The Ferryman - Book 1

Chapter 74:

Ancestral Pacts

It was another day that threatened to never end – even as the sun lowered, there were still dozens waiting to be helped, and still more arriving by cart.

Moth’s feet burned in her shoes, feeling as if they were cobbled from hot iron. Nehem kept glancing at her nervously, waiting for a command to end the day, but Moth couldn’t – she couldn’t turn away such desperate faces.

Finally, her steps grew so unsteady, she tripped while carrying a pot of steaming poultice and burned her arm.

Nehem set his face like an oak knot and dismissed everyone waiting.

There was more outrage this time – they had travelled the whole day to get there and arrived so late. Having endured being fogspotted for years, they couldn’t bear another day.

Moth wanted to help. She tried to harden herself to the pain in her body, but Nehem forced her into the house to sit down, and stood on the porch with crossed arms until the farmers gave up.

Some of them tried to set up camps in the grove to wait until morning, but Nehem told them to go camp on the common land north of Okatto. Since Nehem was an inch shy of seven feet, no one protested too much, and soon all that was left of the crowds was the torn-up turf.

Moth sat inside by the fire, removed her shoes and socks, and pressed her blistered, bleeding feet on the tiles to sooth them with heat.

Mr. Larris and Kulti said goodbye and went home.

Larris wouldn’t be there to help tomorrow, Feldar would still be helping Korho, and Nehem had to leave tomorrow to begin to fetch the sunstones.

Moth laid her head in her hands and cried as she thought about the work she’d have to shoulder alone tomorrow.

No, not alone, she reminded herself bitterly. Untrained sentries will be helping.

Every time she started to calm down, another wave of exhaustion hit her, and she would fight against dissolving into pitiful sobbing. It was astounding to her how quickly the thrill, the magic of seeing someone be able to walk again had worn off and all that was left was the weariness of work.

She leaned on the arm of the chair, head and feet throbbing in unison, but couldn’t seem to get comfortable.

*

Some time later Lt. Grotte came home in a horrible mood. She spoke to no one, grabbed some old bread and wine and went to sleep in her room.

    Nehem made Moth some stew and tea, advising her to go to sleep early – which is what he did, sleeping almost instantly the moment he laid down on the couch.

    Moth knew she should go to her room, but she dreaded being alone at night in that place. She delayed as long as she could down by the fire, until it got later and later and she was getting no rest.

The pain of a night sleeping in a chair, followed by a day bent over a table making poultices, was taking its toll. Her neck hurt perfectly. Holding her head at an angle to not aggravate it, Moth stiffly rose from her seat and stumbled to her room, determined to lay down flat in her bed and have one good night’s sleep.

But, like last night, she entered her room and it felt as if she’d walked through a portal into some other place. Moonlight glared through the window, everything

was deathly pale and cold – unnaturally cold. Moth’s teeth chattered, and she hurried to coax up a flame in her fireplace.

Even when the fire was lit and burning, it did so shyly – the room sucked up the color and light.

Her heart rattled even as her eyes were so tired they could barely stay open. She glanced over at the cabinet bed, but it filled her with irrational fear to lay down in it – it was dark and vacuous like a gaping mouth.

I can’t have another night with no sleep, and another day of work, Moth thought desperately, rubbing her face and fighting back another wave of angry sobbing.

Moth knew this was Quin’s doing. She had promised to make her life worse for refusing to hand over the skin. She wished Correb was there – he would be able to uproot whatever shamanism was being woven in the room.

Giving up on another night of sleep, Moth stood shakily to her aching feet and limped over to her chair by the fire, looking at Quin’s books again.

This time, she picked up the book labelled ‘History of Hiren Families’.

It seemed an innocuous book for Quin to have. Many people in Hiren owned this book, able to track their families back to the first ones off Tiding Range.

Moth had, a long time ago, asked Clement why they didn’t own a copy. Clement had answered dryly, “I can tell you what it says about us if you want. Hevwed: an unloving family.”

Curious now, Moth flipped to the section that listed her Hevwed ancestors, each containing a brief description all the way back to Hess Hevwed.

Hess Hevwed – bridgebuilder, known for his clapper bridges. Died at fifty-six years old, when he contracted a disease from drinking magpie blood. Succeeded by

his son and daughter. Daughter stole his tools and left Hiren for Lad. Her name has been lost.

Camb Hevwed. Began clearing trees in the area which would become Hevwed Farms, and so is its true founder, though he would not be the first to plant seeds on its location. After he finished clearing trees he left his wife and seven children for another woman and fled Hiren. No further is known of him.

Fiver Hevwed. Fifth son of Camb Hevwed, he inherited the farm when his two older sisters and two older brothers all died from a polluted well. There was standing accusations of him purposely poisoning the well they drank from, but no proof.

Moth reeled from the paragraphs that unraveled before her. She was not in possession of a single ancestor who had not done something horrible.

She closed the book and stared anxiously into the fire to recover herself, and then slowly, slowly opened the book to the Barrowly family line.

Anis Barrowly. Not originally from Hiren, he was born in the wilds of Adavidan and served in the House of Pools, home to the swan ferrymaid, Lady Davida. Anis met Lord Correb during one of his visits, and a lifelong friendship was formed. Anis and his family travelled with Lord Correb back to Hiren and Lord Correb gave him a plot of land – now the Barrowly Farm. One of the few families in Hiren whose ancestors had not been born there, but had been chosen by Lord Correb.

Manty Barrowly. An intelligent farmer, Manty’s farm prospered and grew. With his wealth he founded what would become Hiren’s famous hospitalities; burrows in hills, stocked with food and kindling for any wanderer or vagrant in need

of shelter during harsh winters. This practice is still alive and well in Hiren to this day. Occasionally still called a Manty Shanty.

Moth was about to snap the book closed angrily when she saw another name.

Tarja Barrowly. Known for her gift with reindeers, she expanded the farm to include reindeer husbandry. By the time Tarja was in her early sixties, most of domestic reindeer used in Hiren – for riding or pulling carts and sleds – were descended from her herd.

Tarja was devoted to Lord Correb. She had been responsible for rescuing helra slave children from shamans and adopting them, ultimately having twelve adopted children. As they married and had children of their own, Tarja decided to build another, larger house called Poor Loom (white reindeer).

It took twenty years to build, and it was only finished when Tarja was in her late eighties. She dedicated the building to Lord Correb.

Moth stared at those words, then around at Poor Loom and the scratched out ancestral faces. She hastily grabbed up the book she’d read yesterday, scrounging through the pages until she found the passage on houses.

‘A house can be made sacred by its founders.’

Moth’s clenched her teeth, tapping her finger on the arm of her chair and looked again around Poor Loom, which groaned with old timber beams.

“You’re rejecting Quin, aren’t you?” she whispered to the place.

The darkness in the room moved.

But, she didn’t feel afraid. What was trying to take over – Quin, the spirits she had partnered with – was struggling mightily against the breath of old Tarja.

“I wish I knew how to help,” Moth said out loud, gently touching the fireplace, the tiles decorated with red reindeer. “You have an infestation.”

The fireplace was warm beneath her touch, and bit by bit – Moth wondered if it was because she was so sleep deprived – she began to see things moving in the darkness. Long tendrils, like scraps of yarn, floating in the corner of her eye.

Rubbing her face exhaustedly, Moth watched for a while.

It had to be kirose.

Poor Loom must be a breeding ground for them ever since Quin’s grandparents turned to shamanism – Moth could only imagine how much blood and helra the eyes drawn on the rafters had seen, how much flecks of helra were still floating around for kirose to consume.

Nasty kirose, Moth thought, angrily, sleepily. Then her eyes widened.

She remembered something Lord Correb had said.

‘My magpies have a beautiful ability to eat cruel spirits who slip into homes.’

Moth leapt up from her chair and threw open the windows. Magpies were gathered on the gable of the roof below her, some sleeping with their head under their wings, others awake and alert.

“Nokk!” Moth hissed, and up jumped her friend.

The magpie winged up to her and nibbled on her finger.

“My room is full of kirose,” she said nervously. “Can you…can you eat them? I think they’re giving me nightmares.”

Nokk looked outraged. His tail stood on end and he shrieked loudly.

A mass of magpies burst up from their sleep, gathering around Nokk and swept in through the window. They flew in circles through the room, swooping from rafter to rafter with open mouths, pulling kirose out of the air like worms from soil. They threw their heads back and swallowed it all greedily, then hungrily jumped off for more.

A frenzy of eating took place, magpies fighting each other for the best eating spots. As they went about this work, Moth could see the kirose more clearly – red, like she remembered them, when they had burrowed in her arms.

It took about ten minutes, but soon the room was clear. The shadows did not seem as dense, and the fear that hovered over it was gone.

Moth pulled Nokk into her arms and covered his head with kisses. He made a contented gargling noise, a sort of magpie purr, and ruffled up his feathers proudly.

“I’m going to leave the window open for you. Will you sleep in my room tonight?” Moth asked hopefully, and he nodded.

Moth finally felt safe to go into the cupboard bed, and buried herself under many blankets, while Nokk made himself a soft nest of pillows at the foot of the bed and kept watch.

With the gentle sounds of magpies fluffing their wings and flying in and out of the room, Moth was lulled asleep.

She slept the whole night through with no nightmares to disturb her, with Nokk keeping watch.