The Ferryman - Book 1

Chapter 97:

The Perimys

“Ticky!” Moth screamed. Trembling, she shouted at the woodcutters, “Stop it!”

But they ignored her – didn’t even hear her – and Moth turned desperately to Feldar.

Feldar tilted his head – like a curious dog. He calmly pulled a rope from his pack, knotted the end, and jumped from his saddle.

Moth covered her mouth but couldn’t look away.

Feldar slung the rope with the full force of his arms – the knot collided with the head of a woodcutter and slammed him down. He jerked the rope back, raised his arms, and spun it, striking Fritz in the back, flinging him into the tree.

Fritz hit the trunk, smashing into the bark. He collapsed at the foot of the tree.

Two of the other woodcutters ran, but two others jumped at Feldar, ripping the rope from his hands.

Feldar crouched and sprung at one of them, slamming them down to the ground – he hastily rolled, dodging a lash from the rope, and jumped up as the other woodcutter struggled with the rope, losing his balance.

Feldar punched him, knocking him down flat.

Moth ran to Fritz, stumbling as the adrenalin coursed through her head, and knelt by his side. He struggled to sit up – the side of his face was scratched up and imbedded with bark, oozing blood.

“Oh, Fritz, I…” Moth took her handkerchief, wetted it with water from her canteen, and tried to clean his face.

The boy had aged in the days since Moth had seen him. His eyes were dim and shrunk into his face, the baby fat had melted from his jawline. His breath reeked of alcohol.

“Why would you?” Moth whispered, her question not even fully formed. She looked up into the tree anxiously.

Ticky was climbing down, as agile as a squirrel.

As Moth tried to pull bark pieces from Fritz’s cheek, he slapped her hand away, scrambling to his feet. Like a cornered animal, he tried to run.

Feldar snatched him up by his hair, holding him above the ground.

Moth jumped up, gasping. “Feldar!”

But Feldar either ignored her or could hear her. His eyes were lightless.

He struck Fritz across the face, and the boy bellowed in pain, trying feebly to wrench out of Feldar’s grip.

Feldar backhanded him, every tendon in his broad hand tensed.

Fritz melted into sobs.

Ticky got to the bottom of the pine, stretched, and walked up to Feldar. “That’s alright, then.” Ticky placed an old hand on Feldar’s arm. “Let the boy go, he doesn’t know what he’s about.”

Feldar’s heavy, labored breathing calmed down, and slowly, he lowered Fritz to the ground, who fell onto his knees blubbering.

Moth hurried to Fritz, holding him in her arms, placing the wet handkerchief on his swollen and split face, already purpling with bruises. Unconsciously, she began to rock him. “It’s alright,” she murmured to him, over and over, until his crying began to quiet.

Wiping his face and staggering to lean on the pine tree, Feldar wildly looked around the forest for any other woodcutters and croaked, “Ticky, are you hurt?”

Ticky shrugged and smiled. “I’m fine as ever. They hadn’t treed me long before you came around.”

“Why were you out here?”

“Came to deliver a message for Lady Correb and Korho, from the camp. Just to say we found a better spot, a quarter mile up with a stream, so our campsite isn’t where you’d look for it. Seems a bit trivial now.” Ticky stroked his beard. “Are you hurt, Feldar?”

Feldar drank from his canteen and clutched his throat, turning his back to Fritz. He shook his head.

Moth continued to clean Fritz’s face, picking splinters out of his cheek. He was quiet now, eyes half closed and looking somewhere faraway – when all the splinters were plucked from his face, he sat up, barely able to see out of his swollen eyes. Carefully, he gripped the tree to help him stand up.

“Fritz, don’t leave,” Moth urged, surprised by his eagerness to go. “Fritz, please, I need to tell you about…about the kirose. I didn’t know at the time, but you need to wash yourself with spring water, and…” she realized as she looked at him, he wasn’t covered in kirose. Even now, hurt and frightened, he wasn’t producing helra.

Fritz stared at her, confused.

Frustrated, Moth pleaded, “You shouldn’t go back to the woodcutters! I’m sure we have room for you, with us, in the camp – so many vagrants have been able to–”

At the offer, Fritz’s face was set like a slab, and he turned on his heel and ran back to Maxa’s crew.

Moth watched him disappear into the pineland, her chest aching.

Ticky reached out and helped her to her feet, helped her back onto Aggo. Then, he took Feldar’s hand and guided him up onto his horse, saying, “Why don’t you get home? If you cut through that side trail you can avoid the woodcutters clearing. I’m going to continue up this path to Korho – I’m supposing it’s safe, since you both came up it, right?”

Feldar gave a short nod.

They parted ways – Ticky whistling his way up to Korho, while Feldar and Moth rode in silence the entire way back to the camp.

*

Moth lay on her cot after a hot bath, staring at the ceiling of her tent.

Her heart was a swirl – full of Fritz, Feldar, Ticky, her brothers, Clement, the vagrants, Maxa, the woodcutters.

But the only solid thought she had was: I don’t like Pineland. I want to go back to the fields, to the farmers. I miss the sky.

And another thought kept drifting up.

Why did Correb have us bury here? Couldn’t we have gone around? Why do were have to bury right between their arms?

Sighing, she got up and finished dressing.

Heikka flitted in, tidying up the oils and soaps, stacking them away in a portable vanity cabinet.

“Heikka,” Moth said, “Can you ask Korho to come see me when he has a minute? I have a question about the food supply.”

“Of course, I’ll tell him when he gets back,” Heikka answered. She flitted out of the tent.

Moth scrunched her brow. It’d been over an hour.

Twiddling her hands nervously, Moth hurried outside and looked around, hoping to see Feldar – maybe he knew Korho intended to stay longer at the pit. She didn’t want to fall into worrying thoughts.

Balwin was suddenly at her elbow, smiling as always.

“Lady Correb! So lovely to see you – how was the burial?”

Moth was in no humor to endure his puppet grins, and was about to say so when she heard horse hooves.

She spun around, delighted, seeing Rodin and Korho ride into the camp with Ticky and the six vagrants.

Moth raised her hand, about to call to them when she saw their faces.

They were dripping sweat, eyes wide and bloodshot, their faces haggard.

Korho saw her and pointed, “Meeting tent! Now! Get your ass in there too, Winnie. Where’s Feldar? Gone? Fine, I’ll tell him later.” He heaved for breath, dismounting and handing the horses over to Lt. Grotte. He turned on Moth and Win, who stood stunned. “That wasn’t a suggestion! Now!”

Moth ran into the meeting tent, hastily yanking chairs out for everyone.

Korho only brought in Rodin, Ticky, and Win.

“The others have had more than enough today,” Korho told Heikka, kissing her hand. “Get them some beer. Double for Nim.”

After Heikka left, Korho slammed into the chair at the head of the table, his eye twitching and his lips twisting into a snarl. “There’s something in the pineland. A monster.”

Moth gawked at him. She looked at Rodin and Ticky, who nodded solemnly – while Win pressed his mouth together. “Korho, what happened?” Moth whispered.

“We’d just finished burying when…the forest began groaning. We could see the trees shaking, bending to the side, as something enormous was coming towards us – making this horrible sucking growl. God how do I describe the noise it made?”

Rodin was unnaturally subdued, his hand clamped over his mouth. He lifted his head. “I was so unready I just stood there. I turned to run, but Ticky grabbed me – he said we need to hide. He brought us through a gap in the trees and we

were suddenly in an abandoned pathway.” He muttered, “Frightening to be back there, so dark and full of roots. It didn’t lead anywhere, so we just huddled down and waited for half an hour before I got the courage to crawl out and check to see if that thing was still there.”

“What was it?” Moth asked breathlessly. “What did it look like?”

Korho and Rodin glanced at each other, shaking their heads.

“All I saw was a rough, grayish brown skin. Leathery.” Rodin said, and Korho said, “I only heard it.”

Ticky folded his arms thoughtfully, squinting to try and remember. “I’ve only seen it a half dozen times in my life. I don’t know what to liken it to, never seen any creature quite like it. It’s got huge white fangs coming out of a heavy, round muzzle, and bulging eyes – small, and dull. Its face is flat and fat. It’s a spirit, so it wouldn’t have to look like any real animal, I suppose.”

Korho pointed at Ticky, saying to Moth, “Right, he said it’s a spirit!”

Ticky nodded. “The shamans here call it Perimys. They worship it and feed it helra.”

Everyone turned to Win, who looked wretchedly uncomfortable, straining in his chair and looking at the exit.

Korho leaned across the table, his lip curling. “You better start explaining, shaman.”

“Explaining! Am I at fault for something that’s lived here over six hundred years?” snapped Win. “What explaining do I have to do? Mr. Ticky has said it so succinctly: it is a spirit, and it is dangerous.”

“I’ve never seen it before in my life and I’ve crossed back and forth Pineland since I could walk,” said Rodin, desperate and confused.

“It stays on Fjer territory, mostly,” answered Win. When Korho looked at him suspiciously, he said, holding out his hands, “My mother was a pineland shaman, so I know a smidge here and there, but this place is not my specialty.”

“Where did the spirit come from?” Moth asked.

Win’s eye twitched. He leaned on the table, shaking his head sadly at her. “Once again, Milady, I must say your lack of understanding of the spiritual is very concerning. Surely you should understand how spirits come to live and grow?”

Moth, embarrassed and annoyed, opened her mouth to defend herself when – she remembered Correb telling her about it. It seemed so long ago – she’d laid on her bed, as he pulled kirose out of her arm, patiently answered all her questions.

“Kirose incubate in a human, feeding off blood and helra until they’re born. They’re born as spirits, they have powers, they can be invisible,” Moth answered. Win, annoyed by her correct answer, gave a reluctant nod. Moth added sourly, “And shamans purposely use their own helra and blood to host a kirose, and the spirit gives them power.”

Win half turned away as Korho glowered at him. “True,” Win said. “This is a very old and powerful spirit though, with many who feed it. Whoever the host was has long since died.”

“Where’s your spirit?” Korho demanded.

“Mine! Such an archaic practice – I detest it. Hurt myself to produce helra? To feed a glorified tapeworm? Never.”

Moth cut through, whispering, “What should we do for the next burials? What if it’s there again?”

Win shook his head, unimpressed. “Oh it’s very easy to know when its near – and I do mean before the trees are shaking. You concentrate and attune you soul, and…ah, well, I suppose you’ve never been taught to do such a thing, Lady Correb.”

Moth glowered at him.

“You know how to do it, though?” said Korho, looking up suddenly. “Then you’ll be coming along with us during the burial to make sure we’re safe.”

“Or,” Win added hastily, “a magpie can alert you well in advance. Take Losi along, she’ll tell you if its close faster than any magic.”