A Perfect World - Chapter 9

-----------------------------------------------

“…this one. It won’t kill you, but it’ll squeeze every last drop of shit out your gut.”

A man with a head of bushy, graying hair pointed at an innocuous white mushroom.

He was speaking to the boy walking behind him. The kid looked about twelve. He had messy blonde hair and his face was dusted with freckles.

Sixth nodded.

The man continued.

“This is called Burdock. Don’t look like it, but it’s edible. Roots, stalk, leaves – leave the pointy bits, though.”

He pinched the stem of a prickly bush. Instead of flowers, clumps of burrs grew at its ends.

He continued his lecture as they walked, indicating notable fauna and flora with the thin stick in his hand.

“Wood Lily. Flower ‘n seeds are fine. Tastes like pepper.”

Sixth eyed the orange flower curiously. Reaching out a hand, he plucked it and stuffed it in his pack.

“Stop. This one…”

The old timer came to a halt and tapped the red berries growing from a viny plant.

“Nice and red, isn’t it? Bittersweet, it’s called.”

His tone was serious. He bent over and plucked a single fruit.

“If you were a bird, you’d eat this, no problem. As it is, you best avoid it. Best case, you have a hard time for a few days. Worst case…”

He stroked his unkept mustache with two fingers, seemingly remembering something from his past.

“…you become fertilizer.”

He tossed the berry he’d been holding into the distance and continued on his way.

Sixth swallowed and carefully skirted around the vine.

---------------------------------------------

That afternoon, the two arrived at the edge of a small lake. A soft breeze agitated the water’s surface. It lapped at their feet.

They traced its curve until they came to the outflow. Nearby, two wooden stakes had been hammered into the ground. Strings of netting stretched into the rushing water.

They pulled the weave out in silence. It was something Sixth’d done a few times and he’d already become a deft hand.

The bunched-up material was dropped to the ground. There were many things wriggling inside it – they’d a bountiful catch, today.

“Crayfish, crab and fish. I’m hungry already.”

Sixth wasted no time in extracting their prey. They always cleaned everything here and tossed the leftover bits back into the stream. It made excellent bait.

The old man chuckled.

“This season’s been good.”

At this rate, they’d have their winter stores topped-up well before the temperature started dropping.

Sixth slipped a knife into the gills of a brown fish and cut through its neck. While it was bleeding out, he gutted it swiftly.

He scrunched his nose.

“I don’t like dried crab.”

He eyed one of the crawlers with enmity.

A hand struck the back of his head. Clutching his throbbing dome, he looked accusingly at the old man.

The hermit wagged a finger at him.

“Brat, don’t be ungrateful.”

It was an act that’d surely been repeated many times throughout history. What elder didn’t consider it their duty to scold the younger generation?

Sixth snorted and returned to his task. His mouth curled into a smirk.

“I know you don’t like it either, Gramps. You just pretend you do.”

“That don’t matter. I eat it, that’s all.”

The senior’s riposte was effortless. His features were haughty.

The two individuals, old and young, continued to quibble as they busied themselves with their task. It’d become a habit at this point.

When they’d finished and redrawn the net, they hauled their woven baskets, stuffed with white meat, onto their backs and returned to their dwelling.

The leftovers would be dehydrated and smoked, for preservation. The taste wouldn’t be anything like when it was fresh, but it was better to eat cardboard during the winter than to eat nothing at all.

-----------------------------------------------

It was around midnight and the skies were clear. High above, a vast tapestry of stars twinkled like countless gems. The celestial treasury’s crown jewel was an enormous pearl, glowing with a soft white light.

All was quiet, except for the sound of snoring.

Two figures were laying inside an old hut, fast asleep. If one’s eyes were adjusted to the darkness, they’d be able to see their faces.

The snorer was of most interest.

His visage was lined and weathered, like an old hide. Bushy, grey wires sprouted from his jaw, chest and arms. His clothing was sparse, insufficient for warding off the late hour’s chill. Perhaps the vest of hair covering him served well enough?

He turned onto his side, exposing a leg that could’ve belonged to a polar bear. A sudden itch appeared on his thigh. He limply scratched it in his sleep.

At the entrance, the refuge’s primitive door creaked.

A cold breeze entered through the opened sliver, causing the interior’s temperature to drop a few degrees. The occupants didn’t wake – they had a laborious day

The hovel’s floor stirred. Had it been the wind?

Sixth was bundled up to the extent that not a single hair was exposed. Even if a gust swept the inside, he’d not have felt it.

The corner of the old hermit’s moth-eaten robe flattened suddenly. It was almost like something had just stepped on it. The forest of hairs all over his body stood on end and he writhed in his sleep. It looked as if he was having a nightmare.

The temperature continued to drop until the aged fellow’s discomfort became too much. His consciousness returned to him and he blinked groggily. His head was pounding when he noticed a faint light coming from outside.

‘It’s open…?’

Operating on instinct, he sat up with the thought of closing and retying the cottage’s hatch. Or, he would’ve done so, but he found that he couldn’t budge an inch. That wasn’t even the worst of it – he couldn’t draw a breath either!

The throbbing in his skull increased as he strained against whatever was holding. Adrenaline flooded his veins and returned a measure of clarity to his mind. He could feel multiple hands on him. They were impossibly strong, like thick steel chains.

His eyeballs rolled wildly in their sockets. The light from the doorway should’ve allowed him to catch a glimpse of the invaders. He could see the cabin’s insides, but he didn’t see a single person.

His scalp turned numb.

The more he strained, the more his oxygen depleted. At this rate, he was going to die helplessly at the hands of this ghost. His thoughts turned to the cabin’s other occupant.

‘No, the kid…!’

If tonight was going to be his last, he at least wanted the boy to survive. If only he could warn him, but how? He was barely able to rustle his blankets, so strong was the apparition’s grip.

His vision turned dark and red patterns pulsated in front of his eyes. Black veins stood starkly against his skin, wriggling like worms.  His body was covered in cold sweat.

‘I can’t…!’

His mind turned blank. His struggles continued to weaken until they finally stilled. This was it.

One of his hands flopped uselessly to the side.

That next morning, the coming dawn was accompanied by a horrified scream.

------------------------------------------------

Three figures were scattered around a campfire.

One of them, a girl with silver hair, was laying on her side with eyes closed and hands underneath her head. Her gleaming curls were splayed across the dirt.

The second sat cross-legged with a shabby wooden pipe sticking out the corner of his mouth. His head was slumped to one side, somehow managing to doze while upright.

The third was a burly man with a dark, bushy beard. A bundle of clothes was draped over him and a strange shape bulged from his torso. If one looked closer, they’d notice it rising and falling.

Freldt’s eyelids drooped. Of his watch, a few hours remained – he couldn’t sleep yet. He had to adjust his posture because the kid was becoming restless. At least it meant he was recovering.

The cook still couldn’t wrap his head around today’s events. It was uncanny, what’d happened to the boy. Even if he’d been without a stitch of clothing (in fact, he’d been dressed warmly), he’d not have suffered from exposure – the day had been warm for early spring.

Freldt’d checked him for wounds, as rapid blood loss could’ve caused the drop in body temperature, but he’d found nothing.

‘Was it an illness?’

He shrugged inwardly. There was no point in thinking too hard about it. They could just ask Sixth when he awoke.

‘Speak of the devil...’

The little bastard had started flopping around again, like a fish on dry land.

“Hey you-…urgh!”

A particularly strong spasm sent a bony forehead at Freldt’s nose. It struck him solidly and he reeled backwards with watery eyes.

“GRAMPS!”

Sixth’s shout was like a bolt out of the blue. He shot upwards like he’d been electrocuted, eyes wide in the firelight.

“What…?”

The first thing he saw was a massive, hairy chest. He stared dumbfoundedly at his own fingers, which were entwined with the black curls. A pectoral jumped under his hand. His nightmare was quickly forgotten.

A girlish screech rang in the nightly air. If the first shout hadn’t roused the two sleepers, then this scream certainly did.

In fact, Griffin was already awake and her gaze was intensely fixed on Sixth. She watched as he leaped out of Freldt’s embrace, muttering profanities while wiping his hands on his trousers. 

The tension in her shoulders disappeared and her lips curved into a small smile.

“You’re fine. I’m glad.”

Her words caused Sixth to freeze.

Next to her, Wilk picked up his pipe where it’d fallen to the ground. He didn’t seem very happy about the rude awakening he’d received.

“Damn, barely got any sleep last night and now this…” He said, grumbling under his breath.

The shirtless youth ignored him. Instead, his eyes met with Griffin’s. He seemed confused, like he wanted her to explain their current situation.

She shifted into a cross-legged position. After resting her elbows on her knees and settling her chin on her hands, she stared at Sixth. She didn’t respond to his silent query.

He was about to probe her when a cool breeze stirred the surroundings. Goosebumps rose all over his torso. He wrapped his arms around himself and scurried toward the pile of clothes nearby.

He turned his back towards the fire and slipped on his homemade shirt. For a brief moment, the dancing flames illuminated a long silver scar, stretching from his shoulder to his hip.

Thoughts swirled behind Griffin’s eyes. It was the first time she’d seen it. Even though they’d travelled together, they never undressed in front of each other.

“Did your father do that?”

In retrospect, the question wasn’t a polite one to ask. Too little too late, she supposed.

Sixth was uncomprehending.

“Huh…?”

He clearly hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.

Griffin leaned her cheek on one hand and pointed at him.

“The scar on your back. I was thinking of your story.”

Realization dawned on Sixth’s face.

“Oh! Perceptive, aren’t you? Yeah, this is from that.”

He chuckled while absentmindedly tracing the scar over his clothing.

“They say pain builds character. I guess it’s true, to an extent.”

Griffin raised an eyebrow at him.

“Who’s ‘they’?”

Sixth snorted, then shrugged.

“I haven’t a clue.”

Griffin stroked her lower lip with one finger. Her countenance was thoughtful.

“My character must be quite strong, then.”

She wasn’t concerned about exposing herself in front of the two adults. Ingrid had already cracked open that particular nut.

Sixth chuckled dryly, but didn’t reply. He didn’t know whether she was being serious or not.

Freldt and Wilk remained silent while the youngsters conversed. They knew the two had travelled together, but their familiarity with each other was… strange to see. Perhaps it was the visual contrast between them?

Freldt cleared his throat in order to draw attention. Two fingers gingerly rubbed his nose. It hadn’t bled, but he expected some bruising tomorrow. When Sixth looked toward him, he spoke.

“You have some explaining to do, kid.”

Sixth’s gaze flicked between him and Wilk. They were grave.

The youth sighed while rubbing his face. He was no longer confused about his situation – his memories had returned to him. He didn’t know what to say.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

He slumped onto his back and put his hands under his head.

‘It’s a bit cloudy.’

He stared at the sky while recalling his nightmare. His head was a mess.

After exchanging a glance with Freldt, Wilk took a drag of his pipe, which he’d relit.

“Don’t talk nonsense. At the very least, you owe the miss an answer. If it wasn’t for her insistence, you’d be dead.”

After speaking, he glanced at the girl in question.

Griffin shook her head.

“I don’t mind if he doesn’t say.”

Wilk’s eyebrows twitched.

“But he-…”

“I said it’s fine.”

Her voice was soft and quiet, but there was authority in it. Standing up, she walked over to Sixth and leaned over him.

He could hardly see her face, covered by her hair as it was. Griffin huffed in irritation and shoved her bangs aside. Their eyes met and she smiled at him.

“Now we’re even.”

It took a moment for him to catch her meaning. When he did, he laughed.

“That’s right.”

He’d saved her and she’d saved him. The debt between them was now cleared. It wasn’t something that’d bothered him, but, given how prideful she was, he guessed that it’d rankled her somewhat.

He sat up halfway and reached out to pull on her cheek. It was something he always did when he felt she was being too serious.

His hand was slapped away.

“Don’t.”

He laid down again with a sigh. If they were alone, he’d have said something to provoke her for his own amusement. A fight would start between them, escalating until it came to the point where they were hitting each other with sticks. Unfortunately…

He gazed at their two ‘companions’ out of the corner of his eye. Their presence was starting to piss him off.

“I’m going back to sleep.”

He rolled onto his side and pulled a fur cap over his head. His back faced towards his rescuers.

Griffin laid down as well.

“Sleep well.”

“You too.”

After they’d seen each other off to dreamland, they drifted into unconsciousness. It was nigh-instantaneous.

Off to the side, the two men bristled. The humongous cook, in particular, was red in the face.

He pulled on his beard in frustration. They still didn’t know what’d happened and now they were being left as lookouts while the two kids slept. It was ridiculous!

‘Is something the matter with me?’

There’s no way he’d have accepted such disregard from anyone else, but…

His eyes trailed the form of the ‘sleeping beauty’. Something about that girl put him on edge. He ended up deferring to her unconsciously.

Wilk tapped the ashes out of his pipe with a sigh.

“Let’s leave this matter to the madam.”

Freldt grumbled inwardly but in the end he acquiesced.  What else was he supposed to do, choke the truth out of that stinky brat? He recognized a stubborn individual when he saw one.

Wilk patted him on the shoulder.

“Get some rest. There should still be a few hours left before dawn. I’ll keep an eye on things.”

Freldt didn’t need to be told twice. It wasn’t long before the hairs of his beard were being stirred by long, slow breaths. He looked like a hibernating bear.

Wilk idly puffed on his pipe while staring at Sixth’s sleeping back. His expression was indecipherable.

----------------------------------------------

Multiple footfalls sounded in the early-morning air.

Puffs of dust were kicked up as flat shoes, leather boots and fur moccasins hit the winding dirt road. The four had woken at dawn and, after freshening themselves in the cool stream water, had set off to rejoin the troupe.

They’d already spent a few hours walking, maintaining a good pace. Unencumbered as they were, they expected to reach their destination around midday.

Unfortunately, they were waylaid by an unknown group.

It was Freldt who detected their presence. At the front, he stuck out an arm, bringing those behind him to a halt.

“Stop.”

When his companions looked at him strangely, he held an index finger to his lips.

His eyes scanned the swaying branches, each draped in forest of leaves. It was impossible to see more that five yards into the thicket, yet he was certain that he’d detected something out of the ordinary.

“Come out at once!”

His deep voice vibrated in his chest. It had a powerful intimidating effect.

A rustling came from woods, accompanied by whispering voices. His guess had been correct.

The four watched warily as a few shabby individuals appeared between the trees like beetles scurrying out of a pile of mulch. The figure at the lead was a thin man with greasy, dark hair, sticking to his head in an unappealing fashion. He smiled suspiciously.

“Good day!”

He gave them a casual wave.

Freldt had stealthily drawn his knife, though he was keeping it close to his body. One could never be too careful when it came to ‘coincidental’ meetings on the road.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

His impatience was clear in his tone.

The man gave an awkward chuckle.

“Please, don’t misunderstand! We’re hunters, nothing more.”

He patted his chest solidly. It looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. 

His fellows gave slow nods – there was something about them that looked unresigned. The tallest one among them, a bald man with a dirty, gleaming head, tapped the leader on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear.

“…we wus gonna stick ‘em necks right innit, boss?”

He wasn’t trying very hard to be quiet, so the four travelers were able to catch the end of his question. Needless to say, they quickly became agitated.

“Don’t be alarmed, please! This poor fellow wasn’t gifted with smarts, don’t mind him.”

He was quick to try and rectify the situation. One of his hands smacked the egghead solidly on the back of his skull.

“In fact, we-…”

“Enough!”

Freldt’s bellow shocked the leader into silence. He’d drawn his knife and was advancing on the group of ‘hunters’ while waving it around dangerously. The grey blade was long as a forearm and its edge was chipped. Rather than appearing shoddy, it looked like it was used to the taste of human blood.

“You lot better scram if you know what’s good for you!”

The leader’s throat moved as he swallowed. He certainly hadn’t expected to encounter such an unreasonable individual while making the rounds today.

He nodded like a chicken pecking at rice.

“Of course, of course. By my mother’s maiden name, you’ll not see me again, long as I live.”

He whirled around in a hurry like he couldn’t wait to be anywhere else other than here. One of the other ruffians, clutching a gnarled wooden club, restrained him with stubby hand.

“You can’t be serious, Corkus. We haven’t bagged anything for days, yet you want to let this catch slip through our fingers? Look at that girl! We sell her, we’ll be deep in our cups for weeks!”

Corkus wasn’t having any of it. He promptly shook off the hand clutching his arm and fled into the forest.

“If you want to die, don’t drag me down with you…!”

The declaration trailed behind him like a piece of toilet paper stuck to his shoe.

The new ‘leader’ swore at his retreating back.

“Fuck, I knew it was a mistake to follow your chicken-shit self. You better hope I never see you again, long as you live. Right lads, grab ‘em!”

Wasting no time, he and the five others behind him stormed the four travelers. Between them, they carried axes, clubs and spears. The rotten hides tied to their hairy bodies showcased their destitute state.

Wilk smoothly unsheathed his sword. It was a marvelous piece of well-oiled steel, two-and-a-half feet long and free of any rust or nicks.

The bandits’ eyes lit up with greed when they saw it. Something like that would fetch a good price with the right people.

Freldt’s gaze was steely. He spoke to Wilk over his shoulder.

“Keep an eye on the kids.”

If he was at all concerned about the coming bloodbath, then he didn’t show it.

Wilk nodded seriously.

“You can count on me.”

-----------------------------------------------