The Ferryman - Book 1

Chapter 86:

Pahkinna Haunting

They had been riding on Pahkinna property for miles. From her vantage on the highway, Moth saw sprawling farms littered with storehouses, toolhouses, barns, and homes. The Pahkinna family bought adjoining properties and never moved far away from one another, which was how they’d survived the fog that ravaged their properties. Not a single Pahkinna had to move out of Hiren.

They were a large and old family, related to over half of Hiren, including the Hevwed’s – though Moth had never been to their main home, only ever seeing them at celebrations, festivals, and offerings.

Ama, Feldar, and Lt. Grotte – with Moth at the head – rode through the thick windbreak, where a tidy, broad path ran through, leading them out to the crest of the hill that overlooked the main home.

Matriarch Pahkinna lived at this main home, at the heart of Packipike, in the oldest house on the property.

This main house was similar to Poor Loom – except where Poor Loom was sagging, splintering, and broken, this place looked fresh as the day it was built. It was a mighty three-story log building with a broad welcoming porch, brightly painted shutters and ornately carved window trim – it had a multitude of glittering windows, some stained-glass, that lit up in the sun.

Surrounding this grand old home were barns, stables, storehouses, pens, and smaller log homes of her many relatives that lived close to her – and embracing all of this was a tall log fence set with wood gates.

The gates looked as though it had never been closed since it’d been made.

From where Moth stood, she saw that this small village was full – full to overflowing – with Pahkinnas, all dressed for a celebration, all busily running back and forth between the houses, preparing a great meal on dozens of long tables. A platform had been laid out on the grass and a dozen musicians were lazily waiting to be called on as they drunk beer. The place vibrated with activity like a beehive.

Moth reflexively yanked on the reins of Aggo, who stopped.

There were easily two-hundred people below.

She paused, comforted herself in the clothes she was wearing and the horned tiara on her head, straightened her back, and rode down to the celebration.

Moth rode from the shadow of the windbreak into the light, starkly obvious on the steep road that led to the main home. Soon, she saw people pointing towards her and spreading the news to the other – the drone of the place erupted into a roar.

The crowds rushed towards the gates, but – following orders – they did not cross the gates to go meet Moth. They craned to look through the gate, and come climbed up on top of the fence to look over the top, waving and shouting joyfully to welcome Moth as she approached.

By the time Moth got to the gate, a small committee was there to meet her.

There stood that old matriarch, Sakara Pahkinna.

Mrs. Pahkinna was dressed – like Moth – in old Hiren clothing, complete with torque, temple rings, bangles, coin embellishment, wire wrapped fringe, and chain brooches. She was very small, her face circular and withered like a dried apple, with a broad smile, and round cheeks so large it made her deep black eyes squint.

With her was a group of serious looking men and woman – some were her close relatives, her nieces or nephews since she had no children, while others were some of the twenty-four leaders representing Hiren, including Korho Copekivi.

Mrs. Pahkinna stepped forward, bent over a thick walnut cane, with a young man nearby to help if she needed his arm.

“Our Lady of Korraban!” exclaimed Mrs. Pahkinna. Her voice had grown weak with age but was still clear and authoritative. “We welcome you, the bride of Lord Correb, to the Packipike farms, and to here – Paapacki.”

Paapacki was inscribed in proud letters over each of the gates. At her words, those who were in Paapacki erupted in welcoming cheers, and several young people on the fence waved frantically at Moth, bellowing, “Here, Lady Correb, up here! Hello!”

Moth tried to be a stern as the leaders who were standing nearby, but the Pahkinna family were too rambunctious for her to take herself seriously – she waved enthusiastically back at them, and then dismounted from Aggo, went up to Mrs. Pahkinna, and bowed low to touch her shoe.

There was an audible grunt of confusion from the leaders, but Moth could not imagine treating so respected an elder any differently than she would Clement.

She was still Moth. If they were going to be disappointed in her regardless of what she did – as Feldar had warned – she might as well do what she wanted, follow her instincts, do as she had been raised by her mother.

“Thank you for welcoming me,” Moth exclaimed, standing up and taking Mrs. Pahkinna’s hand. “It is an honor to be welcomed into one of the oldest homes in Hiren.”

“And by one of the oldest people,” chortled Mrs. Pahkinna, patting Moth’s hand. “And may I say, Lady Korraban, now that I can see you up close, how very beautiful you are. Out of all of Hiren, I’m proud you were who was sent to Correb – you are truly the best we had to offer.”

After every sentence from either Moth or Mrs. Pahkinna, there was another burst of cheers from Paapacki. Against all feelings of precaution, Moth was

starting to feel like it was a festival day, she was growing energetic, eager for the music to start and the food to be served.

“Not to interrupt,” Korho roared, for once his voice being drowned out by the greater noise of cheering Pahkinnas. “But we have a long ride to the burial spot.”

Apparently, he’d said what the other leaders had been reluctant to say, and they nodded in unison.

Mrs. Pahkinna casually smacked Korho’s shin with her cane, saying placidly, “You Copekivis have the patience of a bull in heat. But I’ll not take any more of your time.”

Mrs. Pahkinna reached onto her belt and removed a bag of sunstones. Because of the long narrow size of her property, it had multiple burial spots. “Please excuse me the journey to every site, old as I am – I’ll attend the last burial and together we can all return to Paapacki. Accept in my stead Ivan here.”

The young man at her side took the bag of sunstones from Mrs. Pahkinna and bowed low to Moth. Like most Pahkinna’s he had a red tint to his hair – despite his hair being so dark – freckles, and hooded eyes.

His facial features, for the most part, looked exactly like Vincent from the house of the dead – even the way he braided his hair was identical.

Moth, disoriented, held out a hand to him and he shook it.

“Do you…” Moth began, but restrained herself, and said, “As the representative of Pahkinna, please ride alongside me.”

Somberly, Ivan Pahkinna nodded – despite his young age, he had the heaviness of a weary adult, and the static professionalism that went with it. He kissed Mrs. Pahkinna on the cheek and then mounted a slender gelding.

The other leaders – as well as Lt. Grotte and Ama – mounted their animals and Ivan Pahkinna led the procession towards the first site.

Moth rode alongside Ivan. There was a fair amount of space between her and the riders behind her, which she was thankful for – she wanted to talk privately to Ivan. She studied his profile – identifying even more obvious similarities between him and Vincent. He even looked a touch like Lander.

“How old are you, Ivan?” Moth asked.

Giving a polite smile, he answered, “I recently turned twenty.”

“You are well-trusted by your matriarch for being only twenty.”

“I’ve been fortunate.”

All Vincent had told her about the Pahkinna family was flashing through her mind. “I think ‘fortunate’ is a humble thing to say. I know your studies must be rigorous.”

For a moment, Ivan’s polite façade cracked, and he repeated with a flicker of pride, “Rigorous.”

“I remember hearing from a Pahkinna I met the very high standards held for the best of the family.”

“We are fortunate that the heir of this place will not be based on direct bloodline but on merit,” said Ivan, with genuine feeling. “One of worth and capability will be chosen to lead this family on the sad day of our matriarchs ferrying.”

He suddenly stopped himself at his last word, looking uncertainly at her.

“I know my husband will take care of her on that sad day,” Moth said gently, encouraging him on, but he clenched his jaw, beholding her with fresh eyes, and locked his head forward.

Determined to crack him back open, Moth pried further, “I don’t know many Pahkinna’s – but one I know a little bit, perhaps you know him too? Vincent?”

The array of emotions that rippled across Ivan’s face was too many for Moth to count – but dominating all of them was sorrow.

“He’s my brother,” he managed to say.

Moth stared at him.

Ivan quickly corrected himself. “Or I should say, he is my cousin – but my parents adopted him when he was twelve. To me, he was always my older brother.”

Vincent had never mentioned that detail.

“I’m surprised, milady, that you chose to associate with him after he became a sentry.” With every word, Ivan’s face grew more grieved. “He wasn’t…allowed back to Paapacki.”

Tears stung Moth’s eyes, and she leaned close to him. “I am so sorry. As his brother, that must’ve been an unbearable separation.”

“It’s now a permanent separation – until I cross the river as well.” Ivan looked at her with his glinting, intelligent eyes, and in that moment, he most resembled Vincent. “It strikes me that our Lord Correb has a strange job – one that is half separations, half reunions. I will be ferried one day, and I will reunite with Vincent, and those who know me will be left behind until we all are together.”

Moth had no response.

The hooves stomping on the loam filled the quiet noon air. They crossed field after field, through several windbreaks, orchards, and groves, until the groves began clumping closer together and it turned to mighty pineland. They followed a logging trail for several miles, until Ivan led them down a recently made trail that opened into a natural clearing.

Twine had been wrapped around the surrounding trees, and crisscrossed overhead like a clothesline. Hanging on the twine were dozens of rags dyed bright red, as well as tin coins and magpie feathers – all to mark the area, as well as ward off spirits.

A ten-foot-deep hole gaped in the center of the clearing. Surrounding it were stones, erected as a boundary and a marker – they’d been carved all over in common glyphs – spirals, ripples, sekalo, and figures.

The feeling of the exposed hole filled the clearing – the smell of deep dug earth, the cold that emitted from it, the darkness that puddled in its throat – the whole clearing seemed to tip down into the hole.

It was then that Moth remembered so reluctantly thar Korraban – Hiren – is Correb’s body.

If you cut a human, you can feel the warmth of their blood. Moth thought, hovering over the hole. Maybe Ferriers are the opposite – maybe they’re cold as the earth they’re made from.

“Lady Korraban?”

Moth looked over. Ivan held the bag of sunstones. He removed ten and handed them to Moth, letting their weight and luster clink one by one onto her palm.

Moth turned back to the gaping wound of earth, the deep puncture.

She stretched out her arm and dropped them in.

Hastily, as if afraid it would spit the sunstones out, the leaders around her overturned barrels of earth until the hole was mounded up – then they stomped on it, packing it down until it was flat, and together they rolled the ornamental stones over the burial spot.

They completed this in moments – in even fewer moments, they were on their horses again to the next site, half a mile away in the woods.

There were five sites in total, and they all blurred together – each site was in the rich dense pineland of Packipike, each site identical to the one before, until they came to the last one.

Here, dozens of Pahkinna’s were waiting, including Mrs. Pahkinna, who had travelled there by wagon with a comfortable pile of cushions and blankets to make the journey easier. In addition to the usual marker stones, there was one the height of a man.

When Moth rode into the clearing with her companions, everyone began cheering again until Mrs. Pahkinna casually raised a finger, and they all stopped.

Ivan hurried to Mrs. Pahkinna’s side and gave her the bag of sunstones.

Moth approached Mrs. Pahkinna with a bow – not as low this time – and Mrs. Pahkinna counted out the final ten sunstones needed for her property.

Just as before, Moth stood on the edge of the pit and dropped the sunstones into the darkness.

Moth expected more cheers from the enthusiastic Pahkinna’s, but when she turned back around, she found them staring at her expectantly.

They want a speech, she realized, alarmed.

Shuffling her thoughts around for any helpful idea, Moth cleared her throat.

“On this day, in spring,” she said, not sure where she was going, “Lord Correb, ferrier of Korraban, has protected your home with sunstones, to ward off the fog.” Here she paused, and a simple phrase floated into her mind.

“Correb tills.”

“Correb tills!” They shouted with clapping and laughter and began burying the stones.

They made quick work of it, stomping down the dirt until it was flat as glass, moving the ornamental markers into place, all leading to the man-sized stone slab.

Moth saw it had been inscribed with words:

March 13th 890

The sunstones were brought down from the Marches to stop the fog

Given to Packipike by Lady Mere Correb of Korraban

Bride of the Ferryman

Marked below:

“If you wouldn’t mind milady?” said Mrs. Pahkinna, handing Moth a piece of chalk. “We’ll have it carved.”

Moth stared blankly at her. “What would you like me to mark?”

“Well, now, we thought an insignia would do, such as the king has.”

Struggling, Moth stared at the blank slab and tried to think what her insignia should be. It shouldn’t be something related to Hevwed’s – it would have to be something that belonged to her, but also included Lord Correb in some manner, to show her now as his wife.

With an unsteady hand, Moth pressed the chalk onto the stone and marked out the strange, rough image of a moth with bird feet.

She was embarrassed by her own drawing, raised up so highly by the preceding words, yet it pleased the Pahkinna clan immensely, and they gathered around to admire the epitaph, with their stone carver immediately setting to immortalize the drawing.

“Well now,” said Mrs. Pahkinna happily, satisfied. “Let us eat. If you would join us, Lady Korraban, I would be honored.”

Moth was entirely ready for a meal.