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jmeadows and some others have been asking for an excerpt so here it is. This will probably change drastically and I'm sure there's glaring problems. Nonetheless, here it is. Chapter 1."Fin, stop looking at your feet - I want you to get me some Bitterstalk from Lilith," my Gram said. She counted out three Silver Marks into her weathered hand. "This should be fine... Give 'er a kiss if she's difficult. But not the wet kind – I don't want you to start lustin'."
Bitterstalk was a vegetable that looked like celery with a red stalk. Gram had taken to it. She said it was the one thing she could still taste. Unfortunately Lilith was the only person in Postland who grew the stuff. And Lilith was a witch.
"Not that it matters to you," I said, "but it's almost dark."
She snorted. "Afraid, are you?"
My Gram had grown up in a time when the woods were still safe - before things came out at night. She still believed in sayings like "it's just your imagination" or "there's nothing to be afraid of".
I sighed. "I'll take the gun then."
She wheezed a laugh. “You'll shoot your fingers off with that old thing. Might as well take a cork gun.”
“I could shoot you, then at least I wouldn't have to get you Bitterstalk in the dark.”
I unlocked the case that held the Winchester rifle. The old bag was right: The thing looked like it was ready to fall apart. Still, I figured I could probably coax one or two shots out of it in a desperate situation. I didn't plan on using it though.
I grabbed the Marks from her papery hand and pocketed them.
“Don't go skimming a coin for your own stash,” she said.
“I'd offer to help you with the lamps, but I like the thought of you staggering around in the dark,” I replied.
We then engaged in a sneering match from which there emerged no clear victor. She finally hobbled up to me and began to pinch my arm as hard as her old fingers could squeeze. Though it smarted, I smiled pleasantly in response; this reaction would annoy her most.
Eventually she gave up with a sigh. Now she would go for guilt:
“Oh, Fin... You look so much like your dead father – he once got me walnuts in the middle of a blizzard. But you won't even get me Bitterstalk in the afternoon. Why is your soul so dark?”
“I love you, Gram,” I said and kissed her cheek.
She squinted at me suspiciously then shuffled over to her rocking chair. “I'm going to listen to my music before lighting the lamps. I'm not afraid of the dark."
The one luxury that my Gram still possessed was her radio. It mostly only played static but if you turned the knob just right, it played music. The radio used to have more stations - but that was before they killed The King. Now it played happy songs and gave us top-of-the-hour reports on how the world was ending.
"Don't be a chicken," Gram told me as I left. "And make sure the Bitterstalk is firm. Don't let that woman give you any dry stuff!"
I exited to the front porch. They said that Postland was a once a big town but now it had dwindled to less than a hundred residents. It was especially quiet this time of the day – when most everyone was out working in the fields - and didn't get much louder when the sun set. Postland was quiet and everyone seemed to like it that way. Let the rest of the world rage and end, was the attitude. We'll grow cabbage and hunt rabbits, thank you.
I squinted at the horizon. Judging from the sun there was few hours left before dusk and maybe one more before real dark. I took one look at the north and groaned. Thunderheads, big and looking heavy with rain, were advancing from behind the mountains. I stole back inside and grabbed my rain slick and a lantern before taking to the street. A storm already? Was Winter really that close? We needed at least another quart of wood and the root cellar was still too sparse for my satisfaction. Fool old woman, sending me out on a whim when I could be chopping wood or bringing in vegetables from the garden. Gram still had some strength in her – enough to pinch my arm like a fire ant - she should at least help with the chores.
The radio wheezed to life from inside the house. I faintly heard the smokey voice say: “-she was sighted near Old Mill. Reports are conflicting; one farmer said that she slept in his barn...”
They were talking about The Princess again. Old Mill was just few days travel down the highway. It was odd that she should be so close. But one could never really trust the radio.
The street was quiet, which was normal; the nearest occupied house was three blocks down. On our street, each house had boarded up doors and dark windows with only a few shards of glass still intact. Vines covered their walls and blackberry creepers and overgrown rose bushes erased the yards and spilled over the sidewalks. Most folks lived nearer to downtown or by the fields – not so close to the forest – but my Gram was stubborn and refused to leave her old home. She said that when she was a young girl the fountain at the end of the street had run with water and was filled with pennies. I used to scour every inch of that fountain in the hope that there might be a penny or two concealed beneath the moss and creepers. I never found any.
I shouldered the rifle and began to walk; I kicked a stone ahead of me until it disappeared into a clump of weeds that had poked its way through the pavement. My shadow stretched out ahead. The afternoon sun felt warm and gentle on my neck. Behind me, the clouds appeared dark and bruised – it looked to be the first real storm of harvest. And here I was caught in it.
At the end of our street something caught my eye. I walked over to examine a piece of sidewalk. The words “CROWN THE DARK KING” had been scrawled across the pavement in black paint. It hadn't been there yesterday. Ghoul work. The buggers were getting brave. They didn't usually venture this far from the forest. Seized by an inspiration, I took a quick look around, unzipped my jeans, and peed on the writing. I'd hoped that maybe it would run the paint but it didn't have very satisfactory results. It actually made the writing darker. Now I was going to have to walk by my own pee-stain every day. Gross.
A few blocks later, I came to the woods. The woods didn't start with a gradual thinning of houses and thickening of the trees – I just turned the corner and was met by a wall of trees where the pavement crumbled into dirt. The road continued on but overgrown with tall grass. Off the path, I could make out a few skeletons of houses, all tangled up by creepers and wrapped in moss. They too had once been a part of the town before nature took it back. Here the number of “CROWN THE DARK KING” signs were too numerous to count. They were everywhere; scrawled across walls, windows and pavement – crossing each other, until the letters tangled into gibberish. I could feel my heart go a little faster now. The forest always did that to me.
I studied the path. It had been over a month since my last visit and it seemed even more overgrown than before. Yellow leaves scattered thick across the path and more fell each time the wind brushed the trees. Only the pines were still green – the rest of the trees were a violent red or bright yellow. The smell of musty damp leaves and dirt filled my nose.
Now for the unpleasant part: I set my rifle and lantern on the ground, picked a spot on my hand where the skin wasn't too thick or sensitive, took out my pocket knife, and cut. The blood didn't flow very well so I had to apply pressure to get a decent number of drops on the grass.
“Is that enough?” I called out, a little angry. “Can I go?”
I flung a last few drops to the ground. They speckled across the brown grass and almost looked pretty. That should be enough for a safe passage. It would have to be enough – I couldn't squeeze any more blood out of the cut. I retrieved my things and stepped into the grass.
The journey along the trail passed without event. Once or twice I glimpsed movement in the dark places between the trees off the path – but I couldn't tell if it was an animal or something more sinister. Birds called back and forth from the branches. The air was warm and uncertain: it would be still for long moments then suddenly gust, whipping my hair and sending showers of yellow leaves to the ground. The storm would be here soon.
It was twilight when I first saw the cottage through the tangle of creepers and brush. It wasn't like the houses in town; it was made out of dark stones and mortar, with a straw roof. The two windows were foggy red glass instead of clear. In the dim light the cottage looked like some ogreish face with huge red eyes and wild hair, glaring through the trees. This delighted me strangely and I stood staring back at it for some time. Then I felt a touch of rain on my neck and hurried up to the cottage and rapped on the door.
“Come in, Fin,” came the clear voice from inside.
I should mention now that Lilith was not like witches in other stories. She did not have green skin and warts. She was not even old.
As I opened the door the unique scent of the cottage came to my nose: A mixture of hot candle wax and oil, ground sandalwood, open liquor bottles, boiling meat and potatoes from the pot in the fireplace, and faint blood. The cottage was nothing but a single room containing a fireplace, a stove with a chimney, a wooden table, and all sorts of things hanging from the ceiling. It was also very hot and humid inside.
“How do you always know it's me,” I said when I'd shut the door behind me.
She stood at the table in the back, leaning over a clear bowl of liquid. She straightened up and turned to me.
“I don't think I'll tell you,” she said.
Lilith was tall; over six feet at least. She had long black hair that hung to her waist. Her mouth was wide and her lips were very red and always wet. She had sad dark eyes that reminded me of a cow. Her breasts were large and the exposed skin around her neck and chest was white and spotless as milk. The older I got, the more her presence inspired a feeling of vertigo, like I was standing on the edge of a cliff.
I was already sweaty from the walk and in the oppressive heat of the room I could feel drops forming and running down my forehead and neck. I wiped it with my sleeve.
“Here for Bitterstalk?” she asked.
I nodded. “My Gram loves the stuff, you know.”
The roof of the cottage was very low and made even lower by the bolts of vegetables, dry flowers, and salted meat hanging from the rafters. She had to duck when crossing the room.
“Wait here,” she said and exited by the back door, into the garden.
I set my things on the ground. My attention was drawn to the bowl that the witch had been leaning over when I first entered. I tip-toed over for a closer look. It was full of a clear, amber liquid. A pungent smell came to my nose as I got nearer; it stiffened the hair on my neck. I leaned over it -
The door clapped open and the witch entered, carrying a bushel of Bitterstalk. I quickly turned away from the bowl, trying to act like I hadn't been snooping.
She laughed. “Never smelled Spikenard before?”
She moved to the table and placed a cloth over the lid of the bowl.
“Is it perfume?”
Before she answered, the rain began. It came down with a sudden roar. I shivered involuntarily.
“Ah... Here's the rain,” she said, sighing. “Rivers, narrow as snakes; and lakes the size of dinner plates.” She laughed as if this was a joke.
In one smooth motion she slid up onto the table and sat on it cross-legged, resting her chin in her hands. She observed me for one uncomfortable moment then she seemed to be looking past my shoulder. I stole a quick glance behind my back but nothing was there. Was the room growing even hotter? The smell of the Spikenard perfume was so strong; my eyes began water.
Something about the expression on Lilith's face began to scare me. She looked blank – wiped clean of any emotion. Her eyes had drawn to narrow slits and her mouth hung open a little so I could see the bright pink of her tongue behind her teeth. She began to whisper:
“Dark roads open... and move with the wind. She comes closer to finding him, but the beast is at her heel...”
I realized that I was holding my breath and my collar was damp with sweat.
“Um - are three Marks enough?” I asked and my voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “For the Bitterstalk?”
We had been standing close – only an arm's length from each other. Before I could move, her arm shot out and grabbed me on the shoulder. Her fingers dug in to my skin and it hurt. Her voice was louder now: “It's all falling apart... Tonight! Tonight! She will find him or fail! She's running... Running... Do you know his name? Unthinkable!”
“Here!” I said much louder than I wanted to. I twisted away from her and held out the three marks. My hand was shaking but I didn't care this time. Another moment and I was going to leave with or without the Bitterstalk.
She suddenly jerked and looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. “What did you say?” she snapped.
“Nothing! Three marks okay?”
She rubbed her temples and grimaced. “Fine, fine... Put them in the cup by the window.”
The marks clattered into the cup. I grabbed the Bitterstalk and my things.
“Bye! Have a good evening...” I said lamely as I almost ran for the door. I didn't wait for her answer.
Outside the rain was coming down in buckets but I didn't stop to don my slick or turn on my lantern until I was a safe distance from the cottage. I rested under a tree, panting.
What had just happened? I felt like I had escaped a trap; yet even while I rested, the strong desire to return to the cottage (and do what?) attacked me with such force that I doubled over in the effort to stay put. Finally it passed.
I threw on my rain slick though I was already drenched. My fingers fumbled with the knobs of the lantern until it glowed to life. The light revealed a world of small rivers; branches bowing up and down in the wind; and sheets of rain. I stowed my rifle under the slick and began to move.
I cast one more look over my shoulder but the cottage had already vanished behind the trees. I vowed that this was the absolute last time that I would get Bitterstalk for my Gram. The rain was cold and it made me shiver.
Fin, old boy, I thought, here's to being in bed before the hour's over.
But I would not reach my home that night.
November 18 2006, 03:03:43 UTC 5 years ago