. “Not exactly hiking boots, but it’s better than nothing,” she said. Nate and Charlie followed suit.
Elred nodded her approval and they set out. The walking sticks made the process easier, but their feet were still tender and bruised, and each step was painful even with their makeshift slippers.
More than once, they had to pause while Charlie wheezed and coughed, barking up thick yellow mucus. Each time, Sam and Nate exchanged concerned glances, but said nothing. What could they say?
“How did you kill those stone monsters so easily?” Nate asked as they walked.
“Stone Golems are fierce creatures. But the Aether, when you have learned how it whispers to your heart, can illuminate your mind. Pure intelligence can flow through you. You see things not visible to the eye; weaknesses, like the flaws in a gem stone, that show you where your enemy is most vulnerable. It is then just a matter of knowing when to strike.”
The narrow valley they were in widened into another glade, where the small river pooled into a calm glossy lake. The grass here was thinner than the meadow where they had awoken, drier, and a ruddy shade of brown. Thick black slabs of stone towered over them, surrounded the expansive lake, jutting out at sharp angles.
Fragrant trees surrounded the western edge, filling the air with the sickly sweet aroma of overripe peaches. They were relieved to be walking on grass again as they passed under bright pink and mottled red fruit so heavy that it pulled the tree branches low to the ground.
Charlie reached out to pick one, but Eldred caught his hand. She took his walking stick and poked the fruit. The thin skin split and peeled back and a viscous liquid seeped out onto the stick. The wood began to hiss and bubble.
She handed the stick back to Charlie, who stared at the wood as it warped and melted. He wiped the excess goo in the nearby grass, which sizzled and smoked.
“Don’t touch anything, because everything is weird and will kill you… got it.”
As they reached the far end of the lake, Elred and Sam both stopped walking.
Nate stopped just short of crashing headlong into Sam. “What?”
“You don’t feel that?” Sam asked.
“Feel what?” Charlie grumbled. “More face melting fruit?”
Elred’s glare made him fall silent. “Men are often less in tune with the whispering of the Aether,” she said, as she studied the landscape ahead. Sam slowly turned her head toward her friends, grinning maniacally.
“That’s a bit sexist, isn’t it?” Nate whispered, widening her smile.
“Stran!” Elred shouted, before dashing ahead. The three friends exchanged a confused look before following her as best they could, limping over the rough turf.
When they caught up to her, she was kneeling near an outcropping that stood twice as tall as Nate, which led into a deeper valley filled with more strange rocks that looked as if they’d been dropped from a tremendous height. In her arms, she cradled the man’s head to her chest, his dead eyes stared mutely at the sky.
He was dressed in the same white armor as Elred, but without the colorful red accents. His chest had been torn open, the armor curled and bubbled from the heat of whatever had blasted a hole clear through his abdomen. The stench of burned flesh made Charlie gag.
A broken spear lay on the ground, shattered, the small shards blackened and warped as if they had been subjected to the blistering heat of a furnace. They watched wordlessly as Elred began to painstakingly remove his armor. Nate moved to help.
“Get away,” she hissed, rage in her eyes. Nate backed away quickly. Her expression softened. “I am sorry. You do not know our ways.”
She undressed him reverently. “Stran Blos was a Soldier of the Sun. He disappeared several weeks ago. I was tasked with finding him.”
“I’m sorry. I…” Charlie let the words hang, unsure what to say.
Elred began to fold the armor. “He was a fine soldier, and a good friend.” She placed the stacked armor nearby, before returning to kneel next to the body.
She held her hands flat over the corpse and began to whisper an incantation they could not understand. Sam had to step back as heat radiated from Elred’s hands, warping the air between her palm and the body until the corpse burst into flames.
“Was that the language of the Ancients?” Charlie asked.
Eldred nodded as she tied the bundled armor to her back and turned to continue down into the valley.
Nate licked his lips. “Could,” he hesitated. “Could one of us use his boots?”
Her jaw muscles tightened. “Our armor is our honor. The white armor of the sun is earned, through blood, sweat, and sacrifice. We are taught to always honor the armor.”
She turned and stalked over to Nate. “So, no, stranger. You have not earned the right to wear that man’s armor.” Nate shrank under her gaze.
“Now let us make haste, we-“ She stopped mid-sentence.
This time, they all sensed it. Something cold welling up in their chests. Like all the joy and happiness was being sucked from their bodies. The feeling seemed to emanate from the lake, which began to churn and roil, the clear-blue water suddenly murky with silt.
“Get behind the rocks,” Elred said, dropping the armor from her shoulder, the blade of her spear flaring brilliant white as she gripped it.
“What is it?” Sam asked.
“An Archon. Hide!”
The three of them scrambled behind a nearby boulder as Elred stepped toward the lake. The bubbling stopped. An unnatural quiet fell over the area, the only sound was the faint crackle of Elred’s blade.
The enormous beast exploded from the water, roaring. Its putrid flesh was the bloated white and purple color of a dead body that had been submerged in water for several weeks. The monster had two disfigured heads that had been loosely stitched together, its features warped and twisted. Three colossal arms extended from its narrow torso, only instead of ending in long fingers, it ended in five smaller arms, each with a taloned hand.
It had two sets of thin wings that extended, though the skin was jagged, like ropes of wet muscle that had been twined around the bones. The tangle of legs made no logical sense; though long and twisted, they seemed too delicate to support the creature’s bulk. As it waded out of the water toward Elred, it looked to be over a hundred feet tall. Black ichor pour from its slavering mouth and empty eye sockets.
Charlie screamed in horror. Sam slapped her hand over his mouth while Nate dragged him down. They pressed their backs against the cold stone as the beast roared and swung wildly at Elred.
Elred danced and skipped between the blows that left jagged scars in the stones that surrounded the lake. The force of the beast’s attack knocked several massive boulders across the ground. The Archon’s body creaked like a dead tree being bent in the wind with each move as joints and sinew chafed.
Elred swing her spear in a whirlwind of motion, deflecting the blows she was not fast enough to dodge. Occasionally, she would thrust forward, sinking the blade into wet flesh that would audibly singe. The demon would belch and howl at each cut, but seemed to thrive off of the pain. Each wound made the feeling of cold despair in their chests intensify.
Time and again, Elred twisted out of the reach of the grasping claws, which corroded everything they touched. Rock and grass would darken and crumble where its dank skin landed.
She swung low, cutting under one of the creature’s leg, flipped backward over a swinging arm, cutting a deep gash across its chest as she swirled through the narrow gap between its wings and torso.
Landing gently, she twisted her blade up, striking deep into the Archon’s boney spine. It roared, catching Elred’s leg with one of its distended fingers. She cried out in pain as her skin burned, the force of the creature throwing her nearly dislocating her hip.
She crashed heavily to the rocks, bouncing several times before sliding to a stop. Slowly, she stood as the Archon’s thundering footsteps approaching. Her knee was twisted and had already begun to swell. The three friends stared in dread from their hiding place. The monster closed the distance and slammed into Elred.
Elred twisted as the force of the blow tossed her through the air like a baseball. Landing firmly on her good leg, she shifted and pounced, her spear leading the way. Straight through the creatures swinging arms, she embedded her blade in the brute’s neck. With a quick flick of the wrist, her blade cut straight up, and an explosive line of white energy split the monster’s enormous skull up the middle.
It stumbled a few steps, its arms impotently pressing the two halves of its warped face back together in a vain attempt to undo the damage. With a final choking shudder, it fell back into the lake.
Elred stood slowly, favoring her good leg. She turned to Sam, who watched helplessly from their hiding spot. Elred smiled and nodded. Sam grinned at her.
The smile disappeared in a cloud of smoke and dust as a bolt of lightning struck Elred straight in the chest. Sam gasped in surprise, before clapping her hand over her mouth.
A woman floated up from within the lake, the water surrounding her kept at bay by some unseen force. She was dressed in black and blue armor that twined up her skin like thick ropes, forming a chaotic pattern that barely concealed her body. She wore a white blindfold tied in a neat knot at the back of her head, her pale skin crackled with electricity. Her hair was a deep blue that almost imperceptibly shifted color, like a tidal pool.
She held her left hand in front of her, her palm out, two fingers pointed toward the sky. In her right hand, she held a shattered black sword, though the fragments were somehow held in place, floating above the black hilt. The black fragments of the blade shimmered a deep purple and blue, and were surrounded by an inky force that seemed to pull light toward it, warping their view of objects on the other side.
“Is that the final boss?” Charlie asked. Nate held his fingers to his lips, terrified that the woman might notice them, naked, helpless, with nothing more than sticks to defend themselves.
“Elred Elebar,” the woman said. Her soft voice bubbled and swirled like a whirlpool, and was filled with menace. “It is nice to see you again.”
Elred pulled herself to her feet, her armor scorched and smoking. “I wish I could say the same, Queen of Storms.” She said her name loudly, as though she wanted to ensure the three heard it. Elred did not approach the woman. Nor did she back away, but instead stood, her blade crackling at the ready.
The strange woman floated just off the ground, moving steadily toward Elred. The water and stones fled from her presence as she moved. “I was beginning to worry you would not come looking for your friend.”
Elred’s jaw tightened. “Murderer,” she hissed.
The Queen smiled sadly. “We serve different sides of the same coin my darling. Don’t be myopic; I would much rather see you at my side on the Conclave of Flame and Salt, than a corpse like your dear friend, Stran.”
Elred’s eyes narrowed. “I cannot fathom the monster I see before me. You were once my friend.”
“For my part, you still are,” the Queen of Storms said quietly.
Sam climbed higher on the rock they hid behind to get a better look at the Queen of Storms in all her terrifying glory. Fear and power cascaded from her presence, swirling the air, making it thicker. Elred glanced at Sam out of the corner of her eye, shaking her head, her lips pulled tight.
The Queen of Storms tilted her head to the side, her mouth melted into a crooked smile. “Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you did bring others,” she cooed.
Elred, her jaw set, sneered. “I am more than enough for the likes of you!” In a flash, she charged, a streak of white, her spear a blinding flash of energy.
The Queen of Storms flicked her wrist, and the weapon exploded in Elred’s hands, tossing her like a rag doll to the ground. The force of the explosion thundered and echoed through the valley. Sam stifled another scream.
Elred lay still, limp, her legs bent at unnatural angles, a chunk of broken spear jutted out from her throat as blood sprayed rhythmically from the wound. The Queen of Storms approached the body at a languid pace.
Sam moved to stand, but Charlie caught her hand. She hesitated for a moment before relenting, returning to her hiding spot between her friends. If ever they needed the first law, it was now.
The Queen of Storms knelt next to the corpse, which smoked and steamed as the pulse of blood slowed and stopped. She placed a hand on Elred’s face, gently closing her lifeless eyes. She bowed her head, placing one hand on the chest of the charred armor, taking Elred’s hand in the other.
“I am truly sorry, my friend,” she said softly. From this distance, it was difficult to tell for certain, but Nate could have sworn he saw tears rolling down her pale cheeks. “What a waste.”
The Queen stood and inhaled sharply. The wind around her body began to swirl and thicken as a cloud of ash formed around her, sparks of blue cinder dancing in the air. Her hair hung and twisted in the air as if weightless. A crack of lightning struck, and she was gone.
The environment lifted, as though the overpowering atmospheric pressure around them relented. Sam, Charlie, and Nate all breathed a sigh of relief.
Sam was the first to step out from behind the rock they had used as a shield. She ran to Elred, who lay still in the grass that gently waved in the mountain breeze. Nate and Charlie followed her.
“Is she okay?” Charlie asked, knowing the answer but unsure of what else to say.
“She’s great, Charlie,” Sam said, not looking up. She was surprised by how sad she was, looking down on this complete stranger’s body.
“What are we going to do now?” Nate asked, scratching his shoulder. None of them had an answer.
Sam began to unbuckle Elred’s armor, pulling awkwardly at her scaled sleeve.
“What are you doing?” Nate asked.
“Honor the armor,” Sam said, holding back her tears. “I’m going to take it to Whitespire.”
“Why?” Charlie asked, irritation rising in his voice.
“Because she was one of the good guys. She saved our lives.”
“And I’ll be eternally grateful for that, but we’re in the mountains, with no clear idea where we are, or how to get anywhere, so I don’t know if having a formal burial should be our top priority at the moment.”
Sam ignored him, and continued to work.
“Sam?” he said. “Did you hear me?”
“Just because I don’t care what you have to say, doesn’t mean I didn’t hear you.”
Nate smirked. He bent down and began to help Sam pull the chest piece off.
Charlie sighed before grabbing her boots. “At least make sure we take her flint and steel.”
Working together, they managed to get her armor off, which Sam bundled as best she could. Charlie took her dagger, the fire starters, and found a small sack of silver coins and sparkling gemstones, which he showed to his friends. “This will probably be useful,” he said as he tucked the pouch into the hem of his loincloth.
Sam handed Nate one pack of armor, and shouldered the other herself. She then stalked off without another word.
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“Are we going to leave the body?” Charlie called out to her.
“I didn’t know her that well,” Sam answered without looking back. Charlie and Nate trotted after her.
“How do you know we’re going in the right direction?” Nate asked as he caught up to her.
“I don’t know… I just know.”
“At the risk of sounding redundant here, how?” Charlie asked.
“It just…” She searched for the right words. “It feels right. Like something is pulling me in that direction. Like it’s… like it’s easier to go this way.”
“Sounds rational,” Charlie said.
“No, she’s right,” Nate said. “I think I feel it too.”
Charlie sighed. “Yeah, you feel something alright.”
Nate elbowed him sharply in the ribs.
On they marched, following the strange pull that they all could perceive as the day wore on. Through deep valleys and craggy foothills they trudged. That night, they made camp, taking turns stoking the tiny fire Charlie had managed to build from the sticks and branches they were able to cut using the dagger, while the others slept fitfully.
They were hungry and tired the next day, too tired to joke or even talk much. Finally, as the sun began to dip, painting the azure sky with pink flames, they ascended a final sharp steep bluff. As they inched over the lip, a flat grassland stretched as far as they could see.
The wind blew in forceful gusts, generating hypnotic waves through the ocean of golden grass that twirled and twined.
“Finally…” Charlie said, his lips parched and cracked. “I never want to climb another hill in my life.”
They descended into the sea of golden stalks, which came nearly to their waists. It was soft and tickled as it bent and danced in the wind. As the sun finally set, they trampled some of the grass flat, and laid down in it.
“No wood to start a fire,” Charlie said grimly. “Gonna be cold tonight.”
The three of them huddled together for warmth as best they could, but sleep was impossible. In the distance, the strange howling of unseen predators made their skin prickle. As dawn finally broke, they simply stood, brushed themselves off as best they could, and continued their endless march.
It was well after midday as they stomped in a single file line, their hands slack at their sides, when Charlie suddenly stopped in his tracks. “Look!” he shouted with more excitement than any of them had mustered in days.
Nate and Sam followed his finger and saw a faint wisp of black rising up to the sky.
“Cool,” Nate said unenthusiastically. “A cloud.”
“You really are dense,” Charlie said. “It’s smoke. From a fire.”
“How far?” Sam asked.
Charlie shrugged. “Close enough to see. It can’t be too terribly far.”
They pressed on with renewed vigor. As they drew closer, they could see that what they thought was a single trail of smoke was actually a series of smaller smoke lines, which came from a set of small, squat huts clustered around a spacious central hall.
“I had pictured something more impressive from the name Whitespire,” Nate said as they drew closer.
“Remember, she said we’d come to the village of Edgebreak first, to buy horses,” Sam said.
The town, if it could be called that, was tiny. Nate counted twenty or so small houses, with the larger building in the center. The hovels had wood slat walls caked with mud and dusty straw roofs. There were no chimneys; instead the smoke poured out a single giant hole in the center of each grass canopy. The air was hazy and thick, and reeked of burned leather and tar.
There were well-worn dirt paths between each of the homes, but not a person in sight. The three friends squatted down in the grass as they crept closer.
Still, they saw no movement. Somewhere inside they heard a goat bleat, and some chickens chattering quietly.
“What do we do?” Nate asked. “Do you think it’s safe?”
“I’m so thirsty, I don’t care,” Charlie said, before standing and striding into the hamlet. Sam and Nate trailed quickly behind, their caution forgotten in the face of their parched throats and empty stomachs.
They knocked on the wobbly wooden door to the first home they saw. They were answered with the shrill sound of a child crying. Nate gingerly pushed the derelict door, made from a mess of wood slats and two loose leather hinges. It swung inward with a dry groan.
The odor inside the hut was punishing. There was a single room, the floor covered in many layers of matted straw and filth. One-third of the room was gated off with a crude wooden fence, where several fat pigs slept, the floor of the pen covered in feces.
In the center of the room was a hearth, where a fire snapped and popped. There was no chimney. The smoke mostly escaped through the central hole in the roof, but the smoke that did not left a sour haze in the air that stung the eyes.
Five loosely-assembled straw mattresses lay against the far wall, along with two black pots which, judging from the flies and maggots crawling on them, contained something entirely unholy. A narrow wooden baton with a slight bend at the end, giving it the appearance of a small hockey stick, rested against the wall next to the chamber pots.
A rickety closet stood against the third wall, one door ajar. Inside were several small clay bowls and cups. Next to it sat a barrel, the lid closed tight; a ladle hung from a thin rope tied to a metal hook near the top.
A black cauldron hung from metal chains over the fire, the lid bubbled and clanked softly as whatever concoction was inside simmered.
The child, who couldn’t have been older than a year, stood in its ramshackle crib right next to the fire pit and its glowing coals. The wall of the crib came to the child’s knees as it sucked on two fingers. It had stopped crying as soon as they entered.
“That looks safe,” Charlie said as Nate rushed to the child, scooping him up in his arms. The child giggled and cooed at Nate, who checked it for injuries or burns.
Charlie coughed hard. “I can’t…” he muttered, before stepping back out into the clear air.
“Who would leave a baby balanced precariously next to a fire pit?” Sam asked as she and Nate followed Charlie out into the open air, inhaling the fresh air in an attempt to forget the horror of smells within the cottage.
“Bad parents, that’s who,” Nate said. “I’d say a visit from social services is long overdue. So, what should we do?”
Sam and Charlie both smirked.
“I’d say they haven’t a clue,” Sam said.
“Who knows what this child has been through,” said Charlie.
“Don’t…” Nate said.
“Why, does it bother you?” Sam asked, grinning wider.
“At least they know how to make a stew,” Charlie added.
“Please don’t do this…”
“Oh, Nate, don’t look so blue.”
“If it will cheer you up, we can get some fondue.”
Sam and Charlie burst into laughter.
“Are you done now?” Nate asked, more than a little annoyed.
“Yes, yes, sorry,” Sam said, wiping a tear from her eye.
“Do you need a tissue?” Charlie said, causing Sam to laugh harder.
Nate stormed off. “I guess I’m the only one who cares about this kid.”
“Nate, come on, we’re sorry,” Sam said as they caught up to their friend. “But really, have you ever considered becoming a poet?”
“Why? All they do is drink and commit suicide all day.”
They rounded the corner and practically crashed into a heavy-set woman built like a wisdom tooth, with a squat round body and stubby short legs. She carried a bundle of sticks tied with a strip of rough discolored fabric, which she promptly dropped, scattering them everywhere. She wore a plain, brown dress made of wool with four hefty wooden buttons running up the middle. Her long hair fell in simple braids on either side of her head.
“Oh, my,” she said. “My apologies, I didn’t see you there.” She stooped to gather the branches back up. “I’ve not seen you before, are ye traveling through?”
“Something like that,” Sam said. “We’re found this baby crying in that house over there.”
“Well, yes, babies do cry, don’t they?” she answered in a cheerful voice. “That’s little Rupert Cask.”
She gathered the last of her sticks, and retied them in a neat bundle.
“He was all alone in the house,” Sam continued.
“Okay,” the woman said cheerfully. “I’m sure his kin felt he was too young for the wedding.”
“So they just left him alone?” Charlie asked.
“Sure, why not?” The woman asked as she slung the bundle onto her back.
“He could fall into the fire,” Sam said.
“Not likely,” the woman answered, confused by their concern. She pinched the boy’s cheeks as he giggled. “Fire burns people right up, doesn’t it, little one? Hasn’t happened to a baby in our village for, oh, must be two winters now.” She grinned as Rupert played with one of her long braids, rubbing it against his face. “Usually it’s the hounds or lung rot that gets the wee ones. Isn’t that right, Rupert?” The child giggled and patted her face.
“Where can we find his parents?” Sam asked.
“They’ll be out at the hallowed grove with the vicar, I expect.”
An adorable little girl, no older than three years old, wearing a plain gray dress slightly to long for her came running toward them, stumbling several times over roots or her own feet. “Maggie, Maggie, I’m hungry!” she shouted.
“Alright, deary, don’t make a fool of yourself. Come on then.” Maggie set the bundle of sticks down and, in a smooth motion, pulled at two of the wooden buttons, swinging one of her pendulous breasts free.
Nate, Sam, and Charlie all starred aghast, and then looked away as the little girl began to suckle. The child positioned herself to the side of the woman and stared at the three of them, the breast stretched like an enormous water balloon as she sucked and chewed noisily. Nate tried to break eye contact with the child, but was held transfixed by her unblinking gaze.
“If you follow the trail you’re on, it will fork,” Maggie explained, talking as if there was nothing strange about a three year old sucking at her teat. “Follow it to the left and it will lead you to the grove.”
“Sure, great,” Sam said, still avoiding looking at her. Charlie, however, had forgone any sense of modern propriety, and was staring. Sam elbowed him sharply.
“What? She doesn’t care…”
The woman grinned stupidly, oblivious to their discomfort.
“Do you, uh… know where we could buy some clothing?” Sam asked, doing her best to look Maggie in the eye.
“Oh, you’ll want to talk to Fiona. She’s the very best seamstress in town. Made this lovely gown you see me in,” she said, running her hand down the rustic frock she wore. “She’ll be at the wedding too, I expect.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. “You have a beautiful daughter.”
“Oh, she’s not mine. But I’ve got more milk than I need, and her mother and I share milk kinship.”
Sam had so many questions, but neither the time nor inclination to ask them. “Thanks all the same,” she said. Nate and Charlie mumbled something similar as the three of them continued down the trail.
Maggie turned, dragging the small child who stumbled but clamped tightly on the nipple to keep her footing. “Farewell!” she called, waving after them.
The knotted path wound through the village and curved west where it forked, just as Maggie had said it would.
“It’s starting to seem like we kidnapped this kid,” Nate said as they came to the edge of a thick birch forest. The white trunks grew straight and branchless for the first twenty feet. The ground was covered in a short matted green grass, punctuated occasionally by a small stubbly bush with erubescent berries that oozed a sticky liquid. Brightly colored birds flitted from branch to branch, their territorial songs aggressive and frequent.
“I’d say we should call in a ransom, but I don’t think they have anything we want,” Charlie said, as he stepped over a rotting log covered in red moss and gray, bulbous mushrooms that had fallen across the path.
Eventually they came to a small clearing where a group of twenty or so had gathered. They were all dressed in the same, simple, peasant garb that Maggie wore.
At the center stood a man - a boy really, perhaps a year or two older than Nate. He wore simple black breeches and a white shirt that hung loose from his neck.
He held the hands of a petite girl, dressed all in white, her face covered with a veil. A crown of sticks adorned with white and golden flowers was set around her hair. She was easily two feet shorter than the lanky groom, who resembled a poorly animated character from one of the low-budget Christian movies Sam’s mom had foisted upon her as a child.
Between them stood an ancient man, his face a spiderweb of wrinkles and broken veins. One of his eyes squinted so tightly it was nearly invisible, twisting his entire face. He had several impressive moles, with long, spiraling hair sprouting in random directions. He wore a simple black tunic with a white rope tied around his waist. He leaned heavily against a twisted wooden staff that helped support his hunched frame.
The old man spoke, his voice creaked with age like dry leather. “Gwen Waterflower, I bless you to be the star of each night, the brightness of every morning, the story of each guest, and the report of every land, from this day forward, until the day of your last breath.” He waved his gnarled hand over the short woman’s head. He turned to the man.
“Oweyn Cask, I bless you that no evil shall befall you, on hill nor bank, in field nor valley, on mountain nor in glen. Neither above, nor below, neither in sea, nor on shore, in skies above, nor in the depths.” He repeated the hand wave over Oweyn’s head, who had to slouch to get within reach of the old priest.
He then stretched his crooked hand to the sky. “Be the kernel of his heart. Be the face of her sun. Be the harp of his music. Be the crown of her company.”
The vicar then nodded to Oweyn, who cleared his throat nervously. “Ye are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone.”
“Heh… bone,” Charlie whispered. Sam smirked, giving him a small high-five.
“I give ye my body, that we two might be one. I give ye my spirit, 'til our life shall be done.” Oweyn smiled, relieved that he hadn’t messed up his only line in the ceremony.
The vicar then tapped the woman on the shoulder. “You cannot possess me for I belong to myself,” she began, her voice trembled. “But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give. You cannot command me, for I am a free person. But I shall serve you in those ways you require, and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand.”
“The rings,” the vicar said. They each withdrew simple wooden rings. Oweyn gently took the girl’s tiny hand and slid the ring onto her trembling finger. “The ring is placed upon the fourth finger, where a vein connects the blood of your hand to your heart. And thus, you become one flesh with two souls.”
The girl struggled to get the ring on Oweyn’s finger, his hand callused and swollen from working the fields.
“Must be a sign from the gods,” Sam whispered.
“I dunno, seems like a nice ceremony,” Nate said more defensively than he intended.
“Easy there, Don Juan,” Charlie teased.
“It’s easy to be cynical about love,” Nate said, avoiding Sam’s eyes. “I think that’s cheap.”
Sam sighed. “Relationships seem like they’ll be mostly me apologizing for saying something hilarious.”
“Well, goals are important.”
“My dad always said goals are pointless,” Charlie said. “If you never set goals then it’s impossible to fail.”
Once the ring finally slipped on, the vicar grunted his approval. “May the Aether go with you and bless you. May you live to see your children's children. May you be poor in misfortune and rich in blessings. May you know naught but happiness from this day forward.”
At that, the crowd began to clap. Oweyn smiled as he grasped his bride’s hands. “Well, go on now, boy, kiss your bride,” the vicar said, elbowing him.
Sam gasped audibly as Oweyn peeled back the veil. The girl couldn’t have been older than eleven.
“Uuuuuuuuh…” was all Nate could manage to say as Oweyn took the girl in his arms and kissed her passionately.
“Are we going to be arrested for watching this?” Charlie said, eyes wide in disbelief.
The crowd began to cheer, and shout “blessings!” as they threw handfuls of flower petals into the air. Holding his child-bride’s hand, Oweyn pulled her through the crowd. Several of the onlookers pulled out crudely shaped musical instruments; a pipe, a small drum, and a harp with five intact strings.
It was clear they were trying to play a song of some kind, but each instrument seemed to be in business for itself. The tuning between the strings and the pipe was off, and the drummer had no clear sense of rhythm.
“Mama,” Rupert called as the procession past them. Nate set him on the ground, and he toddled off to his mother’s side, who seemed confused at his sudden appearance.
“Was the little lad bothering you?” she smiled, her mouth filled with only a handful of rotten stubs of teeth. A startled Charlie wondered if she could bite a donut without making contact. She wore a simple gray dress, the bottom foot of which was caked in mud. Her bare feet were stained and she was missing several toes.
“No bother at all,” Nate said, ignoring his friend’s horrified expression. “We heard him crying and got worried.”
She smiled again, her rotten brown teeth glinting in the sunlight.
“Nope.” Charlie turned and walked away.
“Are you new to our village?” she asked, as they began to follow the group winding back toward the town.
“Yes,” Sam said. “We’re trying to get to Whitespire.”
“Oh, well, you’re on the right track then,” she said. “Not far north of here it is, right on the coast of Deadman’s Bay.”
“Sounds inviting,” said Nate.
“Oh, don’t let the name scare you,” she said with a wink. “It’s called that on account of how many folks drown in her waters.”
“We were hoping to buy some horses,” Sam said.
“Horses? I ain’t never heard of no horses.”
Sam was confused. “Animals that you ride?”
“Oh, you mean clackers,” she laughed. “I believe old Bernard Bailey might have a few he’d be willing to part with. Have you any place to stay the night?”
Sam shook her head. “Is there an inn or something?”
“Nonsense, you can stay with me and mine,” she grinned, slinging an arm around Sam. “My name is Milla, Milla Cask.”
“I’m Sam. And that is Nate, and Charlie.”
“’Twas a pleasure to meet all of you. We’re going to have a feast tonight, and we’ll set you right in the morning. Are you hungry?”
“YES!” Sam shouted, louder than she’d meant.
“Well good, we’ve had a pot simmering since yesterday, should be plenty gummy.”
None of them were sure what was in the pot, but gummy was not generally a positive descriptor of food, hungry though they were.
Milla led them back to her hovel. Sam’s face blanched as they entered. Thom Cask, Milla’s husband, squatted over one of the blackened bowls, a stream of hot diarrhea shooting out of him with a machine gun rhythm.
“Welcome visitors,” he said, grinning, seemingly oblivious to the torrent of horror he was unleashing. “My name is Thom, it’s nice to meet you!”
It probably smelled worse in the hut than before, but it was nearly impossible to tell.
Thom was built like a manager of a truck stop diner; with thin hair that stood in stark contrast to the thick beard that reached his round belly. He stood quickly, grabbing the small hockey stick to swipe the excess foulness between his butt cheeks.
He was dressed in a simple gray shirt and black breeches which he slid back up, both tied in the front. At first Sam thought he wore simple shoes, but quickly realized his feet were so caked in mud and filth that it merely gave the illusion of footwear.
Two begrimed children, a young boy and girl, both dressed in rags ran into the hut giggling and laughing. “These are our other children, Simon and Emma. Say hello children,” Milla said. The two children both waved and continued to chase one another around the room.
“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Thom asked with a grin as he lifted the chamber pot and tossed the mess outside through a window, where it sloshed heavily to the ground. Some of its unspeakable contents splashed on the wall and slid slowly to the floor.
“They’re travelers, heading to Whitespire,” Milla said, winking at Sam who was pale and light headed. “Come, have a drink of water.”
Milla grabbed one of the small clay pots from the cupboard and handed it to Sam, who looked uncertain. Milla popped the top of the barrel off, and ladled some grayish water into the cup. It smelled sour but after two days with no water, Sam was too thirsty to care.
She drank hesitantly, and grimaced at the sharp taste. She belched loudly, then swallowed hard, covering her mouth in an attempt to keep the water in. She handed the cup to Nate who coughed and sputtered at the flavor. Only Charlie gorged himself, seemingly oblivious to the flavor of the stagnant water.
“We’ll be having the bridal feast shortly if you’d care to join us in the main hall,” said Thom cheerfully, clapping Nate on the should with the same hand he had just used to clean himself. Nate shuddered, and wished he could take a shower in hand sanitizer.
“Thank you, you’re too kind. We need to buy some clothes,” he said, glancing down at his filthy loin cloth. “We were told Fiona might be able to help us?”
“Aye, you heard correct. You’ll want to head over to Atwood Coleman’s place. Fiona is his wife. Third house down on the left, you can’t miss it.”
They were relieved to be back out in the open air. Though the town stank, it was nothing compared to the putrid fragrance inside the Cask home. It reminded Nate of the hot humid summers, when a giant truck would back into their yard to pump out their septic tank.
Mr. Coleman had an oddly long torso, and hair that jutted out at strange angles. He looked like the guy you forgot was crashing on your couch for a few weeks in college. They declined his invitation to enter his home, and negotiated with him in the open, stench free air.
“Where do we change?” asked Sam, as Fiona, a strand of a woman with wrists so thin they might snap if you shook her hand too vigorously brought them two pairs of pants, two shirts, and a long dress for Sam, all made from the same worsted material.
Nate shrugged. “I’d rather the world see me naked than spend any unnecessary time in one of these houses.” He changed quickly, his back turned to his friends. Charlie followed suit. The clothes were heavy and itched, but it was a relief to feel warmth and protection from the wind.
Nate and Charlie both turned their backs and stood shoulder to shoulder, creating a make-shift wall as Sam quickly slid into the dress. “I know I shouldn’t complain,” she said, shifting under the clothes, “but with no bra, this is really going to chafe.”
Charlie grinned as Nate blushed and attempted to excise the images that ran through his brain at rapid pace. Charlie took out one of the silver coins, and handed it to the woman. “Is this enough for the clothing?”
The woman’s jaw fell slack. “Is that a real silver zlot?” she asked breathlessly.
“Yes?”
She licked her lips. “May I?” she asked. Charlie shrugged and handed it to her. She held it like it might break or disappear at any moment. “This is more than enough, sir.” She frowned. “Too much. I- I don’t have change for you.”
Charlie glanced at Nate and Sam, who both shrugged.
“What about boots?” he asked. “And some bags for carrying things.”
“And bedrolls?” Sam added. “Waterskins, torches, rope, knives?”
The next hour was spent negotiating the purchase of their supplies, which in total cost them a single silver coin. Charlie wondered how valuable the gems were, but did not want to flash them for fear of becoming a target for robbers or bandits.
In addition to the supplies and some extra changes of clothing, they purchased three simple spears. Charlie had initially wanted swords, but after some discussion they decided a spear would be more effective in their untrained hands.
A small crowd bustled around the main hall where the wedding celebration continued. The incoherent music jangled as dancers bounced and swayed as though each limb were moving to a different beat. This was far from the orderly, practiced dancing of the royal courts they had observed at the local renaissance festival.
They pressed their way through the throng of celebrants and entered the central building. At the center of the chamber, the bride and groom sat in high backed wooden chairs. Wine and sour beer flowed, lubricating the crowd who laughed and jostled.
Charlie wheezed and coughed, a deep rattle sounded in his chest.
“You gonna be okay?” Nate asked. He had felt a growing concern for his friend. There had not been a moment where Nate hadn’t seen Charlie with an inhaler at the ready. In fact, they had joked that Charlie would have likely died as a child had he been born in any other era, due to his severe asthma and allergies.
“Probably not,” Charlie answered, his sarcasm undercut by his grim expression.
Milla brought them each a steaming bowl filled to the brim with a thick gray-purple mash. “Welcome to the feast!” she said, her cheeks and nose a rosy red from the alcohol she had overindulged in. She twirled away into the crowd as a man with a face so angular it could have been a bicycle seat grabbed her by the waist and spun her in something resembling a dance.
Sam poked at the strange goo. “I’m pretty sure if my dog could cook, this is something she’d make.”
Charlie plucked up his courage and licked the strange substance. “It’s like a bland oatmeal,” he said, before shoveling fat gobs into his mouth with his fingers.
Sam and Nate were more cautious at first, but soon ate hungrily. The food was not great, but it was edible. Sam found a boiled plum in her bowl, which she sucked the meat from.
Milla returned. “My, but you were a hungry lot. Did you want some more?”
They all nodded. “Do you have any fresh plums?” Nate asked.
“Oh, my, you don’t want to eat that, love. Unboiled fruit is bad for the blood. Throws off your humors.”
They each ate two more bowlfuls, until their stomachs were bloated and distended. They were served tall mugs of a light gray liquid.
Charlie sniffed the drink, shrugged, and took a gulp. He winced. “I wasn’t expecting to chew.”
Nate and Sam both took tentative sips. The liquid was gritty and tasted like sour bread. Chunks of soft barley swirled in the cloudy liquid before settling at the bottom. Honey had been added to sweeten it, but the texture and flavor were both off-putting.
Simon, the second oldest Cask son, ran up to them and handed each of them a coarse chunk of bread with a dollop of clotted cream. Everything lacked salt, but they weren’t about to complain.
“How was your day today?” Charlie asked, unsure what to say to the boy.
He shrugged. “I didn’t cry.”
“That’s more than he accomplished,” Sam interjected, gesturing to Charlie with her thumb. The boy giggled and disappeared into the crowd.
Thom Cask clapped his thick hands together, and the band stopped their playing. “Thank you, friends, for joining us to celebrate the marriage of my oldest son, Oweyn.”
The crowd cheered.
“Since it is a special occasion, I have decided tonight, to share our bounty with all of you.”
Simon scrabbled up one of the wide beams, climbing toward the center of the two-story room. As Nate’s gaze followed him, he spotted two thick hams hanging from the ceiling. The outside of the meat was a swirl of white, green, and black molds.
Simon untied one of the hams, and lowered it to his father who held it aloft. The rowdy throng applauded as he began to slice the dripping meat.
Milla carried three pieces to the friends.
“Oh, I couldn’t eat another bite,” Nate said.
“But we appreciate your generosity,” Sam added.
Charlie had already taken three bites of his piece.
“Suit yourselves,” Milla said, handing the meat to others in the bustling throng.
“Charlie, that meat is rotten,” Sam said through a clenched smile.
“Tastes fine to me,” Charlie shrugged, wiping away the thick green juice that dribbled down his chin.
“Charlie, that ham has to be at least twenty years old. It could legally drink. It could vote for president,” Nate said.
Charlie ignored them, sucking down the last bit of meat.
As the party waned, the vicar again returned to the center of the room. He raised his bent hand, and the crowd fell silent.
“As you know,” he croaked. “No wedding is official until the first consummation of their love.”
Gwen, the young girl, blushed, while Oweyn grinned from ear to ear.
“Bring the bed!” he shouted. Others joined in, calling for the bed to be brought. In came Thom and a group of the other men from the village, carrying a straw mattress over their heads.
“This isn’t…” Sam stammered. “They’re not going to…”
The crowd watching in silence as Oweyn began to untie the front of his shirt, pulling it over his head.
“We could get arrested for watching this,” Charlie muttered.
“Do we… do we do something?” Nate asked.
“Like what?” Sam asked. “Call the police?”
The three of them wandered into the cool night air, leaving the gawking onlookers to their weird sex show and statutory rape.