Beneath Ceaseless Skies #94 Read online

  Gallinule pulled a rooster from his sack. “We begin.” He slit the rooster’s throat and, within the confines of the small space, painted a circle of blood on the floor around the candle and around Dagh’s chair. “You will be safe as long as you remain outside the circle,” he said to Kaul.

  Kaul listened as Gallinule wove his spell, chanting the ancient words to bring forth the power of the demon from its place among the stars. The wizard worked his way around the circle, his hands threading together the symbols of the seven spheres of the universe, opening the doors between earth and the chosen demon’s realm. He coaxed the creature with words and promises in a language Kaul had never heard.

  A cloud formed above the candle; a nebulous sphere that shifted and darkened as Gallinule chanted. Within the orb, a being appeared which gained in substance and grew until it filled the protective circle, rearing its head to the ceiling of the hovel. The creature coalesced into the form of a misshapen man. A huge phallus hung beneath its round belly; its body was clothed in boils and long hair, and horns sprouted from its forehead. Eyes like embers gloated fiercely over the small room and hesitated on Kaul, filling him with terror.

  “Gozhob!” Gallinule stepped behind Dagh, drawing the creature’s attention to the old man. “Here is your purpose. Here is your reward.” Gallinule brought his hands down on either side of Dagh, who blinked stupidly at the creature. “Take this one’s life force, and hold it as I command. Spew it forth again into this man’s body when you are bid.”

  Kaul watched as the creature’s eyes rolled cunningly around the room. The eyes came to rest at last on Dagh, and it growled assent.

  “This one,” Gallinule pointed to Kaul, “will summon you in three days’ time. He will speak the ritual words over the body. You will release the spirit when he bids you to do so.”

  The demon grew darker at these words, but Gallinule raised his hands. “Obey me. Fulfill your oath!”

  Gozhob’s form swirled within its sphere and its eyes burned. It reached out toward Dagh, and the old man lifted a little from his seat, clutched useless wrists to his chest and slumped forward into Gallinule’s steadying hand. The demon swelled and darkened, then dissolved into nothingness. The candle spluttered and went out.

  “Light another candle,” Gallinule said. “There is nothing to fear. You may step into the circle. Gozhob is gone.”

  Kaul did as he was bid. A sudden dread clutched him as he saw Dagh lying in the wizard’s arms, his sallow skin translucent, mouth slack, eyes blank. “He’s dead!”

  “Hush,” Gallinule said. “He is not dead. As you contracted, his spirit is carried in the demon. The physic he drank will keep his body safe for three days. Gozhob will wait until sunset of the third day for you to reclaim your father’s soul.”

  Kaul’s back and hands felt cold. He knelt beside his father. “He looks... so....”

  “No one, not even the King’s own physician, will detect life in him. It is as we agreed. Gozhob will return his spirit when you command him with the words ‘nur tyem, setaf tiris.’ Remember these words.”

  Kaul repeated the words silently, and nodded.

  “Good. And remember, do not let the spell fool you. You have until the sun has set on the third day.”

  Kaul touched his father’s limp hand. His intellect told him that Gallinule spoke the truth, that this was their agreement, but his heart pounded and his eyes burned, unbelieving.

  Gallinule laid Dagh on the ground. “And now, my fee.”

  Kaul groped for the bag of coins and paid the wizard.

  Gallinule put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You have your sailing papers? Enough money?”

  With difficulty, Kaul pulled his gaze from the limp form of his father. He counted the silver remaining. “Yes... enough.”

  “And when does your ship sail?” he asked gently.

  “With the morning tide.”

  “Then you’d best get him aboard. Where is your box?”

  Kaul pulled himself to his feet and with great weariness, brought the coffin into the hovel. Gallinule helped him lay the body within, packing straw from the second pallet for cushioning. Kaul winced with each blow as Gallinule nailed the lid shut.

  At the wharf, Gallinule bid Kaul goodbye. The clouds dispersed like a blanket rolling away, exposing the harbor to the sharp cold. Frost edged the ship in the moonlight and silvered the ropes. “May you sail on to good fortune,” the wizard said.

  * * *

  It was still dark when the tide turned and the schooner lifted her sails to glide from the calm waters of the harbor into the winter chop of the sea. Wind and waves tossed the vessel like a cork, and rain and sleet drove Kaul below where he hung in a hammock and retched into a bucket. Yet it was not sea sickness alone that caused his stomach to churn. Like a moth circling a candle, his mind returned again and again to images of his father wakening inside the coffin in confusion and terror, of the deck hands prying the lid away and discovering the deception, of a noose lowering around his neck.

  Day passed, and night, and still the schooner sailed through the storms. The second day dawned. Gray waves and gray sky passed with stubborn sameness until he could no longer see them in the dark.

  The third day. At mid-afternoon, the schooner dropped anchor in a bay near a village nestled into the arms of a low hill. The crew lowered a longboat from the ship with the boxes and crates that were to end their voyage in Leal. Kaul sat next to the coffin with his back against the old sea chest. A feeling of emptiness, of hollowness pressed on his stomach.

  Two of the King’s Men strolled down the beach as the longboat approached. “You coming to Leal?” one shouted into the wind, wading into the waves to pull the boat up onto the sand. He wore a good-natured smile that reminded Kaul of someone he’d seen before.

  Kaul fumbled out of the boat. “Yes.” The word croaked out from a dry throat. “Yes,” he said again.

  The soldier with silver in his beard nodded, and the men pulled the boat ashore with a mighty heave. The crew slung boxes out of the boat and Kaul pulled his aside. Two children stared at him, their play among the bits of driftwood arrested. The older of the King’s Men oversaw the grocer and the ironmonger as they checked the manifest, while the other soldier, the one with the bright blue eyes and the wide mouth, ambled over to Kaul. “People don’t often come to Leal,” he said. “What’s your business?”

  The knots in Kaul’s stomach tightened. He kept his eyes at the King’s Man’s feet. “I’ve come to find my uncle. My father died. I’m bringing him home.” He bent and opened the chest for the King’s Man to inspect, then stood back meekly.

  The man took a cursory look in the chest then pointed to the coffin. “This is your father?”

  “Yes—please don’t open it. He’s been dead... three days on the ship, and two before that.” He couldn’t let the King’s Man see Dagh’s stumps.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Kaul nodded, his eyes firmly directed to the sand.

  The older soldier handed the manifest to the mate. “Not plague, now—” He marched up the beach as the grocer and the ironmonger hurriedly tugged at their supplies, alarm written on their faces.

  “No, no. He’s old, that’s all.”

  The older King’s Man called over his shoulder to the mate. “Bring a crowbar!”

  Kaul’s breath burned in his throat. “Please,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “Don’t... hurt him.”

  “He’s dead,” the older soldier said.

  “Yes. Of course. That’s right,” Kaul said. “He is.”

  The mate brought a crowbar. Kaul shoved his hands under his armpits as the two bent over the box. His breath came in short puffs that misted the air.

  The nails were pulled from their sockets with a rending sound.

  “What’s this?”

  The lid clattered to the pier and the soldiers gagged at the release of the stench. Illusion, Kaul told himself. Illusion —

  �
��He’s a thief,” the mate said. “He’s been caught.”

  “Twice,” the younger King’s Man said. “Leal has a law about thieves.”

  “But he’s dead,” Kaul said. “He can’t rob anyone now.”

  The mate leaned on the crowbar and looked at Kaul. “Maybe you’re a thief, then.”

  Kaul held out his hands. “I’m not. Look. I’m a dock hand.”

  The younger King’s Man studied Dagh’s face in puzzlement.

  The older soldier covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief and leaned over the coffin to listen to Dagh’s chest. He poked him and lifted an eyelid. “He’s dead, all right.”

  “Please.”

  The King’s Man straightened. “Let him go.”

  The mate shrugged and hammered the lid into place and took his crowbar back to the boat. Kaul hugged his hands beneath his armpits, lest the soldiers see relief visibly wash over him. Only a few minutes, an hour, and he would find a secluded place. Chant the words before sunset —

  “Who’s your uncle, then?” the younger King’s Man asked.

  “His name is Hauken.” Kaul breathed again and reached for his sea chest. “He has a farm—”

  “Hauken!” The King’s Man said in surprise.

  Kaul’s hand froze in mid-gesture.

  “Your uncle?” the man cried. “Then we are cousins! Hauken is my father.”

  “Your father?”

  “Yes! Our farm’s just up the road. I live there with him—and my mother, and my brother and four sisters.”

  Kaul stared. Yes, the smile was familiar, though Dagh had not smiled that way since... Kaul couldn’t remember. When Mama was alive. And the way this man punched the air to emphasize a point, and the way he tossed the hair from his eyes—

  “My name’s Airn.”

  “I’m....” Kaul took in the village all over again—the beach, the ocean, the rocky headland. This was his family’s home.

  Family.

  He flinched at the knot that gripped his throat. “I’m Kaul.”

  Airn’s gaze moved from Kaul to the coffin. The silence of gulls and breakers and the men pushing the longboat into the surf hung between them. Thief.

  “I promised Dagh I would bring him to Leal. To—” He had to finish. “To bury him.”

  “But—”

  Kaul managed a brief glance at Airn’s stricken face. “Don’t worry. I won’t come to your farm. Once I’ve earned passage, I’ll go back to Discort. You don’t have to tell Hauken. About Dagh.”

  Airn’s eyes flicked to the other King’s Man. “No,” he said. “Dagh was my father’s brother. He’ll be buried in the town graveyard, with the rest of our family.”

  What?

  “My father will want to know.”

  The older King’s Man nodded. “I’ll find you a horse and cart.” He walked up the beach toward the village.

  No, this was all wrong—

  Airn smiled again, this time—what? Sorrowfully? Pityingly? “And you are my cousin. You must come to the farm. My father will want you to join us.”

  “But Dagh—” The words tumbled from Kaul’s lips before he could stop them. “He’s a thief—he was a thief. You’re a King’s Man—”

  Airn put his arm around Kaul’s shoulders and shrugged. “I’m sure... there were circumstances.”

  Circumstances, yes! Life in Discort was hard. Kaul knew that. Dagh wasn’t bad. He wasn’t. Anyone in those circumstances would have done what Dagh had done. Survive, any way he could.

  Anyone.

  The King’s Man brought the horse and cart, and they loaded the chest and coffin. As they bumped over the frozen ruts, Airn recounted his family’s story, but Kaul couldn’t fix on the words.

  This wasn’t the plan. He was supposed to find a quiet spot in the forest and summon Gozhob to restore Dagh’s soul before anyone discovered them. He hadn’t intended to look for Hauken at all.

  Now, his cousin—his cousin the King’s Man—knew Dagh was a thief. And, thought he was dead. How could Kaul explain Dagh’s return to life now? And what would happen to Dagh, after all, if Kaul brought him back now? A life in prison? The gallows? And what would Airn say when he found out that Kaul had lied to him?

  It had all gone wrong when Airn met him on the beach.

  But... a cousin. The offer of a home. Kaul shook his head. A cousin!

  Airn turned the horse through a gap in the hedgerow into a snowy lane. Fields, cut into odd shapes by fences of stone, fell away over rolling hills to the forest in the distance. Just ahead, a group of buildings on the edge of an orchard clustered around a well. Smoke rose from the chimney of a comfortably rambling house.

  A man—Kaul could have sworn that it was Dagh, by his gait—strode from the barn, coiling rope over one shoulder. He stopped when he saw the wagon. A small boy at the well stared for a moment, then ran into the house calling, “Mama! Mama!”

  Airn jumped to the ground. “Father! Look who’s come! Your nephew, Dagh’s boy. His name is Kaul.”

  Kaul slid across the wagon seat and let himself down. A woman hastily pulling a thick shawl over her shoulders hurried from the house, followed by the boy and four wide-eyed girls.

  Hauken’s coiling slowed, his face a mask of wonder. “Dagh?”

  Kaul hung back, looking to Airn for a sign.

  “My nephew?” Hauken dropped the rope in the snow and spread his arms wide, peering into Kaul’s face in amazement. He gathered Kaul in his arms and held him close for a heartbeat, then pushed him back to look into his face. “Kaul?”

  Kaul nodded.

  Hauken’s eyes brightened and his throat worked. “I had a letter. Once. Remember, Airn? We got the priest to read it to us?” He fixed his gaze on Kaul’s, drinking in his every feature. “Dagh said he had a son.” He nodded in confirmation. “Boy, you look so like your mother.” His lips pressed closed and trembled, eyes fierce with remembrance.

  Kaul pricked with hot shivers. His uncle’s frame was small, like Dagh’s, with short legs and powerful shoulders and arms, and his skin had the same leathery look from sun and wind. But his face was fuller, his hair thick and fair, his nose straighter.

  Moisture glistened in his eyes as he smiled in a way that made Kaul want to curl in his arms and feel strong hands on his back. Kaul ducked his head, inviting forgiveness, and was rewarded with another close hug.

  “Now, now,” the woman said, prying Hauken’s arms from him to give her own hug. “Another son of the family! Such a blessing!” The girls and little boy crowded around in excitement.

  Hauken sniffed and looked over the wagon. “And Dagh?”

  “My father. He’s....” Kaul hung his head. How could he keep repeating the lie?

  “Kaul brought Dagh to be buried in the town graveyard.” Airn looked at Kaul with a slight nod that said ‘tell him.’

  “My father—” Kaul stopped, and all eyes were on him, open, expectant. “My father had a hard life,” he said.

  Airn nodded again, a prompt.

  “He—he died a thief.”

  There. It was out. Kaul hung his head in the shocked silence.

  “Well,” Mother said.

  The late afternoon wind chilled.

  “Hauken.” Mother’s voice was a whisper on the breeze. “The boy must come in and have dinner. He’s thin as a chick.”

  Hauken nodded and put an arm around Kaul’s shoulder, leading him to the house. “Forgive me.” His voice strained to speak against his grief.

  Forgive Hauken? After all the lies Kaul had told?

  “I can’t think of Dagh, except the way I saw him last. Twenty years ago, hauling that sea chest up the gangplank on that big ship. He had plans, Kaul. Confidence. The whole world was too small for him. He and your mother were going to Discort to make their fortune.” He stopped at the door to the house. “Whatever happened along the way... well, I don’t know about that. He’s still my brother. You’re my son now.”

  Kaul shook with the responsibility.

&
nbsp; “Come in, then, and eat. Airn will bring your chest as soon as we’ve laid Dagh in the barn.”

  The girls crowded him inside, giggling until Mother set them to supper chores. The smell of savory meat and the warmth of cook fire and candle light surrounded him.

  “I’ll hang your coat on the peg,” a little girl said.

  Through the window, Kaul watched as Airn and Hauken pulled the coffin from the wagon. The sun touched the horizon.

  “Here’s a basin of hot water.” The oldest girl dimpled a smile and set the steaming bowl before him.

  Minutes remained. Airn and Hauken strained under the coffin’s weight. Gozhob awaited the consummation of the soul he carried. Nur tyem, setaf tiris. He only had to run from the house, open the lid, and cry out the words and his father would be alive.

  “Girls. Put the chicken on the table.”

  The sun was a burning semi-circle resting on the hill.

  He was a thief, already, for using the money from the candlestick. He was a liar for saying Dagh was dead. If the sun set without the words spoken, he would be a murderer as well.

  “Pour the ale. Put the gravy in the pitcher.”

  Kaul could not move his feet.

  The sun disappeared behind the hill.

  The sounds of plates clinking, chairs pulled out. A giggle.

  If he ran to the top of the hill, now, just now, would the sun still be shining over the sea? Kaul stared through the window at the empty farmyard.

  Dead.

  Dagh was dead.

  Kaul pounded his fist into his chest. Tears of fear and relief and betrayal and grief streamed down his face. Dagh was saved from the gallows, wasn’t he? Saved from prison? From the censure of the village and the disappointment of his family?

  Yes. Safe. In the fiery belly of a demon.

  Hands touched his shoulders. “Weep, child.” Mother’s voice. “Tears will cleanse you. Let them come.”

  Copyright © 2012 Susan Forest

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  Co-winner of the inaugural Galaxy Project (with her novella, “Lucy,” Rosetta Books, 2011), juried by Robert Silverberg, David Drake, and Barry Malzberg, Susan Forest is a writer of science fiction, fantasy and horror. She is a member of SFWA and SF Canada, and works as a fiction editor for Edge Publishers. Her recent sales include “The Most Invasive Species” and “Rent in Space,” to Analog. Her YA novel, The Dragon Prince, was awarded the Children’s Circle Book Choice Award, and her story “Turning It Off” in Analog is a Finalist for the 2012 Prix Aurora Awards for the best Canadian F/SF. You can check out her website at www.speculative-fiction.ca.