The buried symbol, p.7
The Buried Symbol, page 7
A glance toward Tipper revealed a haunted look as thoughts of Hank and the banshee resurfaced. Brock turned to Ren, putting his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder.
“Hank didn’t make it, Ren. I’m sorry,” Brock said, sympathetic.
Ren glanced at Tipper and then back to Brock. “I don’t understand. What happened? How did you guys make it then?”
With sadness in his voice, Brock replied, “Hank saved us. He was somehow able to push the monster off the cliff, but the beast pulled Hank over with him. They’re both gone, Ren.”
That quieted the talkative boy. He sat down as tears began to well up.
“What am I going to do? I can’t do this alone. I need Hank,” he sobbed.
Brock sat on the bench across from Ren, motioning for Tipper join him. “Don’t worry, Ren. It isn’t something you need to solve this minute. Let’s order some food and we’ll see if we can help you figure out a plan.”
Ren nodded and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He used his sleeve to wipe his nose and glanced up as a serving girl walked past. After delivering two ales and two bowls to the couple who had recently arrived, she turned and strolled over to greet the boys.
Long red hair framed a young face with large green eyes, lightly freckled pale skin, and a perky nose. The swooping neckline of her dress exposed more of her pale skin and revealed a fair bit of her curves.
The girl appeared to be about Brock’s age, perhaps slightly older. Her full lips formed a smile as she approached the table. He smiled back, feeling a warm rush of desire for this pretty girl.
“Ren, I see you’ve found some friends.” She looked them over as her hands rested on her rounded hips, her gaze landing on Brock’s face. “What can I get for you boys? Maybe something to drink? We also have some beef stew on the fire.”
Ren responded, “These are my friends, Meg. This is Brock, and that’s Tipper. We met them on the road from Kantar.” Ren paused, sadness apparent on his face. “Hank’s dead, Meg. The banshee got him.”
Showing concern, Meg’s hand rested on Ren’s shoulder as she spoke. “I’m so sorry, Ren. Hank was a good man. We’ll all miss him.” She pulled her hand away, placing both hands on the table to lean on them. “Don’t worry; my pa will still buy supplies from you. You still have our business.”
As she leaned against the table, Brock found it difficult to look away from her exposed skin. His heart was racing.
Ren nodded. “Thanks Meg. I have the load of supplies he requested in the yard out back. When do you think Derrick can go over the delivery?”
Meg stood upright. “You’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow. He had to make a run to Hawk’s Landing and won’t be back ‘til late morning.”
Looking the boys over, she smiled again. “In honor of Hank, you boys eat and drink for free tonight. I’ll get you each a bowl of stew and some bread. Be right back.” She turned and left, her hips swaying as she walked.
Ren asked, “Have you guys ever had ale?”
Tipper replied, “No. The owner of the tavern we frequent won’t serve us ale. She says we don’t need our brains addled until we’re older. Although, she never did say how old we needed to be.”
“Hank loved ale. He let me have a mug from time to time.” Ren sat upright. “I want to order a mug of ale to toast to Hank. Will you guys join me?”
Without a glance at Tipper, Brock responded, “We’d be honored, Ren. We owe our lives to Hank.”
The kitchen door swung open, and Meg emerged with three steaming bowls of stew, placing them on the table along with half a loaf of bread.
“Careful, boys. It’s hot.”
Meg stood back, flipping her hair over her shoulder and teasing it with her right hand as she spoke. The pale skin of her neck was making Brock’s heart beat fast again.
She looked at Brock, sharing a coy smile. “So, what will it be, boys? Do you know what you want?”
Brock stammered, “Umm. What do you mean?”
“What do you want to drink?” Her smile grew larger. “I know the place isn’t packed, but I don’t have all day.”
Ren saved him. “Three ales, please. We want to toast to Hank’s memory, Meg.”
She nodded. “Three ales it is. Be right back.” She shot another glance at Brock before heading back to the kitchen.
With Meg away from the table, Brock’s brain began to function again. Remembering something, he reached into his pack.
“I saved this for you, Ren.” Brock held the wide-brimmed hat toward Ren. “I think Hank would want you to have it.”
Moisture reappeared in Ren’s eyes as he accepted the hat. He put it on his head and wiped the tears away.
“Thanks guys. This means a lot to me. I’m so happy you brought it.”
Meg returned from the kitchen, setting three ales on the table before sliding onto the bench beside Ren. She leaned forward, speaking in a low voice.
“We heard that a whole family was murdered by a banshee up near Hawk’s Landing last fall. Their bodies were torn and mutilated. They say banshees are giants and have the strength of ten men. I guess few see one and live to tell about it. Until last fall, I thought they were only a myth.”
Meg gazed into Brock’s eyes. “How did you live to tell about it? What was it like?”
Brock’s tongue was tied, her large green eyes affecting him as much as the rest of her.
Tipper saved him by responding. “It was horrible. It was huge and disgusting. The banshee wailed like nothing you’ve ever heard. It hurt our ears just to be near it.” Holding his hands to his ears for affect, he then lifted his hand high above his head. “It was twice as tall as me and stunk like rotten meat. It had long claws on its hands, sharp as knives. It was a nightmare.”
When he finished, Tipper’s eyes glazed over as unbidden memories returned.
Brock picked up where Tipper left off. “Hank distracted the banshee by shooting it with his crossbow so Ren could flee with the wagon, but the crossbow barely slowed the monster. Somehow, Hank was able to lure it to the road and…they both went over the cliff.” His voice quieted as he relived the moment. “We ran to the edge to look, but we saw nothing. It was so far down. Nothing could survive that fall.”
The table was quiet. It was a somber moment.
Ren lifted his mug in the air. “To Hank. He was a fine man with a big heart.”
Brock and Tipper lifted their mugs, clinking them together for the toast. “To Hank.”
Bubbles tingled Brock’s tongue and throat as the first drink went down, followed by a slightly bitter after-taste.
Meg stood and smoothed her skirts. “Sorry boys, but I do have other customers.” She surveyed the room and looked back, directing a smile at Brock. “Don’t worry though. I’ll be back soon to attend to your needs.”
Meg left to wait on four men seated at a table across the room.
Ren took another drink, smiling afterward. “Ah. It’s good stuff. I wasn’t too fond of ale the first time I tried it, but it grows on you. What do you guys think?”
Brock swallowed a second drink from his mug, wiping foam from his lips as he responded, “I like it a lot already. If it gets better, I could be in trouble.”
They all laughed. It felt good to laugh.
* * *
Brock opened his bleary eyes. A thin slice of sunlight was cutting through the room, lighting the wall near the bed. His head hurt something fierce and the bright bit of sun seemed to stab at his eyes, making the throbbing more intense.
He turned his head to find a mess of red hair resting on his chest. Realizing he had no shirt on, he felt around to find he still wore his smallclothes. At least he wasn’t naked.
His movement caused Meg to stir. She lifted her head and looked up at him heavy eyes, her long eyelashes sweeping the air as she blinked. He thought she looked gorgeous.
“G’morning sweetie,” she said. “How do you feel?”
Brock brought his hand to his head, covering his eyes. “It feels like my head is going to explode.”
Meg laughed. “You boys were going through mugs of ale like you were on a mission to empty the whole keg.” She reached toward the nightstand, her hand returning with a pewter mug. “Here, drink this. It should help.”
He looked at the mug. “No thanks. I don’t need any more ale,” he groaned. “I don’t think I’ll ever drink that stuff again.”
She laughed. “Silly. It’s water. Drinking water is supposed to help after you’ve had too much ale.”
Brock lifted his head and took the mug. “I am thirsty. Water sounds good.”
He took a long drink and then another. After a breath, he took one last drink and emptied the mug.
Meg set the mug on the nightstand before resting her head on his chest, nestling up to his neck. He felt her warm breath on his skin as she lightly raked her fingers across the ripples of his stomach, drawing random shapes.
Brock enjoyed the attention and warmth Meg was sharing. It felt wonderful to have this pretty girl lying beside him. Her hair smelled good. Lying on a soft bed felt great. He decided if his head would stop pounding, this moment would be perfect.
His eyes closed as he tried to remember the events of the prior evening.
The three boys drank together, with Ren telling stories of Hank. The ale was good. The more he drank, the more he wanted. Meg kept coming to the table to join the conversation. Eventually, the other tables emptied, and Meg joined the boys for good. Somehow, she ended up on Brock’s lap with her arm around his shoulders.
Things became foggy after that. He remembered kissing Meg, her lips feeling warm and soft. He vaguely recalled going upstairs, his hand in hers as she pulled him along. He couldn’t remember anything else.
Meg lifted her head from his chest. His eyes opened to find her staring at him, smiling. She leaned close and kissed him, her soft lips lingering for a moment before pulling away.
Regret reflected in her eyes. “I have to get up now. Our guests need someone to serve them breakfast. The cook should have it prepared by now, but someone still has to serve it.”
Brock opened his mouth, hesitating briefly before asking his question. “About last night…did we…um…you know?”
She laughed again. “No, sweetie. When you told me you’d never been with a girl, I decided it wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of you…considering your condition.”
Wearing only her cream-colored shift, Meg climbed out of bed and stepped over to the vanity. She then wet a cloth in a bowl of water and used some soap to wash her face, neck, and under her arms.
“This is your room?” Brock asked as he turned to observe the surroundings.
It was a small room with a single door and a window. The bed was barely large enough for two. A nightstand, vanity, and a wooden chest were the only other items of note.
“Yes,” Meg replied. “If you’re wondering about Tipper, he’s sharing the room that Ren normally shared with Hank.” She paused, considering something. “I think Ren was happy to have company last night. I don’t think he was ready to be alone after what happened.”
She set the cloth down, picked up a brush, and began to tame her wild mane of red hair. Brock found himself spellbound, his heart racing faster the longer he watched her go through her morning ritual.
Meg discarded the brush, reached into the wooden chest, and grabbed a dress. She put her legs through and pulled it up. After sliding her arms through, she stepped next to the bed with her back facing him.
“Will you button me up, please?”
Brock sat up, his head spinning as he did. He swung his legs off the bed with the blanket over his lap. When he secured her last button, she turned and cupped his cheeks while planting a kiss on his lips.
“I hope you weren’t offended by my being so forward last night.” Meg gazed into his eyes. “I don’t see many boys my age and I feel…so lonely sometimes.”
“How could I possibly be offended?” Brock replied. “You’re absolutely stunning. Any boy would be thrilled to have your attention.”
Meg smiled. “You’re so sweet. You flatter me.” She leaned in and kissed him longer this time. It was like swimming in a dream. A sweet, sweet dream.
She stepped away from him and walked to the door. “I wish it weren’t so, but I have to go. Feel free to wash up before you come down. I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast.”
The door closed and he found himself already missing her.
* * *
Brock descended the stairs, finding Ren and Tipper at the same table as the night before.
“G’morning, Brock.” Tipper’s hand rubbed his temple as he chewed. “I hope you’re feeling better than I am.”
“I don’t know, Tip. I don’t think I can eat right now,” Brock replied. “The food smells good, but my stomach is rolling, and my head is pounding.”
Ren nodded. “I know what you mean, Brock. I ain’t ever had that much ale before. Now I know why Hank always said that you gotta count your ales. You lose count, and it all goes sideways.” He laughed.
It was good to hear Ren laughing, although it hurt Brock’s head. He sat next to Ren and put his head in his hands, resting his eyes until a soft touch caused him to stir. He looked up to see Meg standing beside him.
“Try some hot tea. It’s supposed to work wonders. I even squeezed a lemon into it for you.” She stepped away to serve the couple seated nearby.
Brock stared at the steaming tea. Figuring that anything was worth a try, he lifted the cup and took a sip. It was hot, but not burning hot. The aroma loosened his sinuses, and the heat felt good on his throat.
As Ren continued to talk, Brock continued to sip tea. By the time the tea was gone, Tipper and Ren had finished their breakfast, and Brock began to feel better.
Meg approached their table. “Brock, are you able to eat anything yet?” she asked.
“Maybe a biscuit?” he replied.
Meg nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned a minute later with a warm biscuit.
Tipper sighed. “I feel a bit better after eating. I should be ready to go soon.”
Brock swallowed and responded, “Yeah. We should get going, but we need to restock before we hit the road.”
Ren turned toward Brock. “Thank you guys for toasting to Hank with me last night. I know you have your own path to follow, but if you’re ever back in these parts, will you look me up? Hank and I have a house…well, now I guess I have a house in Port Choya.”
Tipper responded, “Ren, thanks for sharing your room. If we’re ever in Port Choya, we’ll be sure to look you up. We may even buy you an ale.”
Brock groaned, “Please, no more ale.”
Meg returned to the table. “Can I get anything else for you boys?” she asked as her gaze swept over them, landing on Brock.
His eyes locked onto hers and he responded, “Meg. Can we buy some trail rations from you before we go?”
She nodded. “Sure, Brock. Come into the kitchen, and we can figure it out.”
Brock stood and followed Meg. When they stepped through the door, she pinned him against the wall and gave him a deep kiss. She pulled away and he stared at her, drinking in the sight of this wonderful girl.
The sound of someone clearing her throat broke him from his trance. He turned to find an old woman shaking her head as she set a pan of biscuits on the counter.
“Sorry, Ferdie.” Meg said. “This is Brock.”
“Nice to meet you Ferdie,” Brock said, smoothing his shirt. “I must say that the food you serve here is delightful.”
That earned him a snort from the cook, but he also spotted a small smile before she turned to flip some sizzling eggs.
Meg pulled him through the kitchen until they were both outside behind the inn.
“I know you have to leave,” she said. “I see the mark you have. I’m sure you’re off to Fallbrandt.”
Brock didn’t know what to say. Apparently, his silence was enough.
“Yes. That’s what I thought,” Meg said, glancing at her feet before looking into Brock’s eyes. “If you come this way again, stop by to say hello. Maybe we can pick up where we left off.”
“Ah. You could come with me maybe?” Brock asked, hopeful.
She became serious again. “No. My place is here. My path was set when I was born.” Her eyes searched his. “You’re special, Brock. I can feel it. You’re going to do great things. I cannot leave Fenrick’s Crossing. My fate is tied to this inn and to this village. You can’t stay. Your fate awaits you in Fallbrandt. We just have to live with what might have been.” She kissed him again. “But, if you do return, and I’m still single, we’ll have some fun.”
She stepped away. “Now, you must be heading east across the Maloram Desert. You’ll need some food and lots of water. Let’s get you set.”
She opened the door and stepped into the inn. Brock hesitated, wishing things could be different. He took a deep breath, releasing a sigh as he followed her inside.
11
It was mid-afternoon when they cleared the pass to get their first view of the land east of the Brimstone Mountains.
Barren desert sands stretched for miles to the east and to the north. In the distance, far across the Maloram Desert, was the mountain range where their destination was located. The most impressive landmark in view was to the south.
A deep gorge, miles across, ran from the Brimstone Mountains to the distant Skyspike Mountains to the east. Various shades of tan and red rock lined the steep canyon walls, while the Alitus River snaked its way through the canyon floor, far below the desert.
“That must be Barrier Canyon,” Brock said, looking at the map in his hands.
“That’s a lot of desert to cross. Those mountains look far away,” Tipper replied as he capped his water skin. “I just wish it wasn’t so blasted hot.”
Brock rolled the map and slid it into his pack. “Let’s keep moving. We have to find a shady place to rest near the desert floor until nightfall.”
