The Tale Teller

Ch 39

 Vaun named the fox cub Dílis. It was a word many of the villagers used when pointing to the bundle of fur that refused to leave Vaun's lap. The fox had even bared its teeth like a wolf when the morning meal of bread had been passed to him, refusing to let any near the man he had chosen as his master.

"He's loyal. A loyal animal." A passerby had explained the meaning behind the term when their curiosity had grown too strong.

It was a strange word, spoken in a tongue like nothing Vaun had ever heard before. It poured from many of this village's lips with the same tone the man who had called himself The Father had also used, but Vaun hadn't heard enough of it to know if they were the same.

"Dill...ish." Ash sounded it out like a babe repeating its mother's name. The fox only snuffed his nose beneath the folds of Vaun's cloak. He was learning it though, for when Vaun had breathed it against the air of the following night, he had opened black eyes to look up in wonder.

A day had passed since their party had been taken to the village and tied to the tree like a group of prisoners. They weren't treated as such though, a fact confirmed by The Bard who had been locked in Faydura's stocks.

These villagers brought dishes that increased in size and flavour with every new meal. They stopped less to stare, and more to question the four on their names and homelands. Where had they come from and why? These people wanted stories, and by the third night, Vaun found his fingers deep in Dílis's fur as The Bard sang a new ballad of all they had left behind.

Once the song had been sung, the people looked to Vaun. Murmurs came in the foreign tongue as did the calls for tales in the familiar one. Vaun humoured them, knowing it wouldn't bring the food or money he was used to, but his life was a more important payment.

Between his stories and The Bard's songs, the people gathered with them until the night grew too cold, and the steam began to rise with it. Vaun watched as mothers ushered their children close, bidding farewell to each other before pushing the young indoors and away from it. Father's yelled out names, herding all away from the air like the others around them. They looked back though, eyes watching the four still bound to the tree with a worry that made Vaun wish for the mask that had been tugged from his lips.

He remembered the first night here, alone and filled with dilution as the steam had suffocated their lungs. The night before had been easy, but with the fear in a grown man's eyes, Vaun couldn't stop himself from speaking a silent prayer to The Mother and The Father to save them from what was to come.

What did come, Vaun never knew, for with more shouts men came running with knives which slit open the ropes binding them. It was a blur of torches and fading vision. This steam brought a fog, and if not for the harsh grasping of his wrist tugging him up and across the square, Vaun wouldn't have been able to find his way to the buildings himself.

Dílis followed, scampering after him and into the room they were dragged into with a frenzy that almost seemed unnecessary. When they had been left out a few nights before, convinced of death, why was tonight so different? It wasn't a question answered as they were pushed towards the fire in the centre of the space, flames burning so bright that they lit up the cornerless space.

Letting his eyes adjust, Vaun took in the surroundings of these strange houses present here. There were so many people piled inside that it was hard to see. The walls were lined with old sheets that seemed to form curtains, with pots and pans, farming tools, boots and baskets, all hanging from their poles. The ceiling rose towards the centre, where a small hole let the fire's smoke free. How the steam stayed out Vaun couldn't understand, but with the bolting of the only door, he hadn't time to let his thoughts wander.