A gay story: The Woods Boy Pt. 06 Few sights had come more welcome to my eyes than the lanterns and cookfires of Irok as they emerged from the gloom. The village had grown since my last visit, with many tents and other makeshift structures huddling to the outskirts. As we made our weary way between them we saw many northern folk, gaunt and pale from hardship as they crowded about small fires, their dark eyes watching with bored curiosity as we passed.
At the center of the village stood the inn, its windows lit in its grey stone walls. The common room was loud and bright after our trek across the bleak moor, and its warm embrace was welcome as we made our way to the bar. The innkeep was a large woman whose grim demeanour lightened somewhat on sight of our coin as we asked for a room.
“I’ve one at the back that should suit.” She heaved herself from her stool and led us past the bar and into a narrow hall. Several doors led from the hall and she gestured us towards the furthest. “Door locks on the inside and I urge you use it. Washroom is at the end.”
We took Asprey into the room and helped him onto the bed. The last few miles had been hard for him and, though he refused to admit it, his grey skin and sunken eyes told me his wound pained him a greatly. As gently as I could I peeled away the bandage and his eyes creased. The bleeding had stopped, but the gash still oozed and the flesh about was swollen and red. I asked the innkeep for some hot water and, seeing the wound, she muttered a prayer and hurried away, returning with a steaming basin and some clean rags. I washed the wound before applying more of the salve and wrapping a fresh bandage, by which time the hermit was near delirious with exhaustion. We had done what we could so I pulled the blanket over him and let him sleep.
Handing the innkeep a few more slips of copper I asked that food and drink be brought to the room. I wanted us to be seen by as few eyes as possible. She returned a while later, followed by a young serving boy, bearing bowls of a hearty mutton stew, hunks of buttered bread and several bottles of strong wine. She arrayed the food and drink on a low table in front of the hearth as the boy added firewood. They left the room and Brook, Daylen and I took seats around the table. As I sat I looked at Brook and he met my eyes, and I knew he felt the same relief that I did. I took his hand and kissed him. I could have stayed like that forever, but I remembered Daylen sat feet away and we broke apart.
“I’m sorry, we….” I began, but Daylen interrupted.
“Do not apologise.” He smiled and waved his hands. “Love is always beautiful to see.” I saw Brook blush and wondered if I was doing the same. To shift attention I poured wine into our cups and, after saying a cheer to Asprey’s health, we ate and talked. Daylen proved to be good company, and Brook sat rapt as he told stories of his life in the north.
“Where is your priest now?” Brook had asked. “Do you think he could tell me more about my mark?”
“He remained in the village when the others and I departed.” Daylen took a mouthful of wine and looked sadly into the fire. “He has a fierce spirit, but is old. I fear for him. But, yes, i expect he could tell you far more that I”
Brook delved into the fire with his eyes. It reflected on his dark pupils. He spoke.
“We are going north. Could….could you guide us?”
Daylen paused before he replied.
“I could, but my path leads south, I left the north…”
Something passed between them then, unspoken. It was as if a soundless argument was taking place. Eventually Daylen broke the eye contact.
“I could guide you.” He gave Brook a deep, long lasting look. “I could do that.” He nodded. “Yes I could. But the way is strange. The north has become strange.”
A cloud came over the fire. Strange. Weird. Daylens eyes reflected the dimmering flames.
“Would you?” Brook asked.
Daylen heaved a sigh.
“Aye. I will. There is something important about you, I deem.” He gave Brook a long look, deep, penetrating. “Yes. This I will do.”
Asprey groaned from the bed, dry lips making a sound that wasn’t a word. I took a dry rag and wet it in the cooling water and put it to his lips. I shushed him and put fingers to his brow, smearing away the dirt and sweat. His eyes focused for a moment and he mouthed about the arrow that had struck him. “The arrow…” He repeated again and again. “The arrow…”
We finished our meal and set our bedrolls on the floor, Daylen by the fire and Brook and me at the foot of the bed. The inn downstairs went from clattered chat to slow silence and we slept.
I dreamt, we dreamt. The beast came back, distant and watchful in our dreams, a distant warning. It spoke of the mountain king, but its talk was confused and barely understandable. “I have little time left. This host is dying” it said. “Bring the boy to his home.” Then the voice died.
The fire had gone out when I woke. I looked to Asprey first. His pallor was pinker now, a night of sleep working silent magic. I called the innkeep to bring broth, and I fed the old man. He was clearer now but still delirous. He kept on mentioning the arrow, and I told him that we had cleaned the wound and he would survive, but he kept mentioning the arrow. “It shouldn’t have hit me” He said, and I lay another cold rag on his forehead. “It shouldn’t…” and then he passed back into his fever, and I left him there.
“Is he…Will he…” it was Brook, looking at what I was doing with frightened eyes. I wanted to reassure him though i was not reassured myself. “Yes.” I said. “He will live.”
Daylen was adding wood to the fire. He spoke. “Those bandits use poison on their arrows. It might take more than water to cleanse him.”
I knew he was right. We needed a healer. I could only do so much.
I spoke to the innkeep.
She heaved her chest and tutted. “Yes, there is bad blood here. I will send for Ghast. She might know. Yes, she might.”
I paid her another silver slip for another day of shelter and silence, and she sent the lad to search out Ghast, the local healer.
When Ghast arrived she looked like a bush given limbs. A tangle of hair and twigs, and I was fairly certain a birds nest in her hair. She ignored me as she bustled into the room, going straight to Asprey.
“Yes….yes….” She muttered as she hovered over him. “Yes…there is a darkness here.” She glanced at Brook as she said that. “Yes.. a darkness and a light. Curious.”
She attended Asprey, and he weakly argued as she muttered spells over him. His countenance became peaceful.
“I have stopped the curse.” She finally turned to me. “But there is more than one poison here. I can sense it.” She looked between Brook and I, her old face creased in amusement. “Yes, more than one…”
“What do you mean?” My voice caught in my throat as I said it.
Her eyes creased deeper. “Just what I said. The metal minded one will live, but while he has the name asp, he isn’t the only viper here. That much I know. Oh yes I know.”
“What do you mean?” I repeated, angry now.
“I see what I see and no more.” She looked sad then. “I wish I saw more.” She looked at Brook. “There is a darkness in you.” Her hands moved like she was trying to point at something imagined. “A darkness I don’t want to see…yes.”
Asprey spoke again. “The arrow…it shouldn’t….”
Ghast smiled, crooked teeth and pale lips. “He knows, the metal mind, he knows.”
“He knows what?” I was raging now. “What?”
She grinned and said. “Then the Dreamer King took the voice from the bird, and the arms from the bear. He took the legs from the deer and the ears from the hare. He took the courage from the badger and the fear from the mare, and from these things he made mountain’s heir.”
I looked to Brook and he was crying, silver slips of tears on his face. I put my arm to him, shielding him from this hag that knew more than she should. She chuckled and shrugged.
“Yes, my dear, my dolt. The mountains heir has come again it seems.” She eyed us both. “Perhaps it’s time…”
She shook her head and laughed one more time before pressing a bundle of healing herbs into my hand. “Dress his wound under the moon. He’s close but he hasn’t passed the veil yet.”
With that she was gone.
Daylen spoke first. “She is a witch. Do not trust her. She sprinkles truth with lies.” He fretted at a bandage as he spoke.
“She healed Asprey”, Brook said. And it was true, the hermits face had lost its greyness, and though he slept he did so contented.
“Woodswicker” Daylen almost spat, and brooded at the fire. “If you wander north expect more of that.”
His dark eyes glowed and Brook knelt by him.
“That’s why we need a guide..” His hand set on Daylens knee.
“Aye. You do.” Daylen said, and turned to the fire, and silence held the room again.
We broke our fast early. We paid a last thanks to the inkeep, who handed us bales of supplies we didn’t pay for. I bade her thanks as she watched us with sad eyes as we set our backs north. Asprey could walk by then, though slowly, and Daylen tended him, giving what healing he could.
The moors extended long miles and it was dreary going. A wet rain set on us that lasted all day and when we made camp we couldn’t kindle a fire. It sat limp and damp in our hands.
Brook cuddled me as I poured a small soup into Asprey’s lips, shuddering in my arms.
“He’ll be ok” I told him, and Brook curled against me. I hoped I was right. We slept.
I saw the woodswitch in my dreams, the hag of Irok, her black toothed mouth grinning. “There is darkness here” she cackled and I begged her to explain. “There is darkness here…” her voice faded.
I woke to Brook waking the fire. Asprey was awake and reading.
“What did you learn?” I asked. Asprey was silent.
“I…not much….I think…” He seemed distracted. “The mountains heir…it…I’ve seen that phrase before.” He hit his head, willing the memory out. “Somewhere….”
I pat his back. “You have suffered, old friend. Don’t push it.”
He relaxed back and I found more salve to tend his wound.
Brook had made a tea from the herbs Ghast had given. Daylen frowned as I served it.
I sought Brook’s eyes, dark again and closed.
“There is darkness here” the witches words echoes.
Brook held me and I sobbed. I wretched. He held me and we connected again, and my mind spiralled, out of sense..into something else.
“You here” He asked before another dream. Of pale milk. Yes I said to his mind.
We skipped through half known memories and close connected dreams and we sang in the sky like larks, fainting and drifting and rising and, oh, when even the words of birds left us and we were left so empty… empty but for one another…we filled those echoes with kisses and his moment was mine. Whole and complete.
Sleep came in snow like drifts. That silent snow. Soft. Cold. I cuddled Brook and we danced again, in midnight.
I was in Pa’s pantry. The smell of vanilla. Closed and small. A painterly space. It expanded and I saw the war god rise in the sky, and joined with the goddess of love, silver and red. Silver and red.
I lost myself in him. I puzzled at his roots. Queer tangles and shapes. We peered. Shapes and shadows. Giants.
“There is darkness here yes…”
Her words echoed.
Darkness.
I thought of the priest and what Brook did to him, for me.
There is…