//------------------------------// // Chapter Twenty Eight - Honeyed Poison // Story: When The Snow Melts // by Bluespectre //------------------------------// CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT   HONEYED POISON     The dull thudding of the water wheel added an ominous background note to the meeting being held in the draughty old mill, but it was the only building in the village large enough to accommodate most of the villagers. The rest pushed in closer to the open door, those at the back standing on tiptoes to get a better look.   Chert sat with Stran, busily picking his teeth while surreptitiously watching the others seated around him. Nasta was there, along with Huro, the village elder, and members of his extended family, many of whom, Chert suspected, shared a little more than just a ‘passing semblance’ to one another. He’d have to warn his daughter about that sort of thing when she was older, but thank the gods that was a few years off yet.   Huro took a draw on his pipe, scratching the stubble on his chin thoughtfully, his timeless eyes taking everything in. Chert’s nose twitched. The smell emanating from the village elder was more than just the smoke from his tobacco. Didn’t the villagers ever wash? He glanced up at Stran who stood in silence, wearing his usual deadpan expression. Chert sighed. He’d begun to wish he’d brought Jinu along instead; at least she would have been a little more animated.   Huro nodded slowly to no one in particular. “Our food supplies are low,” he said levelly, “but we still have just enough to last until the next season.”   One of the senior villagers spoke up, “If we don’t mind starving half to death!”   A woman cradling an infant called out from the back, “What about the young? We can’t just live on rice. We rely on trade from the other villages for basic essentials. If the roads are blocked, nobody will be able to get through.”   There was a general murmuring of agreement, as the elder silently nodded to himself. Nasta spoke up, “We need to open the road, but it’s simply too dangerous—the hills are crawling with bandits. If we send work crews up there to clear the road, they’d end up like… like…”   Nasta closed his eyes and looked away, trying to hide the emotion on his face. Chert grimaced, holding out his hand to Stran, who passed him his pipe. It was damn typical, wasn’t it? Despite his efforts to keep the death of the governor’s men quiet, one of the blabbermouths had told his friend, who’d told his friend, and so on and so on until the whole bloody village knew of the slaughter. Now, as he’d predicted, there was little more than barely restrained panic. They were scared, and he couldn’t blame them either, but someone had to keep their head right now. Thankfully, Huro was well respected in the village, and if nobody else, they would listen to him.   The village elder raised an eyebrow. “What about your men, Chert?”   The boss shook his head. “I could send them up there with a work party to clear the second landslide, but then the village would be unprotected. I don’t have enough of my boys to effectively cover both.”   One of the villagers shouted from the doorway, “The governor’s men were professional warriors. What makes you think your men would be able to protect us?”   Stran whirled around, making the huddle of onlookers push back like a startled school of fish facing a predator. Chert placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. “You’re right, we’re not professional soldiers, but we are members of this community, and we will help to protect it the best we can.”   There was a sudden rumbling of agreement and general bowing, with one of their number being pushed roughly when he opened his mouth to reply. Chert noted who it was, in case he had to have words later.   Nasta shook his head, apparently having composed himself. “Sooner or later, Lord Ire’s men will come looking for the governor and his party, and they’ll take care of things for us.”   “When?!” one of the villagers shouted. “They were supposed to be keeping the hills free of bandits already, and now this!”   “How long before they find out about the massacre? It could be weeks, months!”   “We can’t survive that long! Our food stocks are—”   Huro slammed his hand on the floor, stopping the villagers’ worried outbursts instantly. “Will one of you volunteer to go to the castle and ask Lord Ire for aid?”   There was an embarrassed silence before one of the villagers called out from the back, “Going through the hills would be a death sentence!”   The elder nodded to himself. It was—anyone who went alone would almost certainly never be seen again. The bandits were doubtless watching the road in and out of the village, unless—   One of the villagers called out, “What about that hermit who lives in the hills? He knows the land; he could go!”   “Yes! Send him!”   “What was his name again?”   “The madman of the hills!” another shouted, eliciting numerous sniggers and guffaws from the assembled villagers.   Nasta looked up angrily, stopped from intervening by the elder’s outstretched hand. Chert shouted over them, “We can’t. He’s dead.”   Silence.   “You’re wrong. He’s alive.” The voice carried around the large room, confident and self-assured. Nasta’s eyes looked like they would bulge out of his head. Everyone turned to the door and the commotion outside.   “Let him through!” Huro shouted across the hubbub. “Make way there!”   The newcomer pushed his way through the throng to the surprised gasps and mutterings of the villagers. Nasta rushed forward, pausing to stare at the man before flinging his arms around him. “Oh gods! Cray… you’re alive! I… I thought you were dead!”   The blacksmith laughed, gently moving Nasta away. “No, no, I’m quite alive as you can see.”   Chert watched the man carefully. There was something about his mannerism that made him feel wary. He glanced up at Stran who gave his boss a sidelong look, confirming his concerns. People didn’t just suddenly reappear from the forest after… how long?   Huro raised his hand, and quiet descended on the gathering. Many of the villagers wore happy smiles, but some clearly had the same reservations as Chert, casting Cray with worried glances.   The elder scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat. “It’s truly remarkable that you’ve returned to us, Cray.” He nodded to the assembled villagers. “We all believed you to be lost like the others.”   Chert fixed the newcomer with a half-smile. “Yes, truly amazing, Cray. Like everyone here, I share in their joy at seeing you alive and well. Please, would you tell us how you have managed to survive out there in the hills all this time? It may help us deal with our current situation.”     Cray smiled and patted his old friend Nasta on the back. “I survived by the grace of the gods, my friends. The goddess of the moon sent her very own warrior to protect me, and here I am.” He pushed forward and turned, allowing everyone to see him. “I have brought excellent news for you all, news that will lighten the darkest of hearts.”   Chert groaned inwardly. The last thing he wanted was more folksy wisdom. The countryside was full of it, literally, and the more remote you got, the more potent it became. It hadn’t been that long ago that these very same people would have been sacrificing children to the spirits when they had a bad harvest. By the looks of it, things hadn’t moved on that much since then.   Huro tapped his pipe out and handed it to the young girl beside him, who replaced it with a mug of water. “And what is this wondrous news, Cray? Is it that the son of Willow still lives? You have seen him?”   “More than that, elder.” Cray’s voice suddenly took on a serious note. “Rush lives, but he now harbours a witch, a dread spirit from the world of the dead that mercilessly struck down our children. Our children!” He held out his arms dramatically. “The goddess’ warrior led me from the forest and showed me the dreadful slaughter the witch had wrought on the hill road, the same road where she used her evil magic to bring down the very earth of the land to trap us here like animals.”   Cray smiled at a young woman cradling her child. “Animals awaiting slaughter, just like Blossom.” The woman paled, holding onto her child so tightly that it began to whimper. “She would have been old enough to marry before long.” He turned to Nasta. “I feel your loss, my friend, I truly do.”   Nasta’s eyes lit up. “But Cray, I can’t believe it. Rush is alive? And… a witch? Surely that’s wrong. He may be a little odd at times, but he was there with the rest of us that night. How could he have been in league with some demonic spirit?”   Chert nodded. “I don’t see Rush here, Cray, only you. And what we saw on the hill road was the work of blade and bow, not ‘magic’.”   “True, but why don’t we see Rush here?” Cray asked, nodding to the assembled villagers. “Surely if one of us had only narrowly avoided death, we would have come down to the village for safety, wouldn’t we?” He waved a hand expansively across the room, eliciting a good deal of nodding and whispering. “If he has nothing to hide, why then isn’t he here?”   Chert slapped his thigh loudly. “Maybe because nobody asked him to come here!” He let out a loud sigh. “Good gods, Cray, this is absolute nonsense! A witch living in the hills with a reed cutter? And I expect this witch is strong enough to cut down a band of warriors, is she? Must be a bloody good shot to do that!”   A few of the villagers laughed, quickly being shushed by the others. Cray’s expression darkened. “I didn’t expect you to believe me, ‘Boss’. You’re not from these hills like the rest of us. We understand the land; we feel its life all around us; we depend upon it for our very existence. Our observance of the spirits and gods has protected us and our homes for generations.” His expression transformed into a sneer. “I expect that the only god you pray to now, Chert, is money.”   Chert’s hand flew up to stop Stran, who was ready to strike the man down for his insolence. Huro intervened quickly. “This meeting is about the attacks on the village, the safe use of the hill road, and the safety of our people, Cray. It is not for fighting amongst ourselves. The boss and his men are as much a part of this village as you are, and as a son of ours, I expect you to behave with honour and civility.” He turned to Chert. “I’m sorry, please forgive him. He’s been through a terrible ordeal and probably isn’t thinking straight.”   “Oh, I’m thinking straight, Huro.” Cray roughly pushed forward to stand next to the elder and addressed the villagers. “The governor and his men were cut down by a demon conjured by the witch and her human consort. The moon goddess’ warrior has explained that this demon can take the shape of a man, and he may well come here, claiming to be sent by the governor or the lord and use cunning and clever words to sway your minds. He warns you not to listen to his lies but to listen to your hearts!”   Huro stared up at Cray. The man had the villagers, all too ready to leap at the first offer of an explanation or a solution, hanging off his every word. Cray flung his arms out wide.   “You want to know who killed young Blossom? It was the witch! You want to know who blocked the hill road, making prisoners of us all? It was the witch! Your children, cut down and butchered like the governor’s men...” He took a deep breath, hanging his head sadly. “I think you all know the answer now, don’t you?”   “Where is this witch?” someone called out.   “Weren’t you listening? She’s in league with that reed cutter!”   “That Rush fellow?”   “The madman of this hills!”   “Crazy old Rush!”   “I always thought there was something strange about him!”   “He never talks to anybody, I heard. Always alone, that one.”   “I heard he killed his wife and daughter.”   “Good gods, really? His own family?”   “What sort of man does that?”   Chert could feel the anger in the room rising like water in a well, confusion and fear changing to a collective aggression that could likely lead to a murderous lynch mob. He had to stop this.   “Listen to me!”   The noise drowned him out until Stran stood up and held up his sword, his words bellowing out across the throng:   “BE QUIET!”   Silence descended. A lot of nervous looks, mixed in with determined and angry faces, met Chert’s as he addressed them, “Right then, let’s put this stupid nonsense to bed once and for all. If you’re that determined to run off into the forest to find Rush, we’ll need every man we can get, armed and dressed for the cold.” He stared at Cray. “And this is NOT a hanging party, Cray. The same goes for the rest of you too. We are going to find Rush and speak to him, that’s all.”   Huro rose shakily to his feet. “I agree, Rush is not to be harmed. If need be, bring him back to the village so we may speak to him. But remember, he is still a son of this village and has helped many of us when we were sick. Jea, he helped you when your daughter had the summer fever, did he not?”   One of the women nodded, muttering to some of the others.   “Funi, Rush helped save your leg when you fell from the tree when you were a child, do you remember?”   A chorus of nods and general discussions broke out. Cray nodded to Chert and Huro, his expression oddly blank. “Very well, but you shall see the truth of what I say soon enough. Then, you will wish you had shown the gods more attention when you had the chance. A time of reckoning is coming, and the gods are already walking amongst us.”   Chert took a mouthful of his water and leaned forward to Cray, his voice so quiet only the two of them could hear. “You listen to me, Cray. I’m watching you. I don’t trust you. You’re up to something, I know it. I can smell it a mile away.”   For just the briefest of moments, a flicker of uncertainty flashed across Cray’s face before the confident smile was back. He said nothing, but simply stepped back into the crowd, disappearing out the door as they all began to leave the confines of the mill.   Huro took hold of Chert’s sleeve. “I’ve known Cray and his family for a long time, but something’s wrong here, very wrong.”   “What do you mean? All that nonsense about witches and spirits?”   The village elder shook his head. “No, I mean he’s changed. The Cray I knew was a quiet, softly spoken man who loved his family and was observant of the will of the gods. This… zealotry, his mannerisms… He’s not the Cray I remember. Watch yourself around him, Chert.”   Stran watched the crowd leave and shouldered his sword, spitting on the mills dusty floor. “You think he’s working for the bandits, Boss?”   “That’s my guess. This whole ‘witch’ business stinks like a bull’s arse.”   “A trap?”   “Probably, but you saw the villagers. They won’t stop now; they want blood. The best we can do is to go along on this little trip to see the reed cutter and come back. The cold will cool their temperaments.”   “But if the bandits are waiting for you?”   “We run, Huro. We run.”