said. “Rick and I have a few things to discuss.”
Arturus was so excited that he didn’t even think to protest but instead ran quickly across the gravel hallway to his own room so that he could dream about his future trips.
She’ll see me dealing with the First Citizen. Aaron won’t be the only one who has connections to the Fore.
But in his haste, he had forgotten to relieve himself before lying down, and soon he was creeping back out of his chambers towards the river where he would give the Devil his water back.
He heard the echoed voices of Galen and Rick, who were still speaking in the battery room. From the way they were whispering he knew that this was a conversation he wasn’t supposed to hear.
“You disapprove,” Rick’s hushed voice was saying.
“Yes.”
Arturus looked longingly down the hallway. He needed to piss, certainly, but he wanted to hear the conversation too.
“He only spoke to Massan. Massan’s a good man. He’s not going to tell anyone. And if he did, the stigma would be on him as much as us.”
“A 5.56 barrel isn’t something I want Turi associated with,” Galen said. “You and me, that’s one thing. But he’s just a boy.”
Arturus crossed his arms over his abdomen and shifted from one foot to the other. That single crunch of gravel was enough to silence Galen.
Eavesdropping would be impossible now, so Arturus made a break for the river.
The chamber which contained the Hungerleaf Grove was filled with the Kingsriver’s mist. Arturus loved the mists whenever they came. Galen said that they were caused by warm water, which had flowed through fires or been heated by the friction of settling stone. As far as Arturus was concerned, they meant that the water would be perfect for swimming.
The Harpsborough hunters, though, hated the mists. They liked to hunt along the Kingsriver because its chambers were so large—often miles long and hundreds of feet tall. A dyitzu was easy to spot in such a chamber and was little match for a man with a rifle at such a long range. But the haze would mean that a hunter wouldn’t see any devils until they got close—close enough that the dyitzu’s fire wouldn’t be very easy to dodge.
Several land bridges connected to the Hungerleaf Grove, which grew out of a large natural island in the midst of one of the Kingsriver’s oxbow lakes. Arturus felt very capable of protecting himself as he made his way across one of those bridges, his lightweight rifle strapped to his back, and his .38 pistol holstered at his side. The hungerleaf trees emerged from the fog as he approached, their long, spindly leaf covered branches reaching out, their scaly grey bark damp from the river’s condensation.
He breathed in the warm air.
“Alice,” he called.
He saw a shadow moving in the haze on the other side of the island.
“Declare yourself,” he said.
He heard a girl’s laugh. “You think I ’m a corpse, Turi?” It was Alice’s voice.
As she walked forward her distant grey silhouette slowly transformed into a beautiful blonde girl dressed in a blue skirt and white t-shirt. Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail. While she tended to wear old world shoes in the village, she had on some dyitzu skin moccasins now. She had sewn them up beautifully but could stand to learn from Galen how to attach soles to them.
“You might be a corpse,” Turi answered. “How should I know?”
She held up her hands before her and shambled forward. “Brains. Brains?” She clutched at his shoulders mockingly and began to pretend to eat his face. He felt her body as it brushed against his. She gave him a little shove, laughing.
Her laughter sounded beautiful in the mists.
He noticed she was almos t exactly the same height as he. “What do you mean, brains?”
“Everyone knows corpses eat brains.”
“No they don’t,” he said, puzzled.
She just laughed harder. “I can tell you were born here, sometimes. Did you bring the
Arturus was so excited that he didn’t even think to protest but instead ran quickly across the gravel hallway to his own room so that he could dream about his future trips.
She’ll see me dealing with the First Citizen. Aaron won’t be the only one who has connections to the Fore.
But in his haste, he had forgotten to relieve himself before lying down, and soon he was creeping back out of his chambers towards the river where he would give the Devil his water back.
He heard the echoed voices of Galen and Rick, who were still speaking in the battery room. From the way they were whispering he knew that this was a conversation he wasn’t supposed to hear.
“You disapprove,” Rick’s hushed voice was saying.
“Yes.”
Arturus looked longingly down the hallway. He needed to piss, certainly, but he wanted to hear the conversation too.
“He only spoke to Massan. Massan’s a good man. He’s not going to tell anyone. And if he did, the stigma would be on him as much as us.”
“A 5.56 barrel isn’t something I want Turi associated with,” Galen said. “You and me, that’s one thing. But he’s just a boy.”
Arturus crossed his arms over his abdomen and shifted from one foot to the other. That single crunch of gravel was enough to silence Galen.
Eavesdropping would be impossible now, so Arturus made a break for the river.
The chamber which contained the Hungerleaf Grove was filled with the Kingsriver’s mist. Arturus loved the mists whenever they came. Galen said that they were caused by warm water, which had flowed through fires or been heated by the friction of settling stone. As far as Arturus was concerned, they meant that the water would be perfect for swimming.
The Harpsborough hunters, though, hated the mists. They liked to hunt along the Kingsriver because its chambers were so large—often miles long and hundreds of feet tall. A dyitzu was easy to spot in such a chamber and was little match for a man with a rifle at such a long range. But the haze would mean that a hunter wouldn’t see any devils until they got close—close enough that the dyitzu’s fire wouldn’t be very easy to dodge.
Several land bridges connected to the Hungerleaf Grove, which grew out of a large natural island in the midst of one of the Kingsriver’s oxbow lakes. Arturus felt very capable of protecting himself as he made his way across one of those bridges, his lightweight rifle strapped to his back, and his .38 pistol holstered at his side. The hungerleaf trees emerged from the fog as he approached, their long, spindly leaf covered branches reaching out, their scaly grey bark damp from the river’s condensation.
He breathed in the warm air.
“Alice,” he called.
He saw a shadow moving in the haze on the other side of the island.
“Declare yourself,” he said.
He heard a girl’s laugh. “You think I ’m a corpse, Turi?” It was Alice’s voice.
As she walked forward her distant grey silhouette slowly transformed into a beautiful blonde girl dressed in a blue skirt and white t-shirt. Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail. While she tended to wear old world shoes in the village, she had on some dyitzu skin moccasins now. She had sewn them up beautifully but could stand to learn from Galen how to attach soles to them.
“You might be a corpse,” Turi answered. “How should I know?”
She held up her hands before her and shambled forward. “Brains. Brains?” She clutched at his shoulders mockingly and began to pretend to eat his face. He felt her body as it brushed against his. She gave him a little shove, laughing.
Her laughter sounded beautiful in the mists.
He noticed she was almos t exactly the same height as he. “What do you mean, brains?”
“Everyone knows corpses eat brains.”
“No they don’t,” he said, puzzled.
She just laughed harder. “I can tell you were born here, sometimes. Did you bring the
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