The Ferryman - Book 1

Arc 6 – The Moving Tents

A House Divided

Chapter 83:

Greater than Fog and Burns

A soft and trembling silence lay over Hiren – as one they beheld Moth, as one they went out to witness the first burial.

They dig the hole in moments. Moth stood over the pit – she could feel the cold from the exposed, frozen earth waft up against her face while she leaned over its mouth.

She extended a hand and dropped the fiery sunstones down into the dark.

There were no speeches or cheers. Everyone understood the sobriety of the moment, the beginning of the circle – the hidden underground wall of protection had begun to be built.

Perhaps there was more time in the day, perhaps more holes could be dug – but everyone, subdued, shaken down to the iron in their blood, urgently wanted to return home to their fireplaces.

Great, historical events were better mulled over after they happened – they are too frightening in the moment to be courageous.

Moth felt as if a mighty, unseen hand was pressing down on her. A mixture of euphoric power and terrible weakness. And suddenly, there was a real hand on her shoulder – Feldar.

His face was strained with deep thoughtful grooves, and he said quietly, “Milady, you need to go home. Let Sab take you – I’ll discuss a strategy for burials and schedules with the other leaders. Send the people home – they can bear this no longer.”

Moth swallowed back a wave of shakiness and nodded.

She looked to the farmers and said, “You are tired, it has been a heavy day for anyone – you have had to endure something Hiren has not experienced in seventy years. Go home to your fireplaces, to your beds – I will see you all soon, we will bury until the ring is completed.”

This had been what the farmers were waiting for – with weak eyes and slumped shoulders they bowed, unable to speak, and went home.

Lt. Grotte and Moth mounted horses, and together they returned the way they’d come from – back to Poor Loom.

Lt. Grotte’s white-knuckled hands clutched the reins. She was as tense as the farmers but didn’t have their understanding of what occurred, of the history and beliefs that led to that moment. Lt. Grotte furtively glared at the sky where the magpies had been, at the ground, at the horizon towards home – but she would not look at Moth. She muttered under her breath and kept patting her pockets for cigarettes that were long puffed away.

Moth could barely keep her head up, it was only from pure lingering adrenalin that she could stay atop the horse – when Poor Loom was finally in front of her, she dragged herself through the house to her room.

She closed the shutters on her windows, locked her door, and shut the curtains around her bed, curling up under the blankets to hide.

The burden of thousands of watching eyes was too much – she did not want to be seen for a long, long time.

*

Moth slept through the night, well into the next day.

Her body was sore at every joint as she awoke and became aware of who and where she was – it was as if she’d spent the night being ironed.

She stood, stretched, and hobbled to her washbasin to splash her face. She hovered over the bowl, unfocusedly looking down into the water at her distorted reflection – and gradually, she became aware of voices.

Voices downstairs in the kitchen, and voices outside.

Moth creaked open the shutters over the window. Down in the grove, it was busy with about five dozen people – familiar faces of Hiren, talking animatedly to one another and moving about busily. Moth saw Korho Copekivi, and her father Norwin, directing people, giving instructions and talking earnestly with concerned farmers.

Moth slowly closed the window.

She could not face them.

She went back to her cabinet bed and closed the curtains, hugging her knees, staring at the wall. Her heart thumped in her chest – she just wanted a little longer alone, a little longer without the colossal burden that was about to be placed on her.

But – there was a knock on her door.

Moth opened the door a crack, saying with a raspy voice – strained from so much shouting yesterday – “Yes?”

Feldar stood outside the door. He was dressed in much nicer clothes than his usual workwear, with a gorgeously embroidered blouse and woven shawl wrapped around his hips. He’d left his upper harness and wore only a polished, black leather broad belt, and his hair was freshly braided with rings.

“Lady Korraban,” he said. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

He did sound sorry. He sounded serious – there was none of the usual dismissive tone he had when talking with Moth.

With the door open, Moth could hear more clearly downstairs just how many people were in the kitchen – all spiritedly, some angrily, discussing something she couldn’t quite discern.

She began to tear up. “Feldar,” she said weakly, “Please. I can’t – I can’t face anyone. Not yet.”

Feldar searched her face and nodded. “I understand. I’ll tell them you’re still resting – they will respect that. But I need to ask you a few questions to help us finalize decisions.”

Moth reluctantly let Feldar into her dark room and sat down by the dead fire, curling up in a chair with her arms clutching her knees.

Feldar was quiet for a minute as he glanced around the room, before he slowly took a journal from his hip pouch and flipped it open, saying, “The leaders have been discussing a strategy to bury the sunstones, and we’ve settled on a method. Wherever the burial sites fall, the family that owns that property will dig the hole – if the site falls on common land, whichever family is nearest will dig the hole. This way, all the holes will be dug in only a few weeks.”

Moth looked up, worried. “What if the hole falls on an elderly person’s property? What if they can’t dig a ten-foot hole?”

“We’ve taken that into consideration as well. Their near neighbor will help them.”

Moth gave a terse nod and went back to staring into the empty fire.

Feldar tapped his journal with his pencil. “Although this all could be done and buried in a month, there is a problem – no one is willing to bury the sunstones. All the leaders refuse to be the ones who put the sunstones in the earth. They agree to dig, and they agree to bury, but a superstition has arisen that only you can touch and drop the sunstones into the earth – that misfortune will fall on anyone who tries it. Hiren wants you to be the one who puts the sunstone in the earth – this will be your duty. It will be how you honor their service, but it will take months to complete the burials this way, but I see no way out of it.”

Moth rubbed her eyes. “Yes. Alright. I’ll do that.”

Feldar stood up and went over to the fireplace. He stirred up the ash, found it truly died out, then bent down to start a fire. “I’ll be with you – Lt. Grotte as well. You won’t go to a single burial without us. I’ll make sure they don’t demand too much of you, that they don’t consume you.”

Covering her face, Moth couldn’t prevent the tears. She clenched her teeth to keep from making any noise, but holding back the noise caused her body to shake.

Feldar took out a handkerchief and handed it to her, waiting for her to calm down, before he said, “You’ll have more helpers this time, it’s being organized by others. It won’t be like the fogspots.”

“That’s not…” Moth said, struggling to breathe, “that’s not it. Feldar, I’m not who they think I am. I saw how everyone – how you looked at me yesterday, when the magpies brought the sunstones and I’m not…I’m not a ferrier! I’m just his bride, I’m nothing like him, I have no power or authority. I’m just Moth Hevwed. They are going to be disappointed.”

Feldar sat next to the fireplace, leaning against the warm tiles and thought over her words – for a long time. Moth could hear the clock ticking in the corner, and minutes passed by as Feldar sat, thinking, until he at last said:

“They’re disappointed with our ferryman, so they’ll be disappointed in you. People will always be disappointed by their selfish expectations.” He stood up, heading towards the door. “You need to eat. I’ll bring you some food.”

Stunned, Moth watched the crackling, moving fire spin around its log.

She could not articulate why his words made a terrible weight slide off her heart.

Shortly, he returned with salmon soup and rye bread. “I told the leaders you’re recovering – that you almost lost your voice and need to be alone to rest. I’ll arrange the schedule – within a week we’ll be travelling around Hiren burying the sunstones,

so you need to gather your strength. You’re going to be doing a lot of socializing and speeches – this will take us months to do.”

Moth agreed. She met his eyes and said earnestly, “Thank you Feldar. I couldn’t do this without you.”

He leaned on the doorframe and said, “That’s true.” Then he added, genuine frustration in his voice, “I could not move Hiren like this without you. You are more than a person now, you’re a symbol of something greater than fog and burns.”

*

The next few days were a time of rest for Moth. She heard people come and go in the grove and through the house – and though many leaders and farmers demanded to meet with Moth, Feldar and Lt. Grotte prevented anyone from seeing her. Any questions were asked through Feldar, and he relayed Moth’s answers.

Moth stayed in her room as much as she could, the only place she was confident she wouldn’t be seen. So many leaders – and even a few sentries – were so often at Poor Loom, that she rarely left her room until midnight.

Every so often when Moth went downstairs in the dark, she’d spy Lt. Grotte alone outside on the porch, her nose chapped and pink with the cold, the single nub of a cigarette casting a dim glow on her tense face. She was bent over in her chair, elbows on her knees as she stared with far-off eyes into the night, a single foot tapping anxiously in thought.

It seemed every other night Lt. Grotte was there.

Moth longed to talk to her, but she knew whatever turmoil Lt. Grotte was struggling through – the magpies, the sunstones, the ferryman – it was nothing Moth could help her with.

*

Moth awoke early one morning, enjoying her time by herself sitting next to the window writing in her journal.

Fewer and fewer people had been coming in the grove in the mornings, until it was rare to have a guest before noon – everyone was at their farms preparing for the burial – which meant Moth could now comfortably have her window open without risking being seen or shouted at.

It was only two more days before she would begin to bury the sunstones and speak with hundreds of people – but all that was on her mind was Nehem and Ira.

It was too soon to hope for their return, and Moth could not predict how long it would take Charlotte to deal with the guards.

A relief to her was journalling the concerns that she couldn’t discuss with anyone – only Lt. Grotte knew of their journey, but she was avoiding Moth at the moment, barely able to make eye contact when she delivered meals to Moth.

Moth sighed over her journal, slowly closing it up and replacing it in her hip pouch. That hip pouch was full of secrets – the map of pathways, Lander’s letter, and her journal – she never let it lay alone in her room, she always wore it or had it under her pillow.

Sipping her tea, Moth looked pensively out the window at the tops of the grove.

Something on the gable caught her eye – a magpie.

Jumping up, Moth flung open the windows excitedly, leaning halfway out over the windowsill. She hadn’t seen the magpies for nearly a week – after they’d dropped the sunstones, none of them had returned to the grove, she hadn’t been able to thank them yet, they’d all departed to recover from their long journey, but Moth didn’t know where they’d gone.

“Welcome back!” she sang out joyfully. “How are you?”

The magpie on the gable looked at her with unexpressive eyes and hopped away – but still close enough to watch her with a tilted head.

Moth was baffled. It was acting how all magpies used to behave around her, before she became Correb’s ambassador. Though she searched the treetops, she saw no other magpies.

Someone tapped on her door – Feldar. She’d begun to recognize how he knocked – so she shut her windows and answered him.

Feldar said, the moment Moth peered out of her room, “One of the leaders requested to meet with you personally, and I’m allowing it. You need to meet with him, his particular loyalty is important, and he has a great deal of influence with major Hiren families.”

Moth – seeing his face – agreed readily. “Who is it? Do I know him?”

“You’ve met him a few times before – Korho Copekivi.”

“Korho?” Moth rubbed her temple – she already had a headache from his shouting.

“Whatever your hastily formed opinions are of the man, there is nothing as advantageous as the Copekivi family’s loyalty. If you had no one else in Hiren, a single Copekivi would be enough. He’ll be here in an hour.”

After Feldar left, Moth looked over her clothes to decide on what to wear. She worried anything too simple would be offensive, too ostentatious might seem condescending. She chose simple clothes and lovely jewelry, including the tin tiara she’d worn when she went through Okatto.

She realized how used she’d become to wearing the horned tiaras. Agate had insisted on it for most outfits – the feeling of its weight on her head had become comforting to her, an unconscious signal that she was ready.

How strange, she thought, reaching up to touch it. It had once made her feel so embarrassed to stand in front of a mirror and see herself in one.

Moth had taken too long getting dressed and worrying over jewelry – she’d barely tugged on her hip pouch when she heard the noise – the loudness – that always accompanied Korho.

Composing herself, Moth descended the staircase and entered the kitchen, where Feldar and Korho were already sitting. Lt. Grotte was nowhere – the only sign of her was a splash of coffee left in a pot.

“Lady Korraban!” bellowed Korho, squinting at her through his one good eye. “We meet again! Aye, and with far less Hevwed’s around this time.”

Moth reluctantly approached the table, sitting down.

Korho leaned back in his chair, looking her over. Moth didn’t have to be concerned about wearing too much jewelry, as her amount seemed skimpy compared with Korho, whose hair jangled like windchimes every time he moved. As he was a tinsmith, every ornament was his own work.

“Well, Lady” he shouted at last, “I’d come to meet you on better footing, but right before I left, I got wind of something – you listen up too, Feldar.”

Feldar knit his brow. “What’s managed to happen in the last few hours?”

“The Pahkinna family! It’s the first place we’d decided to start you off, Lady, after a lot of arguing. Turns out, the old bat of the family, that grand old matriarch Sakara Pahkinna, has been bragging about you staying at her house. This fired up a lot of jealousy, and some farmers got talking: why won’t you honor them by staying at their house? They want the favor of the ferrier just the same. But their houses don’t fall on a burial spot and you’ve no reason to stay in their home. Now I got eight different leaders garbling in my ear over this mess and I need an answer from you about it.”

Moth hadn’t even thought – during this long trip around Hiren – about where she would stay, where she would sleep. She looked at Feldar, who was staring out the window.

So much nasty petty jealousy and nothing had even begun to take place. “Social visits are not the purpose of these burials!” she burst out, already exhausted. “That is the absolute last thing these people should even be thinking about – we are so close to protecting all of Hiren from this horrible fog and they want to moan about nothing!”

Korho shook his head with tinkling jingles. “Will you sleep in a wagon? Is that your plan – under a tree along the road? You got to sleep somewhere, and all the families are expecting you – you shun even one house and it’s going to be hell. You visit every single house in Hiren, and it’ll take you fifteen years.”

Moth had nothing to say, she buried her face in her hands.

“I’m going to need an answer, Lady,” said Korho, banging his hand on the table to get her attention.

Moth slowly lifted her head up, her neck hot.

“I’m thinking!” When he opened his mouth, she snapped, “Are you Copekivis only good for jabs and insults?”

“Aye, just like you’re only good for looking moon-eyed and fancy. If not for those mags, I never would’ve thought the ferryman chose you – god knows you’re not built for being a leader. If you didn’t have Feldar carrying you in a cradleboard this whole time, all this would’ve…”

Korho had leaned forward to better look at her during his insults, when – he fell entirely silent.

He stared at her, mesmerized.

Moth – her entire head hot from the argument – sat paralyzed by his sudden change.

Slowly, he tilted his head one way, and then the other, mouth open. He was in his own world – with uncertain hands, he reached forward and took Moth’s tiara.

Moth was too stunned to do anything.

He looked down at it in amazement, running his fingers gently over the scrolling, visceral ammonite patterns carved over the tin, then turned it upside down to look inside.

“How…did you get this?” he whispered, his eye darting up at her.

Moth crossed her arms. “All my clothes and ornaments were lent to me from the ferryman’s storehouse.”

Korho set the tiara down on the table breathlessly, unable to take his eyes off it. Slowly, he pushed it back towards her, and his eye darted to each of her ornaments – though nothing struck him so much as the tiara.

“That’s from us,” he said quietly. “From a long time ago.”

Moth had a faint, distant recollection of a note from Agate, detailing the maker was a Copekivi. The look on Korho’s face instantly softened her.

“It’s beautiful,” said Moth. She took the tiara, admiring it with new interest, and met his gaze. “It’s perfect. It was handpicked by Lord Correb’s trusted servant for my return to Hiren. Of course it was made by a Copekivi – no one smiths so excellently in all of Coewylle as your house.”

Korho looked down at his hands.

Feldar, during this entire exchange, had been looking out the window – occasionally glancing at them with little interest until they were both silent. Seeing they had nothing further to say, he waved to get their attention. “We’ll travel by tents. My aunt has some large travelling tents – wool, waterproof – that she’d lend us if I ask. It won’t be as comfortable as house-hopping, but it allows for a lot more privacy and freedom. You’ll not be dependent on a host.”

Moth and Korho were both relieved.

“Well, I’m glad someone here is thinking!” yelled Korho. “Solved and sealed. Alright then, Lady, I’ll give that as my answer to the other leaders to get them out of

my ear. I’ll tell that Pahkinna not to prepare a room for you and stop boasting about your stay.”

Moth sighed. “Please do.”

“With that though, you’re going to find many people following you around in their own tents – or just sleeping straight on the ground. It’s going to become a whole procession,” said Korho, half to her and half to Feldar.

Feldar twisted his mouth, realizing his point. “Lt. Grotte and I will be travelling with her.”

“What about a maid? Servants? Moving a tent every day, Lady here needs help with her fancy dresses and such.”

“You have an idea?”

Korho sucked on his teeth. “My girl Heikka will do for a maid. My boys will help with the tents. I can be a go-between for Lady and the other leaders – help keep the peace. Mm, aye.” He nodded decisively and said, “my Copekivis will get it done. Wife would enjoy being involved – she loves this sort of mess.”

Moth’s pure instinct was to refuse the chaos that was offered her, but she remembered Feldar’s advice, swallowed, and offered her hand to Korho. “Thank you, I would love the help from your family.”

Korho took her hand and shook it – Moth braced for a crushing shake, but his hand was gentle. “We both love Hiren. We’ll do what we can for it – though its half full of fools and half full of family.”

Moth nodded solemnly. “I can’t decide which half is worse to deal with.”

Korho, surprised, burst out in bellowing laughter.