The seed from forsaken s.., p.17
The Seed from Forsaken Soil, page 17
Ghosts were tricksters.
Risu could deceive Blodtorstig to claim some small victory. Hagane’s latest steel tools and blades hadn’t broken, so maybe she’d learned steel craft after all. Risu had a new trowel-knife and sickle which survived tests against wood and carrion. But if Hagane couldn’t find similar materials back home on Kinoumi, all the knowledge and experience in the world might not matter.
Resources from Mausfjord.
If she could sneak the hundreds of Llygodeners off Mausfjord, Blodtorstig would lose his labor force; while the enslaved rodents in Rattavits had died, there were others throughout the island. If she could find Blodtorstig’s resource caches, she could sabotage or steal their raw materials. Norodent to build weapons and no material to make them meant no war. Without the Llygodeners, there wouldn’t be as many mouths to feed, especially after Blodtorstig’s destruction of Rattavits.
But she’d need more boats to steal metal.
Marsvin’s new boat was coming along. He was almost finished repairing the first one, and he’d steal the others.
Itansha had taken off to follow and protect Gwrth almost immediately after the vole left the cave a few days ago. He’d keep Gwrth safe, and they’d lead some Llygodeners back. But enough for an army?
Risu laughed at the thought. An army of unequipped Llygodeners wouldn’t suffice. She might as well make an army out of these skeletons lying before her.
Too bad the dead couldn’t fight.
Her eyes widened. She could make a fake army. Line them up like scarecrows. Light decoy campfires at night. It would draw Blodtorstig’s attention when his scouts gave him bad reports of soldiers in the area and might be enough of a distraction to get a horde of Llygodeners onto a flotilla of ships, ready to make shore for Kinoumi. All she needed was planks that were intact enough to support a skeleton, and rods and ropes to make them stand.
Marsvin and Itansha would have something to say about disturbing the dead, but using their skeletons to save lives would at least make Grandma proud. And Risu needed to move around to help her injuries heal, anyway. Marsvin mentioned that his uncle would be away on pilgrimage to the island’s center, and while he would likely take the food stores with him, it would leave his hall unguarded.
Perhaps it was time for her to pay a visit.
35
A Ghost never dies
No autumn falling to Earth
Dispersed like shadows
Noka’s moon chart: 7 days past the deadline to plant
Near their hideout cave, Risu crouched from her vantage point in a bare evergreen. Hagane agreed to take a break from pounding at her makeshift forge to allow Risu the silence to listen. The forge wasn’t much more than a pile of stones and metal shavings, but Hagane had made use of it without dumping the runoff into the ground like her former master had. While building a forge for her was time-consuming, she needed to keep trying to craft steel.
But there was no sign of Itansha or Gwrth. Again. No sign of Futoi, either. While it was anyone’s guess whether Gwrth wanted to return, Itansha would find his way back to her.
Years ago, Mom warned Risu that boys feared telling girls how they truly felt. The saying went, “The more brave boys act in martial matters, the more cowardly they are in marital ones.” Cute, Risu thought, but she wondered if it were true and why Mom bothered filling her head with these ideas.
Satisfied with her scouting for the day, Risu hopped down from her branch and winced from the pain in her ribs. She signaled for Hagane to resume working.
“Check out what I made for you!” Hagane beamed, displaying a headband with a square piece of metal in the center. It wouldn’t win any beauty contests, but it was sturdy, lightweight, and would fit over Risu’s head.
“Is this your way of admitting being wrong about Itansha, and you’re sorry?” Risu accepted the headgear and turned it over. “It’s pretty.”
Hagane’s smile faded. “It’s not meant to make the boys swoon. It’ll protect your head from a slashing attack. I won’t apologize. He could’ve turned rabid.”
“Hm.” Risu tied the headband over her forehead. It didn’t restrict her movement or line of vision at all. “You sure this’ll work?” She hoped she sounded optimistic.
Hagane brandished a curved blade the right size for a warspear. “I can show you.”
Risu smiled. “Go slow, alright?”
Hagane brought the blade down slowly, and it caught Risu’s new headgear, which protected Risu’s face. “If I went full speed,” Hagane cracked a smile, “it would’ve bounced off.”
“Nice work. That’s a cool idea.”
“Yeah, steel isn’t too tough to work with once you get the hang of it. Since you made use of the broken knife pieces before, I thought about other gear you throw.” Hagane pointed to a row of star-shaped darts in the grass beside the cave’s entrance. “I tried these while you were setting up skeletons, and they flew decently.”
Bowing, Risu accepted the star-darts. “Did you make anything for Itansha?”
Hagane offered a weak smile. “Don’t be mad.”
“You didn’t.”
“I made an Ironheart sword.”
“Hagane—”
Hagane waved her paws in front of her. “Hear me out. Ghosts don’t use swords. They are status symbols for the wealthy. They break disguises.”
“Thank you for listing all the reasons he shouldn’t have one.”
A small seagull trudged out of the cave, head bobbed low, as if mourning the lack of food inside.
“But Itansha knows how to use one,” Hagane said. “It’s lighter than his old swords, so it’s not like it would weigh him down or throw off his balance. And if the two of you have different weapons, you might be more efficient fighting together.”
“Together.” Risu let the word hang on her lips as she stared into the cave, evaluating which stalagmites could hide her if needed. “Hopefully we won’t have to. Did you give the stupid sword a stupid name?” She entered the hideout and stretched.
“You need to let go of how much you hate the nobles. You know firstpaw how much help we’ll need if we have to fight Blodtorstig.”
“You’re right.” Risu imagined the biggest stalagmite to be Blodtorstig. “I shouldn’t be mad at you for crafting something for us. Anything else?” The rocky formation loomed over her. Grunting, Risu leapt from the cave floor onto a nearby stalagmite, threatening the integrity of her stitches.
“I tried forging arrowheads for myself. What are you doing?”
Risu pushed off and jumped to the next stalagmite, approaching the cave’s ceiling. “I’m listening.”
“If you say so. I made a little ring for Marsvin, too. He told me once he wanted to make an oath ring back when the two of you had your adventure back home. I thought he deserved it after all these months. I don’t really know what it means, but it seemed important to him.”
After feigning a kick to the imaginary Blodtorstig, Risu spun, landing on her hindpaws. “He’s special, Hagane. You’ll be happy together when we make it home.”
“Are you sure he wants to come with us? This is his home, and his own uncle is about to be made the ruler of the island.”
Risu rubbed the marmot’s shoulder. “Yeah, but Itansha’s sister is here. The best place in the world to be is anywhere she isn’t.”
The joke didn’t land. “I think that Forstor guy is worse than Meiyo.”
A stubbier stalagmite re-formed in Risu’s mind as the antler-crowned alchemist. “Yeah. If he’s stashed chemicals and medicines that can make the infected turn into those shambling nightmares we’ve seen, it might be time for the Ghost to sneak back into Brekkatown.”
Hagane whistled. “Be careful, will you?”
Winking, Risu replied, “Shadows protect me.”
After sneaking to Brekkatown and spending an hour examining the perimeter, Risu clung to the roof of Blodtorstig’s hall under the cover of the fading twilight. She perched above Itansha’s room and wanted to puke for calling it that. Sneaking into this single building somehow felt more complicated than sneaking into Castyr’s citadel back on Kinoumi.
Maybe the adults here could be tricked, like those at home who believed the Ghosts had magic. What seemed like magic was utilizing illusions and science. But Forstor?
He didn’t believe the mythos of the Ghost like the rodents back home—no legends to give her strength. And Forstor seemed like the rare adult who knew the difference between fake magic and real science.
She crawled to the end of the roof and used her sickle as a crowbar, prying the window lock open. Paws shaking, Risu entered the hall of a would-be conqueror who also had the means and drive to conquer.
Even though Blodtorstig had departed on his march to the island’s center to supplant the king or Grand Snarl or High Snarl or whatever, Risu tempted fate by entering. But there needed to be some setback waiting for Blodtorstig when he returned to Brekkatown to delay his invasion of her home, and she was about to create one.
Fading light cloaked her entrance. Shadows protected her.
Based on her observations from the rooftop, Forstor was gone, stuck to his master like a wise pet. Risu slinked along the floor, noticing scratch marks.
She shuddered. Opening the door a crack, she reminded herself he had healed, but the reminder did little to diminish her unease.
Leaving Itansha’s old room, she checked for any of Blodtorstig’s axe-wielding goons, then jumped from the wood floor to the rafters. She bounced diagonally between them until she could grasp the ceiling. The hall had a staircase on either side, leading to upper rooms, but the majority of the building’s interior was a dining and meeting area. More rooms lined the bottom floor along the side. One would lead to a cellar where Forstor conducted his experiments, Risu assumed. The food storage pantry door was left hanging open, totally empty like Marsvin said.
A hamster guard lazily paced the hall. She wondered how raucous it must have been when Blodtorstig was here, and how that must compare to now, run by a steward in his absence. But everyone was gone, except this one guard, assuming Marsvin’s information could be trusted.
She reached into her jacket for a star-dart, coated with something similar to scorpionsting toxins. It had taken her some experimentation to get the dosage and amounts correct, but she’d figured out which local fungi would create a sleeping concoction. One should make him groggy and maybe put him to sleep. Two would put him to sleep instantly. Three would induce the permanent variety of sleep, which she wanted to avoid.
Risu watched his meandering path until a pattern emerged: he alternated looking over his shoulders on every fifth step. Jingling keys on his belt gave his position away.
Risu glided down from the ceiling rafters, bypassing the closed doors on the upper level. As she swooped toward the guard, she threw her star-dart at his exposed back then banked left, gliding toward the shadows under the staircase.
The dart connected with his neck, and the guard grunted. He scanned the room, even past where Risu hid under the steps, but didn’t see her. He rubbed the wound with his free paw as if it were a bug bite and dislodged the weapon. After a few seconds, he stumbled. His club thudded to the floor.
As he snored, Risu tiptoed over and collected her star-dart. The guard only had four keys on the ring, so she snatched the whole chain. The hamster’s whiskers jiggled on each exhale.
Risu snuck toward the cellar door in the corner, tucked behind barrels of some drink she didn’t recognize and rows of hanging salted meats. Likely ones stolen from her people. Her blood bubbled, but she kept her cool. Losing her temper had caused her enough problems, and she couldn’t afford to add a new one here.
Risu found the cellar locked as expected, but none of the keys opened it. She fought the urge to spit. Of course they didn’t.
After unsheathing her sickle blade, Risu used it as a wedge to get into the lock. With enough prying and minimal grunting, she opened the heavy door and descended into a dank cellar.
Instantly, pungent earthy fumes assaulted her. No wonder Forstor locked this place tighter than a frozen husk. No light poured in from the hall’s main floor, but several bioluminescent mushrooms glowed on shelves. A cauldron that could’ve been a bathtub occupied the corner.
If Risu could get Grandma in here, she’d have the time of her life experimenting with these different plants and fungi to make new Ghost supplies and munitions. Risu delicately grabbed a jar of glowing mushrooms and used it as a makeshift lantern to explore Forstor’s supplies. Examining the rows of shelves holding various mushrooms and bones, she found a jar she’d seen before, when Gwrth’s father went rabid. Forstor had done that to him with whatever was inside. Breath tightening, Risu knew she needed to get this supply as far away from Forstor and Blodtorstig as possible. With so much inventory, she didn’t know where to start. This was far too much for her to carry herself.
Only one solution remained—sabotage.
Risu reached into her pouch for a piece of flint and some metal flakes borrowed from Hagane. One jar held flaky mushrooms inside—those would burn well. Before she threw, a table came into view in the dim light from the glowing mushrooms. A journal lay on top. Risu grabbed it and leafed through, understanding nothing.
But Marsvin would.
Smiling, Risu stowed the thick journal in her jacket. She tiptoed up the cellar steps and stabbed one of the barrels’ corks with her trowel-knife. She dug the blade in, twisted, and yanked her knife out. A stream of pungent alcohol dribbled through, and the stench made her eyes water. How adults could drink this baffled her.
Not enough of the stinky liquid came out, though. Risu stabbed and opened the other barrels against the descending staircase until a steady stream of the liquid flowed down the steps, the sickeningly sweet odor filling the air. Risu cast an eye at the guard, hoping it wouldn’t rouse him.
Once enough liquid began pooling, Risu rummaged around for the dried, flaky fungi she noticed earlier. She had a flammable fluid, mushrooms for kindling, and the wooden table would be fuel. She dragged it over to the growing pool of drink on the floor and surrounded it with the dried samples. Risu dumped the dry ingredients onto the table, thankful her face wraps filtered fumes.
She pulled out the flint and metal scraps and struck over the dry ingredients. Two hits and nothing. She tensed, worrying she didn’t bring big enough flint or metal. A third hit made a small spray of embers fly onto the dried mushrooms. With the tip of her knife, she pushed the mushrooms away from her and toward the edge of the table, then sprinted up the stairs.
A poof of smoke, and a glowing ember flared. Within seconds, the liquid ignited, and Forstor’s table erupted in flames. She thought the drink might have too much water in it to be flammable, but the other ingredients in the cellar must have ignited the chemicals in it. The flame roared into an angry green, and she wondered what horrors Forstor had prepared down there. He must not have taken these ingredients to the pilgrimage like they did the food stores. Maybe whatever he crafted was too foul for a place anyone considered holy.
She cast an eye at the guard, who would sleep through the fire.
Husks on tusks.
Risu ran over to him and slapped his face. “Fire!” she shouted. Smoke billowed up the steps. “Fire!”
Nothing. Unless a wheezing snore counted as a response.
He must’ve been at least twice her weight, so she couldn’t lift him. Risu shoved his hulking body, unable to summon enough momentum to move him far.
Maybe an inch.
Fire crept up the stairs, following the liquid trail to the barrels. Forstor’s supply was gone. Maybe not forever, but it was at least a setback. He wouldn’t be able to turn anyone else rabid for a while.
Risu poked the guard with her knife, not a full-on stab. A shock should wake him. More snoring.
“Come on, husks for brains.” Risu grabbed his ankles and dragged him toward the door while the fire spread from the barrels, up the walls to the rafters. She didn’t know fire could spread so fast.
Summoning all the energy she could, ignoring her injuries, Risu pushed forward, kicking bearskin rugs away in front of her. She considered rolling him onto a rug and then dragging the rug, but it didn’t seem worth the energy. Halfway to the entrance, flames licked the ceiling and a staircase caved in.
“You better be having the best dream of your life,” Risu muttered. Every muscle in her arms begged her to leave him, release him into whatever afterlife Mausfjorders had. Yet her heart and brain stubbornly commanded her to persist.
Each inch counted.
The other staircase collapsed, raining embers and charred wood. Risu felt some satisfaction imagining Blodtorstig’s Snarl-throne smoldering, but she didn’t check. Forward was all that mattered.
The guard moaned, and his ankles twitched in her grasp. A section of the roof caved in behind them. She neared the exit, but the fire outpaced her. She’d have to go through a burning door with glowing-hot metal handles.
With splintering cracks and a roaring thud, more of the roof collapsed, a burning section descending on her left.
In a flash, she yanked off the guard’s boots, wore them on her paws like gloves, and punched the door open. A fresh, cool breeze wafted inside, but it did nothing to soothe her.
It did, however, reveal a crowd outside the burning building throwing buckets of sand onto the hall. Grabbing a bearskin rug and throwing it over the burning doorway, Risu returned to the guard. She pulled him the rest of the way outside, amid gasps from the frantic crowd.
Rodents of all ages ran to the burning building with buckets of water. Risu stumbled through a sizable crowd full of dumbstruck Mausfjorders staring at her.
