The Ferryman - Book 1

Chapter 91:

Helric Pollution

The two days were gone. The laundry barely finished drying before the whole caravan had to break camp and prepare for the next stretch of the journey.

Moth dug through every outfit she had, everything Agate packed for her, searching desperately for some plain clothes.

I will not meet Priscilla looking like some sort of actor on a stage, Moth thought irritably, ignoring the many labels on the clothes detailing when they should be worn. The simplest thing she could find was a riding outfit. This will have to do, she thought, defeated.

She was dressed and out the door without needing Heikka’s help.

Korho was waiting for her with Aggo and his horse – also a piebald gelding. “I’ll be helping you with the burial today, Lady.”

Moth was pleased to see him. “Where’s Lt. Grotte and Feldar?”

Scratching his neck, Korho said apologetically, “Feldar – ah, well, I told him he should help with the camp today, give him a change of pace. I know how to deal with Maxa better anyways. As for that dirtguard, she’s over there talking with her own kind – said she’d meet up with us later.”

Sentries – none Moth knew or recognized – had arrived at their camp. They stood away from the bustle of the vagrants, chatting and smoking with Lt. Grotte.

Moth watched her. Lt. Grotte felt like a stranger. Heavily, Moth followed Korho out of the campsite, going up the road.

“She’s giving her report on us,” said Korho, wrinkling his nose. “Don’t know why you and Feldar let a stray like that in your bed.”

Moth watched over her shoulder as the camp slowly slid out of view. She sighed. “If you had to have any sentry following us, which would you choose?”

Korho gave a stubborn shrug as his answer.

They rode in silence for a while, but Korho was a talker, and soon he was muttering to himself, occasionally whistling or humming, and then said to Moth, “Setting up by the tributary was smart. Got them all scrubbed and happy – almost a pretty bunch.”

Moth grinned.

Grumbling, Korho added, “Now I just need to figure out how to feed them. My wife will be here soon, bringing up supplies, but we’re emptying our storehouses faster than our fields can fill them.”

“I have a bit of money that Lord Correb gave me, though I doubt it would feed them for long.”

“I’ll only take that as a last resort. It’s no lasting solution.” Korho shook his head, sighing. “I’m no lasting solution. Half a year from now if we’re done with these burials, what will they do? Am I just going to leave them? Copekivi farms cant hold all of them, lord knows my lot is overfull as it is, not enough acreage for the need. Most of them are ready and eager to work, they just don’t have a place to land, to keep them safe, with their homes torn out from under them. God knows their neighbors won’t make room.”

Moth listened intently, nodding along with Korho. “I’ve been thinking on it too. I’ve…not come up with any answer, though.”

Korho tapped his chin, looking at her sideways. “Well now, I’ve wondered. Maybe you could throw your weight around, force people, like. Demand Hiren be generous with them.”

“Me!” exclaimed Moth, seeing his serious face and bursting into laughter. “Korho, what does that even mean, ‘demand they be generous’?”

Korho held out a hand, as if directing a battalion, saying dreamily, “God, can you imagine? You go back to that stump, where the sunstones rained down, and tell Hiren ‘take one of the vagrants and let them live with you!’ If everyone in Hiren took one, the problem is solved. Theres more than enough room, people are just selfish.”

“And split up families? The four-year-old lives with one family, his ma with another?” Moth asked, trying to keep from smiling. “And how would I get people to do that? You can’t force people to be generous!”

“Tell them the magpies will peck out their eyes if they don’t. Tell them Lord Correb demands it.”

Moth twisted her mouth. “I do not have that sort of authority.”

“Are you sure?”

She was not sure. They rode in silence again for a while, both thinking of how to solve the vagrant issue in Hiren, when Moth’s mind drifted and she asked somberly, “Is Feldar alright?”

“Aye, he’ll be fine once he can clear his head and think. Him and Maxa – they don’t get along.”

“He told me he worked at the millhouse for two summers.”

“I got him the job.” Korho scowled down at his hands. “I do regret that.”

“So Maxa was his boss back then?”

“He sure as hell was. God, had I known what Maxa was like, I never – never would’ve sent Feldar up here. He was only seventeen. He wanted to work as a log driver, wanted to grit his hands up with hard work – he and I both knew he’d been too coddled by his parents, too privileged, but…” Korho petered off, his one good eye looking around at the dense pines, “this wasn’t just hard work, this was cruel.

The log drivers decided they hated every last drop of him and needed to tear him to nothing. Anyone but Feldar would’ve ran – or at least not come back for a second summer. It got worse then. They threw him in the-” Korho stopped himself. He waved his hand. “Ah, but I’m telling someone else’s story. All of it to say, Maxa goaded the log drivers on, pushed them until it got out of hand. He’s a ruthless tyrant.”

Moth’s hand fidgeted with Aggo’s reins, and she patted his mane to sooth herself. “And no one…can do anything about it?”

Korho gave an irritated snort. “Maxa has too many deals with the rich folk of Magden, Hisemog – half a dozen other cities. He gives them lumber, the best lumber around. Half the trains come up to Hiren because of him. Those same rich folk own the guards.” Korho bared his teeth even thinking about it. “People have tried to get justice. Lives have been lost up here under Maxa’s watch. No matter how many widows go to the guards, the guards have one order from their rich bosses: let Maxa do whatever he wants.”

Moth’s heart sank. She wished the burial sites had not fallen on his property.

Korho shook his head. “It’s going to be hard for all of us – me especially – but if we want to bury on his property, we’re going to have to keep our heads down. If he wants to mock and goad us, we need to be careful we don’t kick back too hard, or he’ll have us thrown off his property with those same bribed guards.”

“Why does he allow us here?”

“His brother Rupert still co-owns the land and believes burying the sunstones is important for Hiren. Also, half the woodcutters who work for Maxa are superstitious – they think if the sunstones don’t get buried, they’ll be cursed.” Korho scratched his lip. “Might’ve encouraged Rupert to spread that idea. Ah, speaking of woodcutters.”

The sound of sawing, though muffled, drifted through the trees, as they rode into a clearing.

For a moment, Moth thought she’d ridden out of the forest – so many trees had been cut down that it was almost a field, with sunlight streaming down onto her skin. Plumes of sawdust filled the air, woodcutters shouting back and forth over the creaking, snapping, and incessant sawing. None of them were dressed as woodcutters typically did, no one wore the soleless leather slippers, tin, and pack aprons. Maxa’s workers wore thin, barely patched clothes, large clunky boots, and scrawny leather harnesses that dug into their shoulders – some had shoved rags underneath it to keep it from hurting.

Though some stopped to stare, dead-eyed, at Moth, most gave her an irritated look and kept working. There were a few who pushed up their hats to get a better view of her – pointing excitedly and chatting with each other – but a skinny foreman passed by them, smacking their heads to get them back to work. He approached Korho.

“You’re distracting the workers!” said the man, through a mouthful of tobacco that dribbled down his chin. He spat and rubbed his face, looking Moth up and down with a pursed smile. “Distracting me, too.”

Korho reached over and grabbed the foreman by the nose, dragging him closer. “Now Gauzlin, we’re both busy. Tell me where Rodin Tunhofe is, and which way to the burial spot?”

Struggling out of Korho’s iron grip, Gauzlin whined, “It’s down that trail! It’s been cleared and dug weeks ago – Rupert made us. And I’ve not seen one snip of Rodin!”

“Thank you kindly.” Korho nodded to Moth and they rode down the trail.

“Was that wise?” Moth whispered. “Grabbing him like that? You said we shouldn’t get riled up.”

“Only one I’m worried about is Maxa. Don’t get me wrong – if any of these fools start acting disrespectful, Lady, I’ll chat with them. If I thought we shouldn’t defend ourselves coming through here, I’d leave you behind and go bury the stones myself until we leave his property – no one here’s going to lay a finger on you.”

He said it casually, matter-of-factly, like a father, and Moth immediately began to tear up. “Thank you.”

He shrugged, scanning the trail ahead, muttering to himself.

The trail was a quarter of a mile long, but bent its way back and forth like a snake around the bigger trees, leading at last to an opening.

It could barely be called a clearing – more like a gap. Underbrush and pine needles had been swept back, and a deep hole starkly fell down in front of them, nestled between roots.

It must’ve been agony for them to dig – they had to saw through the enormous roots to get ten feet down. Moth dismounted, leaning over to look, when she saw how blue the hole was.

The entire burial hole was drenched in bright blue helra.

And at the bottom of the blue hole, there was a young man.

“Korho!” she exclaimed, jerking back from the hole – but Korho saw.

Cursing, Korho jumped from his horse and leaned down, calling out, “Are you alright, lad? Are you alive?”

A weak, raspy voice answered:

“Water.”

Korho snatched up his canteen and tossed it down, then patted his pockets and tossed down a knife. “Cut your ropes with this.”

Moth’s head buzzed. She couldn’t understand what was happening.

Korho tied a rope to the pommel of his horse, looping the other end, and lowered it down. He watched intently, then, he led his horse backwards, slowly, slowly, pulling the boy out of the hole.

He was about fifteen.

Wearing only underwear, he was shivering terribly – Korho hastily took off his shawl and wrapped the boy in it, rubbing his arm to get the warmth back in him.

His wrists and ankles were bleeding from the ropes.

Korho gave him some travelling cake, urging him to drink more water. The boy’s eyes were hollow and he looked far off into the trees, but he ate and drank.

“What’s you name? Who’s boy are you?” Korho asked.

Struggling to speak, he said, “Fritz. My pa is a Rothkid.”

“You’re working for Maxa, then?”

The boy could only nod.

“How long have you been down there?”

“A…day. Maybe longer.”

Korho sighed and helped him to his feet. “I’m guessing it was supposed to be a funny kep, leaving you here for us to find. Are you headed back to the logging camp or do you want me to send for your family?”

The boy darted back from Korho, eyes fearful. “Don’t tell my mother! Don’t tell anyone.”

Korho held up his hands and nodded.

Shaking so badly he could barely stand, Fritz slunk off into the woods towards the camp, his bare feet curling in pain against the twigs and rocks.

Moth, dizzily, leaned against the tree.

“It’s so blue,” she whispered.

The boy – to Moth’s eyes – was soaked from head to heart in that strange blue liquid. She looked back at the vibrant hole, drenched in helra, and noticed it was writhing with kirose.

“Step back from the hole,” Moth urged Korho, tugging him away.

“What?” he demanded. “What is it?”

“You don’t see it?”

Korho’s face tensed. “Lady, for god’s sake, you’re scaring the shit out of me.”

Moth pointed to where he was standing, in a pool of helra and wriggling kirose. “The helra!” she exclaimed. “You can’t see it?”

Cussing and stepping back again, finally out of the helra, Korho said, “What – you can see helra? How?” Then he realized. “Ah. You’re his wife.”

“But you do know what helra is, right?” Moth asked. “Kirose, curses?”

“Course I do. I have three mothers-in-law.”

Moth looked down into the pit, her hands clenched tight. She wished her magpies were there to clean up the kirose. “This whole area is cursed. We can’t bury like this. This place needs to be cleansed – don’t let anyone else come here or…” Moth watched as kirose writhed, burrowing into her and Korho’s legs. She swallowed, gritting her teeth to keep from squirming – she didn’t want to scare Korho. “Or they’ll get infected.”

Korho nodded solemnly, waiting for further instructions.

Clearing her throat, Moth said, “did any of your mothers-in-law ever mention how to cleanse curses?”

“No, but one’s travelling with us – we can ask.”

*

They returned to the caravan, which had gone ahead to their campsite and were setting up tents.

Heikka saw them and hurried up to her father, Korho, kissing his hand. “You’re back so soon!”

“We were delayed a bit, my sweet. Where’s your grandma?” Korho asked, patting her head.

“She’s started the dinner.”

Korho and Moth hurried towards the end of the camp, Korho telling Moth, “My first wife, upon her untimely death, left me her ma. She grew up in pineland, she should know a trick or two.”

On the edge of camp steamed a bath-sized cauldron. Seated on a tall chair, hovering over the cauldron, stirring occasionally, loomed Korho’s mother-in-law. She had crooked teeth and a spray of black warts across her cheeks, her thin hair wrapped in a braid no thicker than a twig. She wore layers of exquisite shawls and jewelry, their luster glinting in the light of the fire.

Sitting on a stump nearby, peeling onions, was Ticky. He gave them a bashful wave.

“You greedy dog, the food isn’t ready yet,” rasped the tiny old woman at Korho.

“I’m not here for the food, hag, I’m here on ferrier business.”

The grandma squinted, her weak eyes focusing on Moth, and then she smiled kindly. “Well then, I hope I can help, Lady.”

Moth approached her stool, taking her hand, and asked, “I wanted to know if you can see helra?”

Nodding slowly, the old woman said, “I used to, but my eyes don’t see much of anything anymore – not further than I can reach a ladle.”

Moth quickly explained the scene at the burial site, and the staining helra and kirose. The old woman listened, even as she stirred and added chopped vegetables to her soup.

“Cleansing something like that is easy,” she said, waving her spoon dismissively. It was only then that Moth noticed the old woman was missing a pinky finger – it’d been cut near the knuckle. “Just douse it with water from a spring. But – and listen with your good ears – it needs to be carried in tin. Tin! Not wood or clay. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” Moth and Korho said.

“You need to wash up too – don’t need to be a whole bath, just poured over the hands and feet. And don’t boil it! Fire ruins it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Ticky looked up from the onions, his eyes running. “You’ll be wanting a spring, then?”

Moth nodded. Had she been in the lowland fields, she would’ve known where the nearest springhouse was from memory.

“There’s one real close,” assured Ticky. “How much water will you be wanting?”

The splattered, dripping helra still fresh in her mind, Moth answered quietly, “About three barrels worth.”

Ticky nodded, stretching as he stood up. “I’ll fetch it.”

“Take my eldest boy and the wagon. And take my brown gelding. Drive to the burial site when you’re done,” said Korho. “I’ll scrounge up everyone’s tin buckets.”

*

Within an hour, Moth was back at the burial site with Korho and a cart full of tin spring water.

Ticky fetched it all in milk churns. Though made of aluminum, it was plated in tin – which Korho’s mother-on-law said was fine, as long as the spring water didn’t touch anything not-tin.

As a precaution, Ticky had brought more than Moth asked, and stood at the ready.

“We’ll pour it in the hole first,” said Moth, nervously watching the kirose.

Korho swung up the milk churns and flung the water into the burial hole.

The sound was hard for Moth to understand.

Like warm water poured over ice – hissing and popping as it split.

The kirose, once the spring water touched them, made that noise and their bodies snapped like thread, the bright red color fading from them, and melted away.

Korho dumped in another churn of water, then looked at Moth quizzically. “Well?” he asked. “Is it doing anything?”

She stared with wide eyes into the pit. “It’s working.”

Korho muttered as he fetched up a third milk churn. “This is what I get for parading around with a ferrier’s wife. Realm of spirits and all – I don’t like what I can’t see.”

“Use that on your boots,” said Moth.

Korho poured the water over his shoes, and the kirose snapped off.

Moth had been reluctant to look at herself. She drew up her skirt and gagged when she saw the kirose wriggling into her feet – half solid, half shadowy things, able to easily pass through the wall of her shoes. She took a milk churn and doused her feet in the spring water – hearing them hiss and pop.

“There’s some leading up the path,” said Ticky, pointing to the shaky steps that the boy had taken away from the pit. “I’ll douse it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ticky,” said Moth, squinting at the faint kirose lurking in the helric footsteps. She realized what he’d said, and marveled, “You can see it too?”

Ticky bobbed his head. “Oh, aye. Born able to – scared my ma with my rambling, growing up, seeing things in the forest, you know.”

Moth laughed nervously at that, not knowing what he meant.

Korho gathered up all the milk churns, returning them to the cart, and then huffed to get their attention. “Well, is it all doused and cleared?”

Moth and Ticky looked around and nodded.

Korho sighed, clapping his hand together in relief. “Well, back we go for the day.”

“We should bury before we go!” Moth exclaimed. “I don’t mind using a shovel, I can help with covering the sunstones.”

Korho squinted at her. “We got no sunstones, Lady, remember? Our assigned leader isn’t here – Rodin has them, but I don’t know where the hell he is. We’ve got to wait another day.”

Frustrated but resigned, Moth nodded. She looked at the cleansed pit and asked, “Should we – should we cover it with a tarp?”

“A tarp?” asked Korho. “That’ll not keep some preening fools from throwing in another lad. I’ll have a talk with that idiot Gauzlin – though there’s not much I can do if he ignores me. We’ll just have to get used to fishing kids out of pits and carrying around spring water.” He sighed, looking around at the suffocating trees. “The pineland’s a hell of a place and we haven’t even come across one shaman.”