The Narrow Road Between Desires, page 11
There was a pause. “And what’s the news then?” Shep asked gently, giving him a nudge.
“Oh!” the smith’s prentice said. “He came asking Master Ferris if he had enough copper to mend a big kettle.” The prentice spread his long arms out wide, one hand almost smacking Shep in the face.
“Apparently someone found his still.” The smith’s prentice leaned forward, wobbling slightly, and said in hushed voice, “Stole a bunch of his drink and wrecked up the place a bit.” The boy leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms proudly across his chest, confident of a story well told.
But there was none of the buzz that normally accompanied a piece of good gossip. The boy took another drink of beer, and slowly began to look confused.
“Tehlu anyway,” Graham said, his face gone pale. “Martin’ll kill him.”
“What?” the prentice said, looking around and blinking like an owl. “Who?”
“Jessom, you tit,” Jake snapped. He tried to cuff the boy on the back of his head, but couldn’t reach it and had to settle for his shoulder instead. “The fellow who got skunk drunk in the middle of the day and fell off a cliff?”
“I thought it was a cougar,” Old Cob said spitefully.
“He’ll wish it was ten cougars when Martin gets him,” Jake said grimly.
“What?” The smith’s prentice laughed. “Crazy Martin? He’s addled, sure, but he ain’t mean. Month ago he cornered me and talked bollocks about barley for two hours,” he laughed again. “About how it was healthful. How wheat would ruin a man. How money was dirty. How it chained you to the earth or some nonsense.”
The prentice dropped his voice and hunched his shoulders a bit, widening his eyes and doing a passable Crazy Martin impression. “You know?” he said, making his voice rough and darting his eyes around. “Yeah. You know. You hear what I’m sayin?”
The prentice laughed again, a little more loudly than he would have if he were strictly sober. “People think they have to be afraid of big folk, but they don’t. I never hit a man in my life.”
Everyone just stared at him. Their eyes were deadly earnest.
“Martin killed one of Ensal’s dogs on market day a couple years back,” Shep said. “Right in the middle of street. Threw a shovel like it was a spear.”
“Nearly killed that last priest,” Graham said into his mug before taking a drink. “The one before Abbe Leodin. Nobody knows why. Fellow went up to Martin’s house. That evening Martin brought him to town in a wheelbarrow and left him in front of the church. Broke his jaw. Some ribs and such. He didn’t wake up for three days.” He looked at the smith’s prentice. “That was before your time though. Makes sense you wouldn’t know.”
“Punched a tinker once,” Jake said.
“Punched a tinker?” the innkeeper burst out, incredulous.
“Reshi,” Bast said gently. “Martin is fucking crazy.”
Jake nodded. “Even the levy man doesn’t go up to Martin’s place.”
Cob looked like he was going to call Jake out again, then decided to take a gentler tone. “Well yes,” he said. “True enough. But that’s cause Martin pulled his full rail in the king’s army. Eight years.”
“And came back mad as a frothing dog,” Shep said, but he said it quietly.
Old Cob was already off his stool and halfway to the door. “Enough talk. We got to let Jessom know. If he can get out of town until Martin cools down a bit…”
“So…when he’s dead?” Jake said. “Remember when he threw a horse through the window of the old inn because the barman wouldn’t give him another beer?”
“A tinker?” the innkeeper repeated, sounding no less shocked than before.
Silence descended at the sound of footsteps on the landing. Eyeing the door, everyone went still as stone, except for Bast who edged toward the doorway to the kitchen.
Everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief when the door opened to reveal the tall, slim shape of Carter. He closed the door behind him, not noticing the tension in the room. “Guess who’s standing a round of bottle whiskey for everyone tonight?” he called out cheerfully, then stopped where he stood, confused by the room full of grim expressions.
Old Cob started to walk to the door again, motioning for his friend to follow. “Come on Carter, we’ll explain on the way. We’ve got to go find Jessom double-quick.”
“You’ll have a long ride to find him,” Carter said. “Seeing as I drove him all the way to Baedn tonight.”
Everyone in the room seemed to relax. “That’s why you’re so late,” Graham said, his voice thick with relief. He slumped back onto his stool and tapped the bar with a knuckle. Bast drew him another beer.
Carter frowned. “Not so late as all that,” he groused. “All the way to Baedn and back. Even with a dry road and an empty cart I made damn good time…”
Old Cob put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Nah. It ain’t like that,” he said, steering his friend toward the bar. “We were just a little spooked. You probably saved that damn fool’s life getten him out of town.” He squinted. “Though I’ve told you, you shouldn’t be out on the road by yourself these days.”
The innkeeper fetched Carter a bowl while Bast went outside to tend to his horse. While he caught up on dinner, his friends told him the day’s gossip in dribs and drabs.
“Well that explains it,” Carter said. “Jessom showed up reeking like a rummy and looking like he’d been beat by seven different demons.”
“Only seven?” Bast asked.
Carter took a drink and seemed to give the question more thought than it deserved. “Yeah. But all different demons, mind you. Like one that had a real love for knuckles, and another who came at him with a switch, and…” He trailed off, frowning as he realized he couldn’t seem to think of more than two types of demon.
“And one who would go after him with a bottle,” Shep said helpfully. He’d traveled a bit in his youth as a caravan guard, and had seen some fairly rough business.
“And one who puts the boot in once they get him down!” the smith’s prentice chimed in cheerfully, raising his mostly empty mug.
“Can’t imagine there’s a demon who would only want a switch,” Graham mused to Jake. “Seems like short beer there.”
“I’d take a fair shot in the gut before a proper switching,” Jake replied philosophically. “My old gran couldn’t hardly lift a cat, but she’d clip me so’s I’d see stars.”
“…right in the nadgers!” the smith’s prentice added, making an enthusiastic motion with one foot.
Old Cob cleared his throat and the conversation stilled. “Let’s assume it was an appropriately varied group of demons,” he said, eyeing the lot of them sternly before gesturing for Carter to continue.
“Numbers aside,” Carter conceded, “what demons there were sure put in their penny’s worth. He was a proper mess, something wrong with his arm, limping. Asked me to drive him to the Iron Hall, and he took the king’s coin right there.”
Carter took a drink of beer. “Then he changed his coin and offered me double to drive him straightaway to Baedn. Asked him if he wanted to stop for clothes or anything, but he seemed in a good hurry.”
“No need to pack a bag,” Shep said. “They’ll dress and feed him in the king’s army.”
Graham let out a sigh. “That was a near miss. Can you imagine what would happen if Martin got hold of him?”
“Imagine what would happen if the azzie came for Martin,” Jake said darkly.
Everyone was silent for a moment. Folk died sometimes. But outright murder meant the Crown’s law. It was all too easy to imagine the trouble that would come if an officer of the Crown was assaulted here in town while attempting to arrest Crazy Martin.
The smith’s prentice looked around at everyone’s expressions. “What about Jessom’s family?” he asked, plainly worried. “Will Martin come after them?”
The men at the bar shook their heads in concert. “Martin is crazy,” Old Cob said. “But he’s not that sort. Not to go after a woman or her wee ones.”
“I heard he punched that tinker because he was making himself familiar with young Jenna,” Graham said.
The group grumbled indistinctly at that, sounding like thunder in the distance.
After it faded, there was a moment’s quiet. “Nah,” Old Cob said softly. “Weren’t that.”
Everyone in the room turned to look at him, surprised. They’d known Cob all their lives, enough to hear every story he knew. The idea that he might have held something back was almost unthinkable.
“I caught the tinker after he’d done most of his trading,” Cob said, not looking up from his beer. “I’d waited, as I wanted to ask after some items…they were personal-like.” He paused for a moment, then sighed and shrugged. “He ran his mouth a bit on the subject.” Cob swallowed. “And…well, you know me. I told him he better mind his tone.”
The old man went quiet again. “And he sort of…pushed me. And I weren’t expecting it, so I fell over. And he…well…he hit me a bit.” The smoke in the fireplace made more noise than the other men in the room, as Old Cob rolled his mug idly in his hands, still not looking up. “Said a few things too. Can’t say’s I remember the details too clear though.”
A shadow of a smile curled up on the old man’s face, as he glanced up from his beer. “Then Martin came round the corner.” He shared a look with Jake and Graham. “Y’all know how Martin gets himself all in a puzzle sometimes?”
Jake bobbed his head. “Caught me in my garden once. Asked why my fenceposts weren’t square. I couldn’t half guess what he meant, and not a thing I said made sense to him. But he kept on like a dog chewing its own leg. Talked the sun down. Couldn’t understand. Couldn’t seem to walk away, either.”
Cob touched his nose. “That’s the thing,” he said. “Never seen a man who could get his wheels in a rut like Martin. But this particular night, Martin sees me there with this big bastard standing up over me, blood on his knuckles…” Cob shook his head at the memory. “He wasn’t in a puzzle then. No talking. Not a blink. Martin doesn’t even break stride. He just turns a bit and walks up to the tinker.”
Old Cob chuckled a bit with grim satisfaction. “It was like a hammer hitting a ham. Knocked the fellow right out into the street. Ten feet, my hand to god. Then Martin looked at me laying there like a beetle on my back, and he walks over to the fellow and sticks the boot in good and hard.” He gave a nod of acknowledgement to the smith’s prentice. “Good and solid, but nowhere near as hard as he could have. And just once. Look on his face was the damnedest thing. I could tell he was just settling up accounts in his head. Like a moneylender shimming up his scale.”
“That wasn’t any kind of proper tinker,” Jake said with a low note in his voice. “I remember him.”
A few of the others nodded wordlessly. They each took a careful moment to let time pass and drink their drinks.
“What if Jessom comes back?” the smith’s prentice asked. “I heard some folk get drunk and take the coin, then turn all cowardly and jump the rail when they sober up.”
Everyone paused to consider that. A band of the king’s guard had come through town only last month and posted a notice, announcing a reward for deserters from the army.
“Tehlu anyway,” Shep said grimly. “Wouldn’t that be a great royal pisser of a mess?”
“Jessom’s not coming back,” Bast said dismissively. His voice had such a note of absolute certainty that everyone turned to eye him.
Bast tore off a piece of bread and put it in his mouth before he realized he was the center of attention. He swallowed awkwardly and made a broad gesture with both hands. “What?” he asked them, laughing. “Would you come back, knowing Martin was waiting?”
There was a chorus of negative grunts and shaken heads.
“You have to be a special kind of stupid to wreck up Martin’s still,” Old Cob said.
“Maybe eight years will be enough for Martin to cool down a bit,” Shep said.
“Maybe I’ll lend a prince a penny and he’ll give it back,” Jake said darkly. “But I’m not going to hold my breath.”
MIDNIGHT: LESSONS
Rike was sitting solemnly at the base of the lightning tree when Bast returned. He climbed to his feet stiffly, looking up at Bast. “What now?” he asked.
Bast nodded. “That’s a good question,” he said somberly. “That is, in many ways, the only important question that there is.”
Rike waited patiently, not saying anything.
“You remember our deal?” Bast asked the boy.
Rike was shaking just a little, though Bast couldn’t guess if it was fear or weariness or chill. He nodded slowly. “Yes sir.”
Bast blinked at that, just once. Then he looked up to see the moon directly overhead. Over the tree. Over the boy. “Now we do the most important part. You’ve had some time to think on it.” Bast looked down at the boy. “So. Tell me who you think you are.”
He had expected the boy to either blurt out some mess or shut up tighter than a clam, forcing Bast to drag an answer out of him.
But Rike surprised him. “I’m a liar,” he said, his voice steady and grave. “I hate folk way too easy. I get angry all the time.” Rike swallowed. “I wish a had a demon in my shadow, but I don’t. I wish I were just worthless, but I’m worse. It en’t like I’m good and there’s sommat makes me bad,” he looked down. “It’s just me. I’m like my dad.”
Bast inclined his head, acknowledging the answer without making any sign of agreement. “Tell me who you want to be.”
Again there wasn’t any hesitation. “I want to be the boy I was when it was just me and my ma,” he said, sudden tears welling up and rolling down his face. “I don’t want to feel like I feel anymore. I want to be the boy I was before.”
Bast stepped closer then, the graceful motion subtly strange. Without meaning to, Rike tried to step away, but his back was already pressed tight against the smooth side of the bone-white tree.
Moving slowly, Bast bent down and put his face up close to Rike’s. His eyes were black, the color of the moon when it was gone.
“I own you,” Bast said. “Every part. Tongue and teeth. Name to nape of neck.” It wasn’t a question exactly, but something in his voice made it clear he expected a response.
The boy nodded woodenly.
Bast reached up to put one hand against the smooth side of the tree above Rike’s head. He then walked slowly widdershins until he stood before the boy again. “The part of your father that lives in your shadow. That is mine. The fear that you will grow up into him. That’s mine as well. The part of you that hates yourself, and feels that he was right to hate you. Those are mine. I’m taking them forever.” His voice was like a chisel against stone. “Now.”
Bast walked another ring around the boy. He moved against the world, the breaking way. “You aren’t a liar,” Bast said, “Say it.”
Rike opened his mouth, then stopped.
Finishing this turn round the tree, Bast brought his face down close again. “You are just a boy who lied.” His voice was like a whip. “Say it.”
“I just lied,” Rike said softly. “I en’t a liar.”
“You’ve done bad things,” Bast said. “But you aren’t bad.” A pause. “Say it.”
“I en’t bad.”
Slowly, as if pressing into wind or through deep water, Bast took the step that brought his third and final turning to a close. There was no wind. No cricket stitched. The night stood breathless as a balanced coin.
Bast stopped to stand before the boy. “You are not worse than worthless.” He lowered his hand from the tree and lay it flat against Rike’s chest, above his heart. Rike’s eyes were shut, but even so, he could feel Bast leaning close.
“You are as precious as the moon.” Bast’s voice was soft and sure. Rike felt Bast’s breath brush gently up against his face. It smelled like violets and honey.
Rike’s mouth moved quietly, his eyes still closed.
Bast put his hand against the trunk and turned, moving round the tree the other way. His steps described a circle tight around the tree, around the boy, around the moon above. He moved in the direction of the turning world, the shaping way, the way that bent things to be more of what they were. And in this moment, in this place, Bast held his heart’s desire like a nail that he would hammer hard into the world.
Another turning deasil. Stopping briefly, Bast rested the hand not against the tree atop Rike’s head. “Think of everything you’ve done to keep them safe,” he said. “You are brave, and strong, and full of love.”
Fingers trailing lightly round the tree, Bast made his third turn of the making way. He finished his full circle, pulled his hand away, and knelt to fold the boy into his arms.
And last he gently whispered in Rike’s ear, something so true only the boy could hear.
* * *
Bast waited for Rike at the bottom of the hill. He sat on the great fallen stone, and kicked his feet idly as he watched the glowflies try to flirt with stars reflected in the stream. Bast smiled and couldn’t help but be impressed at the amazing aspiration. If only everyone could be so brave…
Watching Rike come slowly down the hill, Bast smiled in almost exactly the same way. Kostrel had been right. It was the easy way. You simply layered it, like cream on top of frosting on a cake.
Wordlessly, Bast hopped off the greystone and the two of them made their slow way through the moonlit wood, following the faintest trails that only deer and children know. Halfway there, Bast was surprised when Rike hesitantly reached up and took hold of his hand. Surprised but not displeased. He gave it a small squeeze without looking at the boy.
They cut through the Alsoms’ orchard, but the apples were still small and green. They hopped a gully with an invisible trickling creek lost far below. They startled a possum, looked at the stars, and snuck beneath the ancient hedge that ran around the old abandoned mill.
