Gleeman's Tales Read online

  Thinking of his old gang brought mist to his auburn eyes. He thought back to that morning he and Roy had discovered the massacre. Out of nerves, he raked a hand through his short, trimmed hair. He felt useless. He was a part of the very organization he had fought so hard against. Harvey pounded his curled fists into his soft temples. He eased his eyes closed and dozed off under the tree’s watchful guard.

  Sometime later, the distant sound of a wolf howling roused him from his rest. Disoriented, he looked to the sky for the moon but found it shrouded in a thick mist. He stood, leaning heavily on the tree. His eyes scoured the low forest. Harvey spotted a white speck on the distant horizon growing in size as it bounded for him. Soon he could make out the distinct form of a wolf’s lean, boney body. It shimmered in the encircling mist that worked to separate him from the menagerie tent. Harvey braced himself for the wolf’s inevitable pounce, but when it vaulted, the beast cleared the top of his head by an arm’s length. It offered a toothy grin at Harvey, its grey tongue lolled out in a coy smile as it arched over his head.

  The wolf landed on its four white paws and stretched its mouth in a wide yawn.

  “Freki,” Harvey growled.

  “Kitten.” The slippery voice still shocked him, despite his having met the deity on numerous occasions.

  “My name is—” Harvey said, but was interrupted by a snickering noise emanating from the wolf’s mouth.

  “Yes, I am aware, Kitten. Unfortunately, I have little time for the pleasantries of prattling with you this evening.” The wolf stretched its back and gnawed at some flea irritating his leg. “I have but a few moments, so pay close attention, Kitten. You mustn’t be afraid of change for your future will hold countless changes. You must take them in stride.”

  “You dance with riddles, wolf. I implore you. What changes should I anticipate?”

  “There will come a time when your prophecy will piece itself together and make sense for even a mundane brain like yours. That time is not now,” Freki said. “You must learn not to fully trust your eyes, as the echoes are, or will be, ringing through your ears.”

  “So, I’m supposed to expect change at any moment? We eat greens instead of meat one night and my destiny will forever alter itself?”

  “You had best keep that tongue of yours in check, Kitten. Not all will be so willing to spar with you as I, lest of all the commander in charge of your menagerie.” With that, the white wolf disappeared as thick mist rolled over his thin frame. Equally as fast, the mist receded into the forest, and Harvey spied the moon shining bright in the night once again.

  Harvey sucked in another gulp of the crisp night air. He thought he saw the edge of his breath forming beyond chapped lips. None of the towns that the menagerie visited on its year-long tour were preparing for the coming winteryear. If the current weather was any indication, he knew that they would suffer in the coming months.

  Chapter 9

  A band of some fifty players trampled towards the Pike’s Cathedral inn before the sun had even crowned the eastern horizon in its ascent. Dorothea led the group, perched atop his mottled brown mare. On the way, they passed through the town’s central square and glimpsed the smoldering ruins of a building with a large footprint. Pike’s Cathedral. The charred bones of the cathedral stretched across the entire width of the square and twice as far back towards the woods. Harvey excused himself from his companions in their quest for breakfast so he could be alone. He watched as a small boy release a handful of birds in every direction with small scrolls of paper attached to their thin legs. Looking to the sky, Harvey spied dark thunderclouds ambling toward them from the west.

  He found himself meandering around the town, passing quaint shops and small homes before settling in front of the ruins to rest. He stooped over and cupped ash in his hand, its warmth stinging his bare skin. Then, blowing on the still warm ash, he watched as the smoldering remnants of the cathedral danced in the gentle breeze. Bright oranges and reds, deep as blood, twinkled in the wind before blackening and falling to the ground. Peering into the middle of the rubble, he thought he spied the slightest movement. The whole pit of ash seemed to simmer as if still baking from the fire that had raged late through the night. He lunged into the ruin with his eyes locked onto the spot where he swore he saw the movement. He slid on his knees right up to where his eyes directed him and fished through the warm ash to reveal a small child. Without realizing what he was doing, he slapped the young boy’s face. Was the strike so hard that he stung from pain or were the tears streaking down his face for some other reason?

  Suddenly, the boy’s tiny frame shook with a giant cough, his eyes fluttering open. “What are you doing, crying? Tryin’a take a sleep here,” the boy said.

  A strange guttural laugh shook Harvey’s face and bounced the remaining tears from his cheeks. “Sorry. What happened? What was this building?”

  “Maybe you should make it worth my while, and I’ll tell ya.”

  Harvey was going to comment on the brashness of the urchin, but he handed the boy a copper pence instead.

  The boy placed it in his mouth, sucking on it. “Coppah’s got this sweet taste.” He paused for a moment appearing to be working the coin with his tongue. “Do you know why this town is called Pike’s Cathedral?”

  Harvey shook his head.

  “Cause’a the cathedral, silly. It was huge. From there to there, and back to there, and way up there!” The boy’s dirty arms enthused as he described the cathedral’s grandeur. “The others say it was first age, whatever that means. And that there was really old stuff in there.”

  “Stuff?”

  “You know, stuff from before. Not that we ever saw anything. Might’ve been fibbed, for all we knew.”

  “How could that be possible?”

  “I betcha’ Rolly would’ve known as he was the cathedral’s resident, but no one’s seen him since last night.”

  Harvey sat back, deflated.

  The little boy stood up, his tiny body embodying the ash’s dark grey color. Even his eyes held the same dingy grey. He got right into Harvey’s face and pressed their noses together. “That’s not even all.” The split of a smile formed on the boy’s dirty lips. His tiny hands shot up and, with a force unnatural to their size, seized Harvey’s chin and turned his head. The boy rested his mouth a breath away from Harvey’s ear, his faint, warm, rhythmic breathing tickled the hairs on the side of Harvey’s face and rippled gooseflesh down his spine. “They say—it was them that done it.” His voice adopted a ghastly air.

  “Who?” Harvey felt his lips mouth the question, but it seemed to come from a someone other than himself and from a great distance.

  “The Ludders.” The boy’s whisper was almost imperceptible.

  “Harv? What are you doing?” Another voice called out. A glance to the right revealed Roy at the edge of the rubble, concern evident on his face. Without waiting, he lurched into the ashy foundation and rushed over toward Harvey.

  “Oh, Roy. I was talking with—uhh, what’s your name?” Harvey glanced to his left at where the boy had been not moments ago. There, on the ground, partially covered by ash and a fallen beam was the mangled body of the young boy. “No!” Harvey wedged his hands under the beam and lifted but found it too heavy. He clawed at the wood until his fingernails bled and Roy pulled him back. “No,” he said, pulling against Roy’s hands. “I was talking with him.”

  “Harvey, he’s dead.” Roy placed a hand on the boy’s body. “He’s been dead for a while. Already stiff. I came out here and saw you sitting here talking, staring into the ash.” Roy’s face showed obvious concern. He knitted his brows together.

  “But I—we talked,” Harvey stammered.

  “Look Harvey,” Roy said, picking up the boy’s arm. “He’s cold. Cold like the ash.”

  Harvey stared for a moment at the boy’s face. He massaged the distant ache that still lingered where the boy’s fingers had manipulated his chin. He laced his fingers into the soot. The grey particles als
o felt cold in his hand where they had previously been warm.

  A rumble of thunder brought Harvey up from his daze. He shook his head and looked back down to the boy’s body, trying to will life into the small corpse.

  “Come on Harv, let’s get into the inn before the storm rolls through. We need to get you to a bath.”

  Harvey would not budge as Roy pulled him up. He jerked his elbow free and he dove for the boy’s face. Before Roy could stop him, he had pried his bloody fingers in between the boy’s stiff lips, forcing them open. His finger slipped into the boy’s mouth and rode over the tiny teeth until he felt something foreign. He pinched and pulled the object from the corpse’s mouth. Light reflected off the dripping-wet copper pence.

  Roy gagged as Harvey held the copper up to his face and licked it.

  “It’s got a sweet taste. He told me that,” Harvey said, pointing to the corpse. He pocketed the small coin.

  The first sheets of rain roared through the quiet town, flooding the ashy foundation. The rain slipped down Harvey’s face, adding to the tears that had already begun streaking the ash into defined trenches.

  Chapter 10

  “Lady Cleo and Mistress Perogie,” Gnochi said, mocking a servant’s bow. “May I present to you, the wonderfully cozy town of Mirr.” He had been badgering Cleo over the past week, calling her, ‘Her Highness,’ or asking if ‘Her Majesty’ needed an extra pillow for her royal rump. Cleo blew it off, realizing that Gnochi had discovered it was a sore spot and capitalized on it.

  “It’s ti—”

  “Never tell a Mirranese how small the town is,” Gnochi interjected. “Never.”

  “Tranquil. I was going to say tranquil,” Cleo amended. Indeed, she noted how Mirr sat tranquilly nestled in a clearing of trees. The village itself consisted of half a dozen small buildings and a two-story inn. A few cattle grazed in the field of grass between the travelers and the small town.

  “Good, because if your lips even mutter anything synonymous with ‘small,’ it’ll be the last thing they utter, Gnochi or no Gnochi.”

  “Why? Why are they so paranoid?”

  “Something about the history of the settlement. Though I wouldn’t bring up their history either,” Gnochi advised.

  “Got it. Avoid all questions and descriptions. So basically, don’t talk. Why are we stopping in this strange town? Can’t we push on to the next hamlet or small city?”

  “I wish it were that simple. The next settlement isn’t until Pike’s Cathedral, with the exception of a few farming vignettes here or there. I didn’t plan on stopping until at Pike’s, but then again, I was planning on traveling alone and I wasn’t expecting to have to buy clothing and repair my armor,” Gnochi explained.

  Cleo’s faint smile was all the reaction she gave without inciting further conflict. Gnochi had dodged every mention she had made over the past few days about the incident at the stream, or rather, what he did when he returned to the stream alone. The last time she brought it up, he snapped at her, his response, acidic, so she stopped mentioning it. She was just grateful that he appeared to have warmed up to her as a traveling companion, even offering idle chatter from time to time. She also noted that he seemed to grimace less frequently than he had when they struck out together.

  He continued walking without waiting for a reply. “No, we are here for a reason. I know a tanner in town, and we need to see him.”

  “Oh,” Cleo said, feeling burdensome.

  “Before we go any closer to town though, we need to drop our excess travel supplies. We don’t need to be announcing to anyone with half an ear that we are nomads, and if I were armed to the teeth as I am now—well, suspicion is the least of attentions that I would draw.” Gnochi showed Cleo how to pack up their tools and weapons so that they could be moved at a moment’s notice. “I’ve learned over the years that you never know how quickly you are going to need to leave a town or city. If I have to spend even a minute sorting through my packs, I’ll likely end up on the business end of a sword.” He then taught her how to hide their packs so as to be memorable, yet hidden from the casual traveler’s eyes. He seemed to notice her continued despondence though, so he offered: “To be honest, I would’ve needed to stop anyway. I’m not as spry as I used to be. This past week of sleeping on hard ground has been tough on my joints.”

  “Oh please,” she teased, “you’re not that old.”

  “I’m old enough to feel insulted when you emphasize ‘that.’” A dry laugh escaped his lips, though he winced at its sound. His merriment disappeared under knotted eyebrows. “Plus, my armor needs to be mended. Can’t very well travel with a gash splitting my chest.” He winked.

  “Yea, wouldn’t want people to realize you aren’t portly.”

  “Oh, and we need to get you some clothes tailored to your small frame,” Gnochi said, eying Cleo, who self-consciously hugged the poncho tight.

  “Yeah, I had a question about these clothes,” she said. “Why did you have such small clothes in your pack? And why did they smell like wood smoke?”

  Gnochi fumbled with his jaw. “Uh, I don’t know. Maybe I left them too close to a fire one night and they shrunk.”

  Cleo shook her head at his excuse but restrained her curiosity.

  Attempting to change the subject, he said, “Also, I want to get you some fitted leather armor.”

  Cleo swallowed a lump, then thought for a moment. “Won’t it be awkward for two bards to be toting leather armor?” she asked. “A little suspicious?”

  Gnochi, who had been leading them through the field towards the town, snorted.

  “Besides, I don’t need armor. If we run into any more brigands, I’ll let you take care of them, like that last guy.”

  “It’s not up to debate. If I am to be responsible for you, I want to ensure that you have some base protection. Nothing debilitating or quite as obvious as my gut, but a slim fit,” he said. After an awkward silence that stretched a moment too long, he smiled, then asked: “So, you’re a bard already? Hell, my apprenticeship lasted at least a year.”

  Cleo frowned at his dig, then revised her argument. “Fine, but it’d still be suspicious for a bard and his trusty apprentice to be toting armor.”

  “No one will even know if you wear clothes and the poncho over it,” Gnochi’s voice still seemed cheery, but his tone took a turn south when he stopped and, without looking at her, said, “Maybe you aren’t the same girl who was attacked nigh on a week ago, but this is a dangerous world we live in. If we are to be traveling alone, we can be afforded a little extra precaution if it saves our skin once in a while.” He walked beside Perogie over a small wooden bridge spanning the quick length of a shallow creek. “Besides,” Gnochi patted the purse tied tight this belt, “I’m not hurting for pence.”

  As they entered Mirr, walking under thatched roofs and before barren windows, Gnochi and Cleo were not met with the din associated with a town breaking midday. “This is odd,” Gnochi remarked as he continued to walk the empty street. He stopped the trio in between a house and the inn. “We’ve already hit high-day, yet not a soul is about. Utterly empty.” He pursed his lips. “Keep your eyes open, Cleo. I don’t know what’s going on in town.” They continued to follow the main street through the village. A smithy sat empty, its fires not even lit. A few cottages had locked doors barring entrance and drapes blocking all insight. Balls and other assorted children’s toys lay scattered through the town, abandoned as if in a moment. After walking to the end of the street, Gnochi led Cleo up to a quaint shop which, unlike everything elde, stood propped open, allowing the nippy air to waft in.

  “Remember to keep your lips in check,” Gnochi warned. “This man is a friend of entertainers. I know him personally. He’s peculiar, to say the least.” Gnochi pounded on the doorframe three times. He made a point of shuffling his feet on the dusty floorboards, then walked to the counter and wrung a petite bell that sat on its smooth surface.

  Cleo was astounded by what was on display in the t
anner’s store. Dozens of animal corpses in various states of preservation aligned the walls, the hollowed eye sockets of skulls and the piercing gaze of other preserved faces forced a shiver down her spine. One peculiar bauble stole Cleo’s attention, as well as her breath. It resembled a human skull, but was wholly black. Two nuggets of gold sat in the eye-sockets.

  “Who’s there?” a lumbering voice sounded, followed by a series of precise thumps, as a bulky man entered from another room.

  Cleo noticed two characteristics about the man right away. First, he sported a speckled grey beard so long and immense that its owner looped it around the back of his neck like a scarf. Scattered within the beard were faceted gems of all colors. They dangled precariously as colorful raindrops. As the man walked further into the room, each step sent ripples through his beard, the gloomy light glimmering off the gems.

  The second discernable characteristic Cleo noticed were the man’s eyes, which, in stark opposition to his dark skin, looked the swirled white and grey color of porcelain eggs. It appeared as though he had no irises at all. In his hand, the man bore a knotted wood quarterstaff which he tapped to the ground, prodding his way to the bell. He arrived at the counter, standing tall, his milky eyes tracing the store as if to look for his visitors.

  “I’ll say again, who’s there?” The man’s voice was dry, as if he had not spoken in some time.

  Cleo saw his milky eyes land on her face. She felt sure that he could see her. Gnochi nudged Cleo with his elbow. She shot him a look.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to introduce your master?” Gnochi’s stone gaze asserted the seriousness of his request.