The Ferryman - Book 1

Chapter 88:

Pineland Politics

“Lady Korraban?” came the sweet but raspy voice of a young woman. “I was told you like to get up around sunrise, but is it too early?”

Moth peeled her eyes open, feeling as if she’d just been fished out of a bog.

Where am I? She thought. Everything around her was off-white and warmly glowed with light, but it felt so cold outside of her blanket. Flailing weakly, she sat up and rubbed her face, her head throbbing and her whole body from nail to peg was sore.

A warm, wet rag was handed to her, to help her wipe her crusty eyes and revive herself, then a cup of water – which she drank down thirstily – and then a hot cup of foul sentry coffee was pressed into her hands.

“I’ll prepare you a bath, so take your time waking up,” said the young woman, who promptly left.

Moth, shivering, clung onto the coffee, and reached over to tug the blankets over her, only to discover Ama asleep next to her, coiled in the blankets like a caterpillar in a cocoon.

Moth yanked on the blanket until, inch by inch, she was covered and Ama unrolled and lay sprawled diagonally across the bed.

Finally a bit warmer and able to enjoy her coffee, Moth looked around her room.

The floor was dozens of rugs. Her bed, though big and comfortable, was nothing more than a large cot. The walls were unbleached wool, propped up with oak poles.

Oh, the tent, Moth realized at last, her mind coming out of a syrupy mess.

She could not remember much from last night, after meeting Marvaa Hevwed. She remembered more dancing, more drinks, and then feeling so tired she could barely stand.

Lt. Grotte and someone else had taken her by horse away from Paapacki and got her to bed – she faintly remembered Ama crawling into her bed an hour later.

“Ama!” Moth said, poking her with her foot.

Ama was dead to the world, each limb spread out like a star. She radiated heat, and Moth kept her feet on her to warm up. Some time passed like this, sipping her coffee and warming up – the tent was far colder than a log house.

“Milady?”

Moth looked up. A flap opened on the tent wall, and the young woman from before poked her head in. She was round-faced with a cloud of golden curls, a wide flat nose, and a gap tooth – about seventeen.

“Are you ready for a bath?”

Moth nodded and got up. “Yes thank you. Ah, do I know your name?”

“It’s Heikka. Korho’s daughter. I’m going to be your maid while you travel in the tents.”

Moth was astounded someone so quiet could be related to him. After she thanked Heikka profusely – she accepted it with an awkwardly reserved face – Heikka dressed Moth in a bathrobe and led her outside to a covered awning that led to a neighboring tent.

Lt. Grotte stood next to the tent flap, holding a poleax, and with a saber sheathed at her hip. She’d been assigned to guard the tent while Moth bathed.

Her eyes were spectacularly bloodshot, and she croaked as Moth passed by, “You get up at dawn?”

Moth apologized as Heikka ushered her into the tent. A wood tub had been set up with piping hot water, scented with mint. Heikka attended to every possible need, even stoking several braziers to keep the tent warm.

She’d also brought Moth the clothes she was to change into.

“I looked through the clothing packages you have,” said Heikka. “The written letters are incredibly helpful, so full of information. Agate I think it said her name was. Is she from the House of the Dead?”

Moth’s mouth went dry as she glanced at Heikka. She wracked her brain, hoping Agate hadn’t put anything in the letter too private. “Yes.”

Heikka gestured to the outfit for the day. “This is what she recommended for travelling while performing the burials.”

Exquisite as usual. An emerald riding skirt and coat for the cold weather. She barely had time to admire Agate’s choice before Heikka rushed her into the outfit, saying, “I’m sorry we must hurry, they need to pull down the tents to move it.”

Moth was dressed and ushered out of the tent. In the hour she’d been in the tub, the tent she’d slept in had been emptied of all furniture, the supportive poles removed, and the tents collapsed.

A gaggle of Copekivi’s were hoisting furniture onto carts, and Korho and Lauri grappled pieces of the tent, folding it and loading it onto a wagon.

As Moth stood there, amazed at the busyness and progress, Heikka urged her on, saying, “You don’t need to worry about any of this milady, they’ll be awhile. You, the sentry, and Mr. Tine will be going on ahead to the next burial – us Copekivi’s will follow.”

Feldar showed up soon after Heikka said these words, leading Aggo and Cobbler with him. Aggo was looking beautiful under Lt. Grotte’s care – she tended to him last night, after Moth had been put to bed.

Moth was beginning to feel a bit like a child – on all corners, she was being taken care of, directed, organized. A part of her resisted it, a part that wished to remain independent, but she couldn’t help feel relieved that she didn’t have to worry about a single thing as she performed the burials.

She could focus entirely on who she was going to go see, without having to worry about where she’d bathe or what to feed Aggo.

“Heikka – will I see you later after the tents are moved? You’ll continued to help me?” Moth asked, and Heikka nodded. “That is a great relief.”

Feldar came up to them and patted Heikka’s head. “Well, are you being so helpful?”

Heikka narrowed her eyes, but she allowed Feldar to ruffle her curls, and when he was done, she fluffed them back up carefully. “Whether I am being helpful or not will be up to Lady Korraban. She can make a good assessment after a month. I can adjust to her.”

So saying, she nodded to Moth and went to help her father with folding the tent.

Feldar was terribly amused by her answer and told Moth, “Don’t forget to begin grading her now, she wants a full report soon.”

Moth managed to say, “She’s earnest!” before she was unable to hold back a laugh, delighted by Heikka’s sheer intensity. She said, “she looks a bit like you, Feldar. She is your cousin, after all – but she barely looks like Korho.”

“Her features look like my mother,” Feldar answered, looking after his little cousin fondly. It was a brotherly expression Moth had not seen him show towards Patri, his real sister.

“You seem close to your mother’s side of the family,” Moth said, before she could stop herself from prying.

To her surprise, Feldar nodded and – instead of rebuffing her with an insult or a look – answered, “My uncle Korho made an effort to know me. He’s been closer family to me than others. He is not a liar.”

Moth scrunched her brow at his last statement, but she could tell from his face she couldn’t pry further, and when he mounted Cobbler, she mounted Aggo without another word. Together they rode out along the path, leaving the tents behind, and were shortly joined by Lt. Grotte on her horse, Tatters.

Lt. Grotte had the nub of a cigarette she was sucking on, and a short minute later she lit a new cigarette from the trembling ember. She half closed her purpled eyes and didn’t seem interested in acknowledging either Moth or Feldar.

Feldar urged his horse to ride alongside her. “Sab you can’t spend the rest of your life like this. Land on something.”

“Spin your ass on a pike,” grumbled Lt. Grotte, incoherently.

Feldar took her cigarette and began smoking it, saying, “either the king lied, and the ferryman is alive, or this is all a sham and the ferryman is dead. Either way, what does it change for you?” He gave her back the cigarette. “This gloom and sleeplessness are over nothing.”

Lt. Grotte refused to answer, the rings under her eyes seemed deeper than before. “Nothing,” she repeated hollowly.

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

It was a short ride to the next property. A small family, tucked away on the back of the Pahkinna’s massive land. Their property was only about a mile of pine forest, but Lord Correb had chosen that spot for two burial sites.

As they rode, Ivan Pahkinna was there to meet them. He held the bag of sunstones – entrusted to him as Mrs. Pahkinna’s representative, one of the twenty-four leaders of Hiren.

“Lady Korraban, good morning,” said Ivan. He held out the bag for her to examine – to make sure none were missing – and she awkwardly counted through the sunstones. Satisfied, he joined them on their journey towards the site.

Moth strained to catch a glimpse of the property through the trees and over the hill. She knew of the family – Totroykkio. It was a brother and sister, the only two survivors of their family after a brutal winter. They’d married fellow woodcutters, and both their families had grown. What was once two, then married two more, and that four became eighteen.

Moth was eager to meet them. The path curved, and suddenly they were on the mound where the house was built, sitting in the middle of the woods. They all lived in one house that could barely fit them – though an expansion was slowly underway – parts of it needed repair, and the other parts were being repaired. Paint was entirely gone from trim, some broken windowpanes hadn’t been repaired but boarded over. Their life naturally spread from the confines of the little house out into the open, where an outdoor kitchen was set up.

And there were maghouses.

Two dozen. She could see them around the edges of the yard, and some scattered deeper in the woods throughout the property. The paint was fresh and none of them sagged with rot, each one glittered with fresh water in the bowls.

Moth understood why they had been chosen by Correb.

“Lady Korraban!” cried out a voice, and she saw a little girl – about six – sitting on top of a maghouse. She jumped down and ran towards the house. “Ma! Lady Korraban is here – she’s so colorful!”

Within moments, the Totroykkio family spilled out of the house and woods and went to greet Moth.

The four parents look hardened, prematurely aged with labor and life, but their eyes were bright and kind, and their children were clearly shielded from a level of difficulty, as they glowed with youthful health.

“Welcome Lady Korraban,” said Mr. Totroykkio, shaking Moth’s hand. His hand was rough as tree bark, strong, and used to gripping an ax.

Moth got down from her horse and eagerly clutched all their hands, saying, “I’m sorry I’ve never met you sooner than today. Who are you?”

The brother and sister glanced at each other confused, and answered, “Milady, were just woodcutters.”

“You honor the magpies!” exclaimed Moth, looking from the parents to their children, who ranged in age from the six-year-old to adults. They were all fascinated, listening to every word she said. “Your maghouses are beautiful, you take care of them so well – if you honor the magpies, you honor your ferryman! Thank you.”

The faces of the parents went from amazed, delighted, then suddenly, to sorrow.

“Milady, perhaps you can help us,” said the sister’s husband, and he glanced at his wife.

Mrs. Totroykkio said earnestly, “Not so long ago, all our magpies flew up into the air and left. We were there at…on that day when they rained down the sunstones – we suddenly understood why they left, and were relieved but…”

“They still haven’t come back,” interrupted the youngest girl, and she turned and clung onto her older brother, who picked her up. She was holding back tears as she said, “I miss Check and Cowcheese.”

Her brother comforted her as she buried her face in his shoulder.

“Your magpies haven’t returned,” said Moth, somberly, looking around at the empty maghouses. The water had been refreshed despite their absence, and sparkling pieces of stone, glass, and buttons had been laid out on the tray to entice their return.

They looked at her worriedly, and she turned to face them, answering as best she could. “They will return. Their journey to get the sunstones was exhausting for them – this has been an exciting time for the magpies, they have not been this active since before Lord Correb fell sick. Keep maintaining the maghouses, they will return to you.” Moth turned to the little girl and said seriously, “they won’t forget you. They love easily.”

*

The two burials were uneventful. Most of the family walked with them, witnessing the sunstones being dropped into the deep hole, and then rolling stones over the burial sites.

When they returned to the house, the Totroykkio’s had set up a small lunch, dragging two kitchen tables outdoors, and set Moth at the head of the table. It was nothing so lavish as the Pahkinna’s, but Moth enjoyed talking with the Totroykkios much more.

They’d been unmoved by the culture’s belief in Correb’s death – even before Moth was offered and returned, they hadn’t believed it for a moment.

“If he died, who would ferry him? It’s nonsense,” said Mr. Totroykkio. “The absurd things people believe just because their neighbor believes it!”

“We’ve no neighbor to influence us, you mean,” laughed his sister, who said to Ivan with a nod, “Besides your good family, I mean. Far away as we are.”

They also were unmoved by the bias against the Tiding Range farmers, and all four parents said vehemently, “Those good people? I know they can be intimidating, maybe even aloof, but the idea that they’re secretly shamans – you’d

have to have a head full of sawdust. No one’s done more to keep the knowledge and memory of our ferryman alive more than they have!” then added to Moth, “Until you, that is.”

Feldar passed a platter of millet hand pies to one of the children, and said, an annoyed tinge to his voice, “Seems like a split is happening in Hiren. Half are so paranoid about shamans they’ve turned on the Tiding Range farmers, and the other half – those closer to the villages – are beginning to side with the shamans and favor them.”

This stirred up the Totroykkios and there was a burst of animated talk from all the adults.

“You can only have a good opinion of the shamans if you’re not around them, it seems,” barked Mrs. Totroykkio. “The further people get away from the forests, the less they remember shamanic practices. Farmers don’t understand what the woodcutters have to deal with – how we struggle to hold territory up here in the forests, how dangerous it is to be out at night – how we have to tear down their treestands, how we have to protect the magpies, or –” she lowered her voice to a hiss, so the younger children wouldn’t hear – “how we worry our children will get snatched for helra. They prey on innocence. I don’t care if these so-called ‘civilized shamans’ say they abstain from the bloodier practices, that they say they’re for the people. To their core, they only see people as commodities, they hunger after our storehouses.”

Moth was thrilled to hear it, she loved their vehemence as she glanced around their table seeing their set and stalwart faces – and she caught sight of Ivan, whose face was tense and withdrawn. Unconsciously, he’d turned his body away from the others enjoying the meal.

“Lady Korraban’s brother-in-law is Rodin Tunhofe,” said Feldar, leaning forward. “Have you met him?”

“The Tunhofes!” exclaimed Mrs. Totroykkio, and gestured to her sister-in-law. “Opal was the midwife for our first four children, before she retired.”

“Never was there a more solid man than Rodin,” asserted the two husbands seriously. “He’s done more for the woodcutters than anyone. In the last two years, he’s unified whole groups of us to push back against the shamans, he and his wife Priscilla negotiated territory disputes between fellow woodcutters, and how we can share common ground without overharvesting. Not to mention he can fell a pine like no one else.”

Moth was stunned. They spoke of Rodin like they spoke of Correb. Rodin always seemed simple and self-deprecating, she hadn’t realized just how much his good sense and love of people had influenced Hiren. “Priscilla?” was all Moth found herself saying.

“Oh aye, your sister. Draws harsh but fair territory lines – she’s a real Queen Ilma.”

Priscilla had been doing that in the family since she was eight.

The meal was concluded with handshakes and well-wishing. Moth said goodbye especially to the little girl – Amri – and as she got on Aggo, she spotted Feldar speaking to Mr. Totroykkio, who was nodding seriously.

They called over Mr. Totroykkio son – August, the one often holding Amri – and he spoke shyly to them both, his head tucked and one hand always gripping his arm. As Feldar spoke to him, he lifted his head and looked bolder.

Feldar bid goodbye, mounted his horse, and they proceeded to away from that small property tucked away on the edge of the world, heading onwards to where Korho had said the tents would be set up.

It had felt like only a few hours, but the sky was dimming rapidly and the day was over.

“What was that about?” asked Lt. Grotte, who had been deathly silent the entire trip.

Feldar looked over at her. “Hm?”

“The boy. What was it about?”

“I’m hiring him for our travels. I need another pair of hands to help with Cobbler and the tents.”

Lt. Grotte scoffed. “Hiring him? With what money? Your charity gets out of hand sometimes Feldar.”

“Its not charity, it’s an investment.”

“That beanstalk is no investment. I swear you see one nervous underfed boy and you think it’s your job to rear him.”

Feldar tilted his head but didn’t deny it.

As they bickered at the back of the group, Moth found herself riding alongside Ivan, who still looked grim.

“Is everything alright, Ivan?” Moth asked, worried. “You started looking unwell halfway through the meal. Should we stop and rest?”

“No!” said Ivan, vehemently, and then controlled himself and said with more composure, “No, thank you, Lady. I only…I was only unsettled by the talk of shamans.”

Moth glanced at his face sympathetically. “It’s not a pleasant topic, I know. Your family is half woodcutters, you live in pineland, I suppose it’s something you don’t enjoy thinking about.”

Ivan shook his head and said no more. The path split and went away from them; he said goodbye and headed back towards Paapacki.

Moth was puzzling over his behavior, and felt Feldar at her elbow. She looked at him, asking, “Is he alright?”

“Prying again?”

Moth furrowed her eyebrows. “When I want to know its prying, but when you want to know it’s ‘staying informed’?”

Feldar laughed as they rode towards the campsite, further up into the cold pineland. “You looked like Ursula just then. Alright, I’ll tell you. The matriarch of the Pahkinna family has been making deals with shamans to keep them off her territory.”

Alarmed, Moth glanced over her shoulder after Ivan.

“You remember the shaman Win Okat, I assume.”

Moth bristled. “Yes.”

“His faction hopes to sanitize the perception of shamanism, hopes to become a political power, hopes to normalize dreamwalking and speaking to the dead, of ferrying souls in place of Correb – for a fee. The faction is called the Haracoe Order. As they grow in influence, more people are interested in their company – my aunt included, as well as Commander Waden. Mrs. Pahkinna has also recently been allowing him to visit Paapacki – she is interested in a friendship with him, a pact.”

Moth couldn’t believe it.

“Its common for Haracoe Shamans to be at Paapacki, but she heard of your public denouncement of him – so made sure none where there when you visited.” Seeing her expression, Feldar continued, “You need to understand – people want to believe what the Haracoe Shamans say is true. They think of Haracoe Shamans as good, and regular shamans – those not part of the Order – as evil. There is no confusion in Mrs. Pahkinna’s mind – she hates shamans but favors the Haracoe Shamans.”

The expression on Ivan’s face kept playing through her mind. “Ivan does not seem convinced.”

“He’s smart, is the problem. Mrs. Pahkinna picked wisely in preparing him to be her successor – but may regret it when it begins to sabotage her decisions.”