The Rokkoh Adventures

Rokkoh and the Old Woman, Chapter 7

In the waning dusk, the Everglow Wood shows the world why it has been named such. As the sun lowers itself for sleep, the leaves come alive. The greenery illuminates a periwinkle, the host of trees lighting the path that winds through them. Up above, between the gaps of the glorious canopy, the sky turns obsidian. Birds of the night sing their songs in hopes of enticing a partner or prey. Other creatures of fur and fang call out for the same purpose. Our horses trod onward, and neither they nor we are twinged by the faint and fickle flames of fear. The trees thin out. The glow stretches out a bit more, the new space allowing the illumination to breathe. A break in the wood presents itself, along with a sign pointing down the new road: Pelle's Hut. We slow to take the turn, kicking up dirt once we're on the new road.

Straight for the most part, it leads to a small house. Smoke billows from the chimney, the windows shine with light, and the door hangs open. Three children, all small, carry baskets inside. A larger figure, tall but lean, exits as we stop. A cautious look shadows his rough and gaunt face, short hair growing wild and dark on his dome and his face clean.

"You gentlemen lost?" he calls out. "Main road is back the way you came. Nothing to see out here."

"We have a delivery for you from Aloysius and Gesine," I answer.

Max dismounts and goes to the saddlebags. The man's sharp eyes watch carefully. From each Max withdraws the bundle within, carrying them over to the man. Glee lights his ecstatic expression as he accepts them with worn hands.

"The tunics, yes!" he smiles. "Just in time, too!"

"Do we have company, dear?" comes a female voice from the doorway. Tired yet curious, she pokes her head out. Her hair, the same dark hue as her husband's, is tied neatly in the back, its tail hanging over her shoulder.

"These folks are dropping off the tunics, honey," he turns to tell her.

"Never seen these couriers before," she says, eying us with that same cautious look her husband had worn. "New to the route?"

"You could say that," Max suggests as he hands over the bundles.

The woman takes them with a light chuckle, examining the twine that binds the thin white paper. She gives a delighted smile to us, a hint of something in her eyes, though what I cannot tell. That smile then goes to her husband, and he mirrors it. An odd sense of uncanny mixed with a mild paranoid dread drips into my stomach and runs it cold. But for the life of me, I cannot determine why.

"Thank you very much," she says with a little bow but that same big grin. "We don't have much to offer but our gratitude."

"You're welcome, ma'am," Max says. "We understand being skint; my brother and I grew up on the streets. But perhaps we could sleep here? Just for the one night; we'll be gone come dawn."

The couple exchanges a brief look of worry; their eyebrows quiver quick into a higher position. The mild tension eases, but only a little, when they turn their hesitant and apologetic eyes back to us. Those wide smiles remain, eerie and yellowed.

"You boys don't look like brothers," the man suggests with caution.

"We're adopted," I answer with a half-truth.

"Unfortunately, we have no room for board," the man says. "There's an inn back on the main road, if you follow that north just a little ways."

"I see," Max sighs, "but we've traveled a long way, and our mother is in need of a peaceful place to rest her old head."

Nana shifts behind me, leaning out so she can be seen. While one arm stays around me to keep her from falling, the other waves to the couple. Out of the corner of my eye I can even see a delightful mostly-toothless smile. The man and his wife, maintaining smiles that ever phase into odd and awkward things, offer the gesture back to her.