The Knave of Souls - Fantasy - Sequel to The Jack of Souls

Chapter 38

Arkendian infatuation with maleness manifests most strangely in naming offspring. Though a mother's identity is certain, and the father's identity equally uncertain, the child is considered to be of the father's clan. They think so little of women, that...in cases where the father is unknown, the offspring is considered "illegitimate," which means "outside the protection of the law," and is made to wear a badge of dishonor in the form of a belt. ...and by this measure are we a race of illegitimates without knowledge of our fathers!

—From Among the Stilties, by Kwendi First Secretary Chombi

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FEAR AND TREMBLING

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When Harric finally steadied himself upon the fur rug, Fink released him and hopped aside, white eyes wide with fear. Strong smells of tar and unfamiliar spices assailed his throat and nostrils and forced him to swallow, lest he choke. As Harric rose to his feet and stood, silvery bells tinkled behind him, and he turned to see the source: another witch-silver rod, suspended in air at the top of the weird black doorway. The rod tinkled again, and a third time before the rod dropped like a stone to the carpet, closing the gate as it fell.

Harric pressed himself back against a wall and scanned the room they'd entered.

They'd landed in a huge cylindrical room, floored and paneled with wood, so in the Unseen it was bright with spirit essence. It reminded Harric of a drum tower, like Abellia's, but without floors above or stairways climbing up to them. Instead, the airy space was crisscrossed with countless branches, each as thick as his wrist and radiating from a pillar in the center to anchor in the surrounding walls. It was as if they'd built the drum around a spoke-limb tree made of polished wood. At various levels above him were enclosed wooden platforms, like tents or pavilions high in the branches. Harric counted at least a half dozen, each at different levels and different sides of the "tree." The nearest were some three or four fathoms above, with the uppermost at ten or twelve fathoms before branches and platforms obscured his view.

Something thumped in one of the nearest pavilions, and Fink flung himself back against the wall with Harric.

Straining his eyes to find the source of the noise in the glow of the essence, Harric's gaze fell on spirit strands so bright they could only be those of a person. The strands streamed from a larger pavilion some six fathoms above. Oddly, the strands did not rise toward the Unseen Moon, like Harric's, but instead angled down to one side and into the ground.

"It feels good to be in armor again," said Brolli's voice, from the pavilion.

Brolli appeared on a branch beside the pavilion, wearing a strange, puffy quilted vest. Stepping from the limb, he descended amongst the multitude of branches in a kind of controlled fall, his hands and feet slapping and thumping on the branches as they passed. Harric flattened himself against the wall as Brolli stopped and hung from both hands right beside Harric and directly in front of Fink. Harric held his breath. Fink cringed like a groveling dog.

If Harric reached out with one hand, he could tweak Brolli's nose.

Brolli studied something on the wall beside Harric, his huge gold eyes intent. Harric turned his head slowly, and craned his neck forward to see what it was. It appeared to be a tapestry or painting in a wooden frame, but he didn't dare lean out far enough to get a good look at it.

Brolli's armor appeared to be the source of the tar smell. This close, Harric could actually taste it in his mouth. The armor was unlike anything Harric had ever known. It appeared to be a heavy vest in which soft bricks of what he assumed must be tar had been stitched between layers of canvas. Each tar brick had deformed and sagged over the brick below, like bloated scales, and oils from the tar had discolored the fabric. The largest brick was the main chest "plate" of the armor, which was a single, thick pad of tar, while a ring of bricks made a collar that nearly swallowed Brolli's head. The whole thing gave him the look of a young pinecone with arms and legs.