Warehouse after warehouse of daubed mud occupy most of Alkara’s day. The inhabitants dead, Alkara and the Waste Walkers ripped through the former nests to ensure any eggs were properly destroyed. Squalor, chewed bone, and Nolcerock young met them in those disordered nests.
Mottled grey grew rougher on their backs, where the leathery hide turned to shell. White, milky liquid dripped from the spines of the longer claw. Whatever drew them to Three Rivers also drew them from the dirt. Few examples of Nolcerocks living above ground could be found in Uncle Iro’s books.
The Walkers push through the last mound of crumbled dirt. Bits of old fish bones tumble from the freed clumps. “Okay!” Alkara looks around, no more nests. “Let’s get going.”
Chiron and Dre continue sifting through the dirt piles to a background of Alkara urging them to wrap up. Thorough was better though. They knew it. Alkara knew it. She couldn’t focus on helping though. Her thoughts keep returning to her pack at home. And the items that weren’t yet in it.
Finally they leave the empty warehouse. Corpse disposal hadn’t been in the job description.
Alkara pushes forward, only to be drawn back by Dre’s and Chiron’s snail pace.
They cross the final bridge and Chiron parts from them, heading Sozzleward toward the Unyielding Willow.
“Say hi to your mom for me!” Alkara draws out mom for effect, humor oozes from her tone.
Chiron raises his hand in a wave without turning around.
Dre doesn’t bid him farewell. “He visits more frequently.”
“Um, I guess.” Alkara looks at Dre with a sparkle of mischief. “Let’s race home!” She jumps forward into a jog.
Dre walks along at the same dreadful pace. “That’s twice this week. Three last.”
Alkara slows and turns before galumphing back to rejoin her sister. “I mean. He’s always gone to see his mom a lot. Maybe since she’s managing the house they can spend more time together.”
“That isn’t…” Dre walks along staring at the ground. Hammering from a nearby cobbler sneaks between their words. “No. It’s not recent.
That doesn’t make sense. Chiron is going to see his mom so of course it would be recent. But the memory feels thin and strained, like the first blanket Uncle Iro ever gave Alkara. “I don’t remember…”
“It’s more like he’s decided to avail himself of their services.”
Something sours in Alkara’s gut. “No… where his mom is?”
Dre says nothing for a time. They continue down a side road, leaving the hammering behind. “Perhaps he receives a rebate.”
“Ew,” Alkara starts but ends with a snort. “That’s not something I want to think about.” Shivers squirm up her back like caterpillars. She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head clear of the idea. “I guess but I doubt it I don’t want to think he does.” The words tumble out of her in a rush.
“If I had need and someone were to provide a rebate for ingredients I would take advantage.” They turn down the street to their home and Dre’s voice becomes a whisper, “I would were the offer extended.”
The idea of less expensive arrows flirts with her image of Tharan. Lately, he had insisted that the most recent bundles were presents. Gifts which happened to coincide with her scheduled orders. A quirk of Doësin culture demands he proclaim them a gift.
Still with half a mind on Tharan, Alkara says, “Just. Didn’t think he was the type. With his mom and all.” Some emotion pricks at her chest. She can’t place it but it unsettles her anyway. “Let’s get home. I need to pack.”
Alkara hustles down the road. This time Dre matches her pace. Guen being Guen doesn’t even pant.
They open their front door and a garlicky cream scent overpowers Alkara’s nostrils. She blinks several times, all thought pushed out of her mind. A sweet aroma of meat drifts under the garlic.
Alkara steps inside, “That smells– no way!” She tosses her pack on her bed. She glances toward the kitchen between stuffing items into the pack. Hope and anticipation build with each look. Better than whatever spikiness hit her outside. “What’s for dinner?”
“Gnavorine dan Leann.” Uncle Iro keeps his focus on the meal but Alkara can almost see the smile spreading on his face.
Alkara’s eyes light up as she claps her hands like a little girl on her fifth nameday. She dashes to Uncle Iro and throws her arms around him. “Thank you! Thank you!” Gnavorine had been one of her favorite dishes since Uncle Iro had first introduced her to it. And of course Gnavorine dan Leann once she was allowed ale. “Where did you get Red Strufal in this season?”
“Just so happened I picked out a Gnavorine with a full cheekpouch.” Uncle Iro puffs out a cheek in comic mimicry. He deflates into a grin.
“Alright then,” Alkara chuffs. “Keep your secret safe.”
“Oh fine.” Uncle Iro flips a coin toward Alkara. “Our old pal Stiofán in Rhayshe had some. Caught the whole covey before they rooted out all the Strufal.”
“Wha– When were you in Copaish?” The stew forgotten, Alkara blanks as to how Uncle Iro traveled [500 miles] with a decomposing Gnavorine.
“Not too long ago.” Uncle Iro’s shrugs, highlighting a grin.
Alkara scowls like a Gnavorine herself, “That doesn’t help.”
Iroshi merely chuckles.
Alkara’s scowl turns rancid, but then she remembers the dish and her mood breaks. The smell of the roasting Gnavorine beckons her into the kitchen nook. She complies. With attention on the smell of the hare, she stirs the stew. “I wonder if Leä knows how to make this.”
“Perhaps. I don’t know if they get many like it out there but she could substitute rabbit.”
“No,” Alkara complains, “I mean as good as this.”
Uncle Iro smiles, “She can’t have my recipe.”
Alkara drops the stirring spoon. The barest hint of its passing into the simmering liquid registers on Alkara’s mind when she whirls on Uncle Iro. A mischievous grin greets her like an old friend.
Alkara’s cheeks warm. Of course he’s teasing her. She looks back at the bubbling pot with a measure of tension.
“You dropped it. Get it out.”
Alkara blanches and turns back to her uncle. Again that grin sits on his face. Alkara half rolls her eyes and leaves the kitchenette. She falls for it every time.
Uncle Iro stares at the cauldron with an air of indignity. “I suppose I’ll get another spoon. Gotta finish this bribe or it’ll be no good.” He nods toward Dre. “Would you fetch Chiron? We’re going to need him.”
Alkara frowns. “For what?”
“A job.” Uncle Iro’s grin brightens the room, albeit the answer doesn’t tell Alkara anything.
He refused to explain until Dre returned with Chiron. Chiron plops himself onto a cot with a huff. Even with the smell of food pervasive in the air it took telling him that dinner is ready before he cheered. A job was icing on the cake.
Alkara ladles bowls for everyone with only a single barbed remark about not dropping the ladle from Uncle Iro. She wastes no time doling out the bowls and digging into her own. There’s a partial lament on her mind that she even left the cauldron, as she finishes almost as soon as she sits. Dre is only half done when Alkara ladles more of the dish into her own bowl.
Uncle Iro finishes his food with more restraint. Guen laps at what little remains in their bowls as Uncle begins his explanation.
“I found a cooper that makes barrels out of cherry wood.” He gives them all a significant look. “Krause’s Kiln and Carpentry.”
“You found them?” Alkara says through a mouthful of Gnavorine.
“I found an irregularity.” He taps his spoon on the inside of his bowl. Guen licks the spoon too. “Cherry wood is great for wine, liquor. Wonderful notes. But…” Iro smiles, “no distillery contracts with Krause. And as far as I can tell, few order from them.”
Dre nods, “Could they be special order?”
Uncle Iro presses his lips together into a thin line. “That’s one possibility. This might be nothing, but their building is large for what little work they do.”
Dre stares down at her near finished bowl. Chiron munches happily on his stew, seemingly oblivious to the intrigue.
“Yes, I think it’s worth checking.” A sparkle catches in Uncle Iro’s eyes. “So, you in?”
“Of course!” She mentally checks her stomach. “Mmm, maybe I should wait to eat the rest.” Stew fills near half of her third bowl. “I’ll be fine. What’s the plan?”
Alkara huffs. The back door of Krause’s shop lay across from her lookout point on the other side of the street.
A whole day of watching and nothing had come of it. Now night fast approaches and there’s still nothing. Dre’s potion helps Alkara see the nothing better, but doesn’t create something to see.
But this is her job. Her part of the plan. The best use of her strengths. Avoiding her weaknesses. Blah blah blah. Uncle Iro made sure to express all of these things every time she complained.
Nothing continues to happen. Alkara yawns. Her thoughts return to the journal or a tome on aberrants she had left at home. The temptation to read them would have been too great. Alkara needs to keep watch. Keep her family safe. Find out if Krause is their target.
And, if they blow this the trail will go cold. Again.
Maybe not completely cold. They could look into the other barrel makers.
A spiky feeling pokes at her insides. Thinking about the journal dredges up the last entry she’d read. Alkara grits her teeth. She’d read most of the journal, but hadn’t picked it up again for over a week.
Another Bell Keeper had spoken with the insight and depth which Alkara had craved. They seemed to know Tharan in ways that others hadn’t. She had burned through the words, devouring the content until the last sentence.
“They’re both scared. He might be more afraid than she is.”
Alkara growls and throws her hands up, earning a bored look from Guen.
Scared?! I am NOT scared. What is there to be scared of? It’s just marriage. Partnership. Whatever the hell the dumb elves call it. You want scary? You go to the Depths. The Wastes. Hell, the Chaos. You find Takers, and Whistlers, and Harvesters. THAT shit is scary. Stupid elves don’t know what they’re stupid talking about.
Alkara twists a loose thread at the hem of her tunic. She pulls at it without any real effort, then checks on the nothing happening across the street.
Her jaw drops open. Lights dance in interweaving circles above Krause’s shop. The signal! And she has no idea how long it’s been there. And to top it all off, as she watches, they blink out.
Shit!
“Guen,” Alkara whispers in a harsh tone, more aimed at herself than the panther, “Go help!” She scrambles to the side and clambers down the building. She leaps the last yard and rushes toward the carpenter’s.
Stupid stupid stupid.
The shutters of the front window hang in fragments, most of the wood strewn inside. The dirt outside the window is wet. But where is everyone?
“Hello?” Alkara calls in a hushed whisper. “Uncle Iro?” She vaults over the sill and lands on brown shutter.
Dre, kneeling next to Chiron, starts from Alkara’s sudden appearance. “Uncle Iro is…” She nods toward his prone form. Dre’s portable vials and alchemical implements sit in varied states of use next to her. She returns to tending Chiron. “Chiron got the worst of it… whatever it is. I’m working on an antitoxin.”
Alkara’s face tightens with anxiety. “What happened?”
Uncle Iro’s eyes stare with blunt focus on the ceiling, like he’s awake, but unaware.
Guen struggles against some pale green goo. Cemented to the floor, the panther pulls and strains against the substance. Some of it fills a nostril, and the cat pants between attempts to lick it.
Alkara rushes to the cat, “Guen!”
“Don’t touch her,” Dre drips liquid into Chiron’s mouth from a spoon. “It’s an adhesive.” The last bits of liquid drip off the spoon and Dre stands. “If you touch it you’ll get stuck too.”
Alkara recoils from Guen with a pained look matching the panther’s misery. “What’s wrong with Chiron?”
“Unclear.” Dre checks Chiron’s lifebeat at the neck and tilts his head to peer into his open mouth. “That thing drooled a fluid into his mouth.”
Saliva floods Alkara’s mouth at the thought of some monster drool in her mouth. She puts a fist against her mouth in a feeble attempt to dispel the retch. She leaves Guen to check Uncle Iro’s lifebeat.
And wrenches her hand back from the orange liquid sheen on Uncle Iro’s neck. Her fingers numb, losing some of the sensation but not everything. She tests them by rubbing her fingertips, but it’s like feeling through a sheet of parchment
Whatever creature had wrecked this havoc had gone. Plus it seemed as though Uncle Iro and Chiron hadn’t hurt it at all. Unless the orange stuff is its blood.
“Dre, tell me what happened.”
“The door opened like we planned, but then it shut again.” Dre explains. As she speaks she scoops green liquid from Chiron’s mouth. “We decided to check, make sure Chiron was okay. We had to break through the window because…” She gestures to Chiron’s prone body laying in front of the door. Dre scrapes some of the liquid into a vial. “The creature sprayed us with a paralytic and Uncle Iro collapsed.”
“Poison?” Alkara pulls Uncle Iro into a more comfortable position.
“More accurate to call it a toxin. Explains the tingling sensation I feel.” Dre caps the vials she’d gathered and takes one last look into Chiron’s mouth. “I’ve cleared his airway but don’t understand the function of this substance.” She moves to Guen and passes a vial of clear liquid to Alkara. “Try to feed this to them. It may resuscitate them sooner. But be slow and careful.”
Dre prods the pale green globs with a long, thin metal rod. “Odd.” She pulls gloves on and removes another vial. “Alkara, this will hurt Guen. She needs to remain calm or it will be worse.”
Alkara nods. “Guen,” her tone soothing, she gives the panther her best ‘it’s going to be okay’ face. “Just sit still. It’ll be over soon.”
Dre unstoppers the vial and a putrid aroma fills the room. Alkara turns to Uncle Iro.
Sizzling crackles from Guen, overshadowed by her mewling. Alkara forces herself to ignore the pained sounds and dribbles her own vial into Uncle Iro’s mouth. She tilts his head sideways and closes his mouth. “Come on…”
Buzzing from Guen’s ribbon joins the pather’s yowls. Dre murmurs calming words. Low whimpers accompany pauses in the sizzling.
Alkara refuses to look at Dre’s progress. Instead she rubs Iroshi’s cheeks like she remembers.
Nothing happens. Small drips of the liquid leak from the corner of his mouth.
Dre says, “There girl, all better.”
A moment later Guen barrels into Alkara’s side, knocking her off balance.
Alkara lets out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Uncle Iro hadn’t swallowed any of the liquid. Alkara sighs nonetheless. One down, Dre would help with the others.
“Rub the tragus.” Dre says with a hint of irritation.
Alkara looks at her like she’d just named a horrid creature of Chaos.
“Here,” Dre rubs Uncle Iro’s face right next to the ear and that little nub of flesh poking out from near the earhole. “Switch between the sides while I work on Chiron.”
They both work that bit of skin on the right, then the left, for their respective patients.
Progress comes in too slow movements. Several minutes pass before Chiron swallows. Encouraged, Alkara continues with Uncle Iro until he takes in what little she’d poured. Alkara adds more and continues stroking those spots.
Guen nuzzles her arm. Bare spots mar the red-tinged black fur. Whatever poison had surrounded the Ironshod had afflicted the panther with this style. Worse than the blotchy red skin on her back was the scalded nostril.
Alkara strokes the cat with her free hand.
Chiron begins to stir. Small grimaces and winces sour his face while Dre helps him swallow the restorative. One of his hands even twitches.
Dre finishes with this last swallow and joins Alkara. “He’ll awaken in a few minutes if it doesn’t react adversely with the… drool.”
Alkara shudders involuntarily.
“Let me assist Iroshi.”
Alkara nods, free of her duty. Of course Dre would get Chiron to swallow enough before Alkara could help Uncle Iro. She leaves them be and explores the shop. Guen pads along behind her.
A large kiln of mismatched bricks dominates the back room. Pots of near-dry clay line the wall near the kiln. Another room hold planks of wood of various sizes. Workbenches sit beneath tools hanging on the wall.
A side passage leads to an open cellar door. Alkara swallows, which reminds her of Uncle Iro. She ducks back into the front room. “Dre, there’s a basement in the back passage. Gonna check it out.”
Dre doesn’t look up from her work, “Be careful. Call if you need help.”
Alkara takes the stairs with measured steps, holding her bow in front with an arrow nocked. Pitch black meets her eyes, but with Dre’s potion she could see the outlines of the stairs, the bare dirt walls, and lusterless metal.
Just a few steps before the floor, a putrid, dank urine stench hits Alkara like a hammer. She pulls back and steps up. Grime and pus rot underneath that smell. It all combines to a dizzying aroma. Only a few yards up and the air clears. Whatever filth lay in the basement sits heavier than air.
She takes a deep breath and plunges back into the odor. Buzzing of small insects fills a corner of the room. The metal forms angles and bars of cages. With people inside.
They huddle in groups in the center of the cages. Some look toward the stair without focus, unable to pierce the gloom. Gunk and scum cover their nude forms. Pus dribbles from open sores. At least they had the good sense to fling their excrement into the same corner of the room.
“Urdima’s Grace,” Alkara curses under her breath. A mistake. The odor sneaks into her mouth and she nearly retches for the second time tonight.
A man lay on a single cot, chained at the ankle. The odd green goop Chiron had in his mouth covers the man’s head.
Alkara reaches for him but flinches back when the man snarls at her with a swipe of dirty hands. “Hey! I’m here to help.” She holds her hands up in a peaceful gesture. The man stares at her, just a little off in the darkness. But there’s nothing off about his expression.
He stares with malice and anger. His upper lip twists in a snarl, his brow furrowed. His eyes flare with a consuming hatred. His expression lends itself better to a feral dog than a man.
Alkara looks around at the others. All human. She strikes a quickflame and lights a torch. The captives shrink from the sudden light.
Alkara shoves the torch into a wall sconce and turns back to the man. “Who are you? How long have you been down here?”
Frothy spittle covers the corners of his mouth.
Alkara turns to the others, her gaze sticking on the man for a moment. “What about you?” She points to a woman in a cage. “What is your name?”
The woman clings to the man with her, and buries her face in his shoulder.
“Anyone?” Alkara looks around at blank faces and voiceless despair.
Nothing.
“Alkara! They’re waking up!” Dre calls from above.
Alkara’s foot squelches a castoff hide. The skin is the orange of dried goldfish. Tiny holes form near pinpricks in the misshapen oblong head.
Alkara grimaces away from the discarded skin. “I’ll be right up. Let’s go Gu–” But the panther hadn’t come down from that ninth step.
Alkara shakes her head with a poorly disguised smile. She takes the stairs two at a time. Guen rushes up the stairs as though she were charging an aberrant.
Uncle Iro rubs the side of his head with eyes closed tight against the dim light. The sour expression on his face suggests some terrible head pain keeping him from seeing clearly.
Chiron keeps pouring water into his mouth, sloshing it, and spitting. A shudder divides each sequence. “I didn’t think you could turn garbage into glue, but this stuff won’t quit. Your stuff isn’t usually so bad.”
“I will take flavor into future consideration. Even at the expense of efficacy.” She holds up a vial of that green liquid. “This saliva came from whatever attacked you. The aberrant drooled into your mouth as its mode of delivery.”
Chiron scrapes his tongue with rough fingernails. “I think I’m going to be sick…”
Uncle Iro blinks his left eye while still rubbing at the other. “What does the creature look like?”
“You didn’t see it?” Dre removes another vial from her pouch, this one a bright pink. “Here Chiron, this will kill the taste.” She watches Uncle Iro for a moment like a surgeon preparing to operate. “It sprayed us with the paralytic. You even tried to stab it.”
“Paralytic…?” Uncle Iro rotates his limbs and inspects his cloths and skin. “I suppose that explains the numbness.”
“What happened?” Alkara asks.
“I…” Uncle Iro scrunches his brow. His golden eyes dart back and forth as though piercing the veil of time for the answer. “Chiron set up the signal. I threw my own and ran in. And…” Uncle Iroshi holds up a hand and retches. Orange goo floats in his Gnavorine.
Chiron perks up, “Hey, Alkara! Need a fourth helping?”
Alkara recoils. “Ew.”
Uncle Iro sighs as he wipes his mouth. “I saw an old baby. It’s… the best way to describe it. Then you disappeared.” He smirks, “Don’t suppose this was all a dream?”
Alkara snorts. “More like a nightmare.”
“I gave the signal?” Chiron frowns at himself. “I remember waiting in the back. Then that drool in my mouth.”
Uncle Iro looks at Alkara, “Did you see it?”
Alkara shakes her head. “It was gone by the time I got here.” She looks back to stair to the miserable wretches. “But, there’s a bunch of people downstairs. One’s chained to a cot with all that green stuff on his head.”
“Show me.” Uncle Iro stands with the unsteadiness of a baby foal. He wobbles in his stance. “Dre, could you describe it please?” He gestures for Alkara to lead the way.
“Small, about the size of an Ashogflythin. Bipedal but it didn’t walk.” Dre lists off the creature’s ungainly features. Its head bulged with mostly soft, sickly yellow flesh. It turned its torso to turn its head, such was its neck and shoulders. Translucent skin showed wrinkled brain. Red eyes. Ridged Nose. “And those Mushrooms sprouting on its head.”
“Thank you.”
Each of the Walkers and Uncle Iro hit that wall of pungent refuse with their own scrunched noses. Chiron offers, “Actually, I don’t need to see them.” He head back to about halfway up the stair. Guen sits on the step above his.
Uncle Iro approaches the man on the cot and retreats when he snarls. Uncle Iro nods. He walks between the cages, greeting the captives. He gestures and plays with the light from the torch.
When he returns to the others he smiles as though everything were plain and obvious. “This appears to be the work of a mind-wiper. I’ve never seen one before but the memory wipe effect is [a hallmark].” He chuckles, “At least, I don’t remember encountering one.”
Alkara groans.
“Okay, okay.” Uncle Iro tilts his head at the men and women in cages. “These are probably its food. The stories say they feed on psychic energy. This poor fellow is like a sleeping blanket or midnight snack. It sleeps curled around the man’s head.”
Chiron makes a noise of disgust.
“Will they recover?” Alkara says through pinched nose. Though stinging with the stench, her eyes hold sadness while watching the cowering people.
Uncle Iro shruges and tilts his head toward the stair. “I don’t know. They were food for an untold amount of time. Recovery is unlikely.”
They stamp up the stair back to main room. Free of the stench and odor, they find patches of floor not covered by any of the different goops the Mind-Wiper used and sit.
“So,” Alkara begins arcing an eyebrow, “This is the place.”
They nod as though affirming both themselves and each other.
“We need to track this thing and, if we remember, take it alive.” Uncle Iro wipes his rapier clean of the orange goo. “We’ll figure out who Krause is and why they have this thing living under the shop. But it has a considerable headstart.” He nudges Alkara’s arm. “Time to test your progress. Speak to Urdima while I check for its tracks.”
Alkara’s cheeks go cold and she presses her lips into a line. “I’ll do my best.”
“It went through the back.” Dre stares at the vial of drool and shakes it gently. “Start there.” She shrugs, “It dragged itself along though, so it can’t have gotten far.”
Uncle Iro sets his jaw. “Until some unlucky sod happens across its path and it decides to hitch a ride.”