Gallel's Heir

Chapter 17: What the Papers Reveal

Any may touch the Ball of Lights and Truths and use it.
Only Hallel’s heirs may wield it, or see and comprehend anything of value.
—Anath shen Sorrel Albandor of Yambisey

Before the sun rose, Harren managed to swallow two bites of cold stew. The water from the pump was ice cold, and her teeth and hands ached when she washed. Look fresh, not desperate, if she wanted people to welcome her in whatever town lay ahead. Or in the least, forget she was ever there when Tutang came searching.

She’d given Lianna a sleeping drag, and the girl lay with her head on Canúden’s belly in the dimness, lit only by embers of the fireplace. They needed their sleep. Harren needed hers, too, but she needed supplies more. She had slept poorly, worrying, mourning, spiders biting.

Three brass coins, only three shens, would buy her a cup of soup. She needed a miracle to get Canúden on his feet and off the island.

The sky turned gray as Harren pulled the cart over the bumpy path. The forest contained strange trees, not at all like in Galia, huge reddish trunks that no one could reach around. Some looked like they had windows and doors. The air smelled like the ocean, briny, but leafy too. Dylin had grown up here. She had died here.

By midmorning, the trees thinned, and wood buildings lined the path, which turned into a flattened dirt road. It was a town, larger than a village, but hardly magnificent in any way. Red tiled shops lined the crowded, narrow streets. Shopkeepers thrust wares into everyone’s faces. Harren refused various vegetables, fine cloth, or slabs of meat with a forceful gesture. Three brass coins wouldn’t buy much of anything. A haggard woman at a stand fingered a bright red fruit, perhaps checking for worms. Harren touched her shoulder, and the woman turned around, frowning. Dirty lines creased her face, and her lips sunk in without teeth. She probably wasn’t much older than Harren, early forties, but aged poorly.

“Excuse me,” said Harren. She hoped she looked all right, as Bennion had no mirrors in his cottage. “Do you know of a taxidermist in town?”

“Sure,” she said gruffly. She pointed with a spindly finger. “Old Hebicon. Find the cemetery, if you want. It’s off the Mill Road.”

Harren thanked her and followed the road. Children played, laughing vigorously if not gleefully. Some were thin and bruised, all were dirty. Why didn’t their mamas give them baths? Maybe they didn’t have mamas, or maybe baths were not a priority. The older people looked dirty too. Harren shook her head wearily at them.

Someone opened the door into a place called Membus Inn, revealing a dark interior, though the sun shined brightly overhead. Sickly sweet fumes swirled out the door with thick fingers of smoke, as if beckoning others to experience what pleasures the place had to offer. The pounding of drums, the strumming of a lute, and the whistling of a pipe, all drew her attention in the gentle rhythm of a heartbeat. She stopped, staring, wanting to hear more of the music. A thin and wrinkled man staggered out of the inn and grinned at her toothlessly. Harren breathed the smoke that fluttered out around the man, and she coughed and clutched her gut. The laughter of men and women echoed inside. How anyone could breath in there longer than a minute without fainting was a troubling thought. Men such as Tutang might like it.

Men fought in the streets, some touched each other seductively. Dizzy, she leaned against a wall to gain her breath and settle her stomach. She shouldn’t have eaten breakfast.

At the end of Mill Road was an Ancestors’ Sanctuary. It stood magnificent, three stories of sparkling white quartz against a thick, bright line of blue ocean and pink beach behind it. Great ships lined a dock at the beach, perhaps a fishing boat she could steal. In front of the sanctuary were a dozen lone standing white pillars of marble, engraved with reliefs of great events that certain Butuan Ancestors had accomplished. Their deeds seemed violent and sensual to her, one person kissing another and piercing him with a spear at the same time. She didn’t care to look at the images too closely.