The Ferryman - Book 1

Chapter 30:

Up the Mountain

Moth rode through the night for hours until she arrived at the foot of Tiding Range.

In the valley that surrounded the base of the mountain, there was a family called Cride. Mrs. Tunhofe and Moth had visited them months before to record their experience with the fog – they had lost a daughter to it, an eight-year-old.

The first human death caused by the fog. Hirena Cride.

When Ursula married Ede, they had been one of the families who closed their doors to the Hevwed’s - but Moth had to speak to them, before she went up the mountain.

The Cride’s were one of the most traditional families in Hiren, being very diligent with their offerings and unbendingly loyal to the ferryman despite the pain of their loss.

Moth rode to up to their log home. All the windows were dark, as to be expected, but she pounded and pounded on the door, until candles were lit and the door was flung open with Mr. Cride standing there holding a musket and Moth staring into its gaping barrel.

He squinted in the dark, but behind him his wife held up a candle to cast its flickering light over Moth’s tense face.

“Hevwed!” he exclaimed. “Dear god, girl, what are you doing this early? What’s wrong?”

“I need you to return Nest to my father. I stole him,” said Moth.

Mrs. Cride leaned through the door, brushing ash off Moth’s face, blown into it by the ride there. “Mere, you look half-dead, what happened to you?”

“Do you want there to be an offering in Hiren this year?” she asked.

They started, glancing at each other.

“We have nothing to offer from Hiren, not an ounce of food to spare. This has never happened in even my grandfather’s lifetime – the ferryman must be very sick, or lost, for Hiren to groan this loud and him not to notice.” Moth, pointing up the mountain. “Do you want there to be an offering in Hiren this year?”

Stunned, they hastily said, “Yes, yes of course.”

“Then Hiren is going to offer me,” said Moth, setting her face and looking them in the eyes. “I will go to the ferryman and I will find out what is wrong. I will make him help Hiren.”

The Cride’s thought about it, and Mr. Cride said, “Why you?”

“I won’t make someone else do it if it’s my idea,” said Moth. “It might not even work, I may…sink in the water.”

“It’ll work,” said Mr. Cride. “It worked in Adavidan.”

Moth stared at them. “What?”

“Let her in Paul,” said Mrs. Cride. “Her sister may be an Ede but that’s not her fault. Come in, Mere, you can barely stand. I’ll get you some coffee.”

Moth was brought into their kitchen and the Cride’s sat her down and made her some acorn coffee.

Mr. Cride waited for her to take a few sips, before he said, “Across the border in the Kingdom of Linel, there is a county called Adavidan. They have a ferrymaid, who is much loved there – unlike in our foolish nation. Something like three hundred years ago, the county offered a young man in the water as a husband to their ferrymaid. He was accepted and lived out the rest of his life in her palace, as her husband.”

Moth had never heard this. “In Linel?”

“That’s right.”

“Is there a risk I won’t be accepted?” asked Moth.

“Offerings are always accepted, no matter what it is, how grand or meagre. You can’t give yourself, though,” said Mrs. Cride. “You would have to find someone willing to give you – and don’t even think about us.”

“I have someone who I think will offer me – but, if you could, please convince the other farmers to attend the offering that day, I need them to witness this, I want them all to offer me, I want to be Hiren’s offering,” urged Moth.

Mr. Cride sighed. After curling his beard around his fingers, he asked, “You stole your father’s horse to get here, so I suppose he doesn’t know about this?”

“The only one I told was my grandfather. He tried to stop me, but I can’t just…what will happen to Hiren?” Moth demanded, her voice shaking. “You understand, don’t you? The urgency? Who else is willing to go through the water?”

The Cride, having no answer, thought over her idea.

“I’m going to do it if only one family is willing to send me to the ferryman,” said Moth angrily. “Please, try and convince as many families as you can – let there be an offering in Hiren. And please, give Nest back to my father, and…and tell him I’m sorry I didn’t tell him. He’s probably looking for me right now, he doesn’t know where I am.”

“Where are you going?” asked Mr. Cride.

Moth shook her head. “I won’t say. This must happen – I won’t let anyone force me to stop.”

Moth thanked them and left their house, leaving them shocked and uncertain at the kitchen table.

With the light of their home behind her, she faced Tiding Range.

The mountain was tall, and loomed over her in its might. She began to climb it, heading the way she had with Mrs. Tunhofe so many months ago in spring.

The waning full moon was high in the air, and as Moth looked at it, she knew it would be another month until the Offering. A full moon in autumn was what everyone was waiting for.

The light it provided was so bright, it was easy for Moth to find her way up the mountain until she reached Hevwed Bridge. She crossed it, pausing to feel the H.H. carved in its side, and it reassured her – she wasn’t sure of what, but it reassured her, and she felt she was not alone in her decision, rather it was in her nature to do this.

Eyes bloodshot, struggling to stay open, and legs stumbling, Moth forced herself onwards and upwards, clutching onto branches for support with trembling arms and weakened body.

When she at last neared the top of the ledge of the mountain, she saw Mrs. Halig standing there, leaning on her cane, watching her.

“Had a dream you were climbing Tiding Range. Woke me up,” Mrs. Halig said. “On a hunch I waited to see.”

Moth stumbled and sat down. Her legs would not move anymore. “Anything else in the dream?” asked Moth, heaving for breath.

Mrs. Halig looked up towards the highest peak of Tiding Range. “You got to the top.” She gestured, and her son and daughter emerged from the dark of the trees and went down to Moth, helping her stand and hobble to the house.

Mrs. Halig followed behind, her voice murmuring behind Moth, “Don’t know what you’re about, but you’re going to sleep, and when you wake up, you tell me why your spirit is climbing Tiding.”

*

Moth remembered almost nothing else but her head touching a pile of furs and then sleep swallowing her.

When she at last awoke, she was in the wooden house of the Halig’s, in the central room with a chimney down the middle and piles of fur everywhere. The light was bright through the windows, and Moth could tell it was noon.

Her head throbbed and her body ached, and she realized what she had done.

Mom and Dad must be so terrified, Moth thought, her stomach hot and churning. Despite the panic that shook her, she felt deep in her an assurance to keep on – she had not felt so rested and clear headed in months.

A large wooden section of the wall slid open, and Mrs. Halig brought in a pitcher of steaming tea, pouring a cup for Moth and sitting down with her.

Mrs. Halig was silent, drinking her own cup of tea, and Moth could smell the strong, grassy odor, and sipped at the bitter dandelion and clover tea, the strength of the flavor waking her up.

Mrs. Halig quietly watched Moth, and whenever her tea got low, she refilled her cup.

Moth waited for Mrs. Halig to say anything, but she only sat quietly by, no words crossing her lips.

Clearing her throat. Moth said, “Thank you for letting me sleep here.”

“I did not see much in my dream, but it felt a good omen; so, why are you here?”

Putting her cup down, Moth clutched the edge of her tattered apron and said, “I want to be given as an offering to the Ferryman. Will you offer me this autumn?”

Mrs. Halig sighed deeply, muttering to herself, and took off her leather sandals to rub her feet. Moth waited for her to say yes or no, but Mrs. Halig didn’t say much but kept shaking her head in an internal conversation. Not wanting to interrupt her thoughts, Moth waited with a pounding heart.

“Sometimes a lot is asked of me, and I am so old,” Mrs. Halig said irritably. “You would think I’d get more of a break the older I get, but it just seems like more eyes are looking to me for answers.”

Moth waited anxiously, wondering what her answer was.

“I’m going to do it, I knew whatever you asked I would have to say yes, but I don’t want to do it,” said Mrs. Halig. “There’s enough of a break between low farmers and the people of Tiding, but to throw their child in the water will not raise us in their eyes.”

Moth watched the wrinkles around her mouth tighten, and she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t consider that.”

“The young never.” Mrs. Halig continued to rub her feet, working the stiffness out of it. “Well, your parents don’t agree with you being here, I’m guessing?”

Moth gripped the edge of her apron even tighter. “I don’t know if they do or not, I left without telling them. I assume they would try and stop me.”

“Well, I don’t like young ones spitting downwind to their parents, but this is higher than that, this is for the ferryman” said Mrs. Halig, bowing her head when she said his title. “You’ll stay here for the month until the offering. Does anyone else know you’re here?”

“I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here; you seemed like the only one who would understand what I’m trying to do,” said Moth. “On my way here, I told the Cride’s that I wanted to be offered in the water. I don’t know if they agreed with me or not, but I asked them to convince the other farmers to attend the offering.”

“The Cride’s will agree, they understand what’s happening, they honor the ferryman.” Mrs. Halig placed her sandals carefully back on her feet and stared with dim eyes at Moth. “Over the next month I need you to consider something.”

“Consider what?”

“What will you say to the ferryman when you stand face to face with him?”