《Lawless Ink》


 1 - Blood of the Mountain

    A day¡¯s ride away from Chandler Field lay the Wellbrook Mines, said, by those unlucky souls sent into its depths, to be the latest doorway to hell. Nobody around it called it Wellbrook Mines though, except the foreman. To the locals it had one name¡ªThe Mountain.


    It were the most hateful creation in the entire range of the Butcher Hills, which stretched north and south. Our president called the Hills a God-sent barrier against the heathen country on the other side. No one around cared about the Saracons, who supposedly waited just over the hills. We had our enemy right here, looming above town every day. According to my daddy, once The Mountain had you, there were no getting out alive. But Wellbrook Mines paid, and I needed money.


    I sat at the entrance of a two-track pathway cut into The Mountain¡¯s side. In a display of ingenuity, the Delvers had widened the path so more people could get in and out of the depths. Still, the entryway looked like a gaping mouth swallowing up my fellow workers.


    ¡°Remember, Ducky, sector eight, deliver the goods to Ali¡¯s crew. And you get no pay until you bring back a filled-to-the-fucking-brim barrel!¡± The foreman rapped on Ducky¡¯s dusty helmet with his knuckles. ¡°Bring them a barrel. Bring back a barrel! If they ain¡¯t done, then you help ¡®em get done. Else you¡¯re lookin¡¯ at another day of half pay!¡±


    I sighed then glanced down. Like Ducky¡¯s, my own cart was full of supplies. We brought down three barrels a day to work crews so they could keep slaving; sometimes more if needed. Other times we pulled out dirt from new mineshafts or brought back barrels of ore. Those went to another site farther north to be refined.


    The sharp sound of knuckles hitting metal echoed. ¡°Do good work, get paid good money! Be like Chase!¡± the foreman said.


    Ducky, the teen in front of me, turned my direction then wrinkled his nose. His scrawny form was covered head to toe by cloth until only his face remained visible. He shook his head in such a way that could have been agreement or disgust then shouted, ¡°Sir, yes, sir!¡± as the foreman wanted us all to do.


    ¡°Clear track two!¡± the foreman yelled.


    Ducky charged with his load of supplies into the gaping maw.


    The foreman turned and muttered, ¡°I swear, Neb would be better than the lot of you some days. Least he works hard.¡±


    That were unfair. Neb were the village idiot. He rambled on something fierce if anyone made eye contact. Ducky may have been annoying, but he weren''t Neb.


    Ducky went into the mine¡¯s entrance, and I swore The Mountain smiled, thankful for the feast of another soul. That were the game we played; miners went down to steal riches and barrels of ink. Up here in the safe daylight, we started the process of turning it into money. For the price of a horse, anyone could get enough ink for a tattoo. Even me, with enough cash. I had nearly enough, then the next stage of my plan would start.


    ¡°Chase! Get a move on¡ªI ain¡¯t got all day!¡± the foreman¡¯s voice carried.


    I shook off my drowsiness then hastily approached him with my cart. Oiled wheels rumbled along tracks silently until smacking into the blocker.


    Foreman Kindle weren¡¯t a bad guy. He had a large, balding forehead, an asshole that stunk up the outhouse stalls, and he cheated at cards when no one watched¡ªbut the man were fair about our workloads. Working harder meant more money; being a lazy cuss like Ducky meant less. Foreman Kindle worked at keeping honesty a part of our job. He helped those who needed it by letting me, a man who hadn¡¯t struck eighteen, toil away with the other laborers. Mostly on account of my daddy being a former lifer who had died.


    Daddy said, ¡°A good man will give you a chance.¡± Momma¡¯s response became, ¡°A wise man ain¡¯t to let that chance go by ungrabbed.¡± Years ago, I would have called Momma the good one for giving Daddy the chance, and him wise for taking it every time he could. Now it was harder to tell because his death had hurt us all.


    Knuckles smacked my helmet, causing the light atop it to splash around. The foreman¡¯s face looked blackened by exhaustion and soot.


    ¡°I swear, boy, you get more daft every day. It¡¯s like your sense drifted away with your voice,¡± Foreman Kindle said. ¡°Your pap woulda been a sore one to see you working here.¡±


    I shrugged.


    ¡°All right, appears the quartermaster got you fitted. All food, replacement pickaxes, gloves, and more than ear-nough supplies for a two-day work. Aw look, she even wrapped your lunch with a wittle bow. In¡¯it cute,¡± he said with a gruff tone. Foreman Kindle poked the barrel-sized container of preserved meat and fresh fruits. The miners below ate both in large quantities. Once emptied, they¡¯d fill the barrel with our mine¡¯s main commodity¡ªroots of ink.


    I nodded then weakly smiled.


    ¡°Everything¡¯s in order. You¡¯ll be headed out to twelve first! You ready?¡±


    Sir, yes, sir, I thought. My head jerked up and down three times.


    Foreman Kindle scowled then waved me on. ¡°Clear track two!¡±


    I pushed my cart into the hungry entrance and down the track, letting the slope of the mineshaft do most of the work. Before each turn of tracks, I slowed to check the junctions so I went to the correct destination. Twelve were a second-floor mine, which meant a longer trip, but less waiting for barrels because the depth hadn¡¯t been tapped out like the first floor. Even this late in a moon¡¯s cycle, we could still pull out dozens of gunk-filled barrels each day.


    Darkness got pushed back by a small tube of faint red ink that wrapped around my forehead, lighting all directions. As the substance splashed through the tube and jostled into the container walls, it flashed a renewed light. That was how reds functioned; they were a color of violence and demanding attention. Shaking the container harder would cause it to light up more, but the substance did little else until applied to skin. My daddy had called red ¡°Blood of the Mountain.¡± Only down here, in The Mountain¡¯s stomach, would red shine so brightly.


    The cart rattled forward, the pulse of splashing red keeping my path lit. I strained tired muscles down tracks, around corners, and checked the required stops along the way. It weren¡¯t hard. As red cast out light, blue told me the purity of air. It were bound in another tube laced on my right sleeve. Darker blues meant dirty air, bright meant clean. It brightened the farther down I went. Blue loved the air down here, and only rarely did it get dirty with poisons.


    Five tired-looking folks walked along the track ahead. Their helmets were lit like my own with a pulsing red. Despite being on five different heads, the red splashed in unison, either mimicking The Mountain¡¯s heartbeat or giving off the illusion of one. Like most, I aimed not to think too deeply about the phenomenon.


    I slowed my cart then pulled off to the side so their cart wouldn¡¯t run into mine as they returned to the surface. They shuffled out of the mine to end what were likely a long shift. Their arms hung loosely while most of their gear had been stowed away in their heavily pouched pants.


    ¡°Chase,¡± the man in front said then lifted a pickax in greeting.


    All five of the folks were named Jeff. Foreman Kindle had thought putting them in the same squad over and over would be amusing¡ªand in the five years since, no one had broken the tradition. They did their quota every month without fail to the point where when one Jeff passed a year ago, a new one replaced him. So I were told. Foreman Kindle held to his superstitions.


    I raised a hand with fingers wide in an exaggerated wave. The trail of men noticed and waved back.


    ¡°Hey, Chase, you making the rounds, yeah? Headed down, yeah?¡± he asked.


    I flattened my lips then nodded. The entire crew spoke funny, even the newest Jeff. The lot of them shared a name and spent too much time together for anyone to stay sane. But this were The Mountain¡¯s innards and not one of us down here had all our marbles. We left them at the door¡ªto be picked up on return to civilization, like a clean pair of clothes.


    ¡°What number you on next?¡± the Jeff in front asked.


    My right hand went up, my thumb holding down the ring finger. They knew what I meant.


    ¡°Twelve, yeah?¡± he asked, and I nodded. ¡°That¡¯s one of the deep crews up for a jaunt. You best be wary, those fellas ain¡¯t seen daylight in an age. Makes ¡®em funny in the head.¡±


    My eyebrows lifted slightly and eyes rolled. I rubbed my thumb against the other four fingers repeatedly.


    ¡°Just doing your job, yeah? All for the money. We hear that, don¡¯t we fellas?¡± Leader Jeff addressed his group.


    They all chuckled, which made their red lights break the rhythmic sway for a moment.


    He turned back toward me then said, ¡°They give you trouble, make sure to tell the foreman, yeah? Let him know if a fella ain¡¯t doing right down here. None of us can afford to be selfish or The Mountain¡¯ll take us all.¡±


    The Mountain will take us all anyway, I thought. My shoulders lifted sharply, then I nodded twice.


    ¡°Good lad. You¡¯d do your father proud if he could see how hard you work. Lord knows you and Widow Craig need the money after he returned to The Mountain. Lord knows¡ª¡± He stopped then shook his head. With a hand, he motioned the other Jeffs onward.


    They ambled by, headlights once against swaying to the same beat.


    A Jeff yelled back, ¡°Never mind us. You be good, Chase! And take care of Widow Craig!¡±


    The other Jeffs echoed him. I nodded then pulled my cart back onto the track. Their suggestion were pointless; I intended to take care of my family. Dad had made me promise as much before he died. Even though Momma had turned sour, I still intended to earn enough to get her out of here and set up somewhere comfortable, such as a state back east where there were no wars.


    The path went farther in. Going down were easy. Like any hungry beast, The Mountain welcomed me by making the air cleaner and ground brighter. Red and blue tones mixed to a violent crimson coupled with sky blue. Still, farther down the cart and I traveled until we reached a destination two miles of track later.


    Two hundred souls roamed the mine¡¯s depths. Four or so were runners like me. Another ten did nothing but shuffle dirt around. Some went up top, while most went back into already cleared mine shafts. Seventy belonged to the deep mines and had taken too much ink to find their way back out. The rest rotated poorly and showed up when they deemed fit. Some were out of town handling trading deals or visiting family. Others shirked work because once a week, someone died, only to be replaced by another desperate hopeful hard up for cash.


    The refinery were another crew entirely. They were dedicated to refining and purifying the resources miners borrowed from below. Each barrel equaled enough money to feed a large family for months, or a horse at local rates, or half a building in Chandler Fields. I¡¯d heard that horses were cheaper back east, but the price of a full tattoo went up for every state line crossed.


    That was how we measured the mine, by how much ink could be pulled out of the dark and refined. Ten barrels from the depths would be a slow day. Three would have been terrible. Our average of fourteen still failed to measure up to the larger mines back across the ocean. They often got thirty to forty barrels. Manpower wouldn¡¯t solve this problem, only time and death.


    Rumor said one of the ink-spawning pits in Ireland poured down from a fountain. A beautiful sight that were swarmed by monsters on all sides. Our mine could be controlled through Rangers, traps, and fighting back the beasts below.


    Repetitive banging echoed down the shaft. With each step, I heard a rhythmic fall that sounded like high-pitched drums. The sound of deep voices wove between, humming low and advertising life to anyone venturing this way. There were Delvers about. They were a separate breed from a group like Jeffs. They went after colors like reds and blues, which kept us safe.


    The cart hit the track¡¯s end then slipped off onto dirt. I pushed harder, following a worn trail beaten down by footprints. Bumps slowed me, but the cart were light enough to push over the obstacles. I rounded the last corner to station twelve and finally found the mining crew. I knew this batch well enough. They had all been friends of my father, as were many of the mine¡¯s lifers. Lifers were those who worked the mine with no hope of escape. I aimed not to be one.


    Time spent pulling roots of ink out of the walls had changed my father¡¯s friends, but even their new bodies couldn¡¯t touch the stuff without protection. Two used their axes and leverage to work out large boulders. Another set hammered away, breaking a dislodged rock into smaller bits. A fifth piled already demolished rock into a cart to be excavated. The sixth, a squat fellow with large hands, pulled at a single thin thread of purple ink. The material looked like a long root made of dried snot and bedrock. All the while, they sang.


    ¡°Way down we¡¯ll go¡±¡ªtwo voices carried the strongest while swinging away. The others echoed the last word softly¡ª¡°go, go, go, go.¡±


    Their song carried through the earth, making my toes vibrate. I quietly pulled out the supplies and set them in a clear corner of the work area while listening. Their next line didn¡¯t come until the vibrations of the first had died down entirely.


    ¡°Where the ink¡¯s aglow,¡± the front two said. Four voices once again kept the last word lingering.


    I set down the pail of food as one of the six broke away and approached me with a sad expression. His large eyes were too big for a normal head, and the pupils were nearly fully dilated. He nodded then grabbed the barrel of food, slowly rolling it along the ground while softly grunting.


    ¡°That¡¯s where we gonna go, go, go, go, go.¡±


    I helped him move the barrel of food into place, then I pulled off the lid and brought out the carefully packed meals. Harold, the one who had helped me, was too short to get into the top without a step stool. He took the meal and set it down, waiting for the next one.


    Their voices lifted in a sloppy but harmonic unison on the next line. ¡°Till all we know is woe,¡± five of the six sang at once. They dropped off one by one until the last singer let it die down.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    They left the twisted mass of purple and black hanging from a wall. Ink came in three forms, and what we mined almost always belonged to the solid type. Pure liquid ink usually only existed at The Mountain¡¯s core. Once it sat in bedrock long enough, it became a mass with a texture somewhere between the roots of a tree and wet noodles.


    The five remaining people lined up, placed large hands over their chests, then bowed at once. I returned the gesture. They removed their gloves and set down pickaxes. All of them had the same build, but two were female. Whatever they¡¯d had for tits had been lost in the transformation of ink exposure.


    The team leader had been a friend of my father¡¯s. The rest were also, I¡¯d been told, but I¡¯d remembered seeing their leader back when he¡¯d been human. There were two ways a person might change, and both involved a lot of skin contact with raw ink. Harold had fallen in one day, survived with his mind intact, and emerged a Delver. Their entire race looked the same, no matter how they were exposed to ink. Their hands were larger than a normal person''s by far. Their arms were thicker and legs shorter. They didn¡¯t have a lot of leverage due to height but their strength canceled the problem out. The real secret to Delvers were their ability to feel the ground and its flow. They knew the soft rocks and could wiggle their fingers deep into an ink cropping to pull out entire strands. No one else filled barrels faster.


    ¡°How are you, young Chase?¡± Harold¡¯s voice was absurdly soft compared to the deep thumping rhythm that had been banged out in the room before. That was how Delvers were¡ªall whispers or deep, jaw-aching rumbles of noise, with little between.


    I smiled then held out both hands palm up. They shuffled up and down. His companions moved forward for their meals but stayed quiet. I blinked repeatedly while looking at the crowd that gave weak smiles but never met my eyes.


    ¡°Fair, then?¡± Harold asked.


    I nodded then pointed back at the short man.


    ¡°We too are fair, and perhaps a bit better. There is hope that this vein will be enough to fill a true purple bucket.¡±


    My eyebrows went up and my scalp pulled back. My face tightened and eyes lifted, then I clapped softly.


    ¡°It would be a good prize for us. Purple is a rare color. So little of the mine has it. Though we long to find a fresh silver.¡±


    My nostrils flared and head shook. My hands clasped in mock prayer, but a flat expression should get the rest of my message across. Silver meant purity. Silver might turn a Delver back into a human. Silver might as well be a myth, along with gold ink.


    ¡°Of course. Young Chase believes us to be foolish dreamers, to lust after silver so,¡± Harold said.


    ¡°We are foolish dreamers,¡± one of the two females said in equally soft tones.


    They all sounded similar, almost like the Jeffs above, but for different reasons.


    ¡°Yet though we lost our humanity, even we can dream. Is that not allowed, young Chase? For a sub-human to dream?¡± Harold asked.


    His crew stared at me while eating. The wide eyes of a small gaggle of child-sized people almost made me laugh. Instead, I smiled wide enough to strain my ears and move the helmet. My head bobbled, but my hands kept busy loading up discarded leftovers from a prior meal. Their refuse pile sat near a half-filled barrel of purple ink, which shone in a corner. Layers of flattened roots yanked from the rock¡¯s foundation slowly compressed inside. Under the red glow of a half-dozen headbands, the ink looked like any other color. I trusted the label on the barrel¡¯s side though. They had no reason to lie about finding purple.


    ¡°See, as I told you, we are allowed to hope and dream.¡± Harold smiled at me, and I felt sad. He¡¯d been a friendly giant when I was a young lad. Now our sizes were reversed. ¡°Young Chase is one of us. He also dreams. Maybe even of silver.¡±


    They all nodded, and I let their judgment slide without response. I didn¡¯t feel like a dreamer so much as a boy trying to honor his father¡¯s dying wish. Maybe that were the fantasy, to fulfill my oath then be free to be my own man.


    Loading the cart didn¡¯t take long. Delvers were a tidy lot, almost fastidiously so. Everything went into the right place, everything completed in the correct and proper order. I tightened bundles and stowed away tainted gloves. The garments were tossed in a bag that would be opened at the surface and dried in sunlight to cleanse them of ink.


    I flinched at unexpected contact then straightened myself. Harold had placed one of his giant hands on my elbow. My finger crooked up and down at the Delver miner. He didn¡¯t frown or smile, only stared with giant black eyes lit up by our red and blue glowing ink.


    ¡°Young Chase, I need your assistance with something,¡± he said. ¡°Two shafts over, there was a disturbance.¡±


    I crooked both pointer fingers while lowering an eyebrow.


    ¡°This way.¡± Harold shuffled to a small rack laid against a wall. He grabbed a short shovel and dagger.


    I pulled back a cheek and hissed air between my teeth.


    Weapons meant a breakthrough or monster. I had my own tucked in a pocket but never needed to use it. Runners like me traveled well-patrolled paths. Normally only the deep mines, four or five layers down, had problems. I¡¯d heard the colors were richer down there, but the danger was also higher. Our weekly death almost always came from those venturing far below.


    ¡°Lads, young Chase will help me. Please continue eating. Keeping strength up is important. We¡¯ll be here all night to pull out that vein.¡±


    ¡°What of the full moon? It is soon, is it not?¡± a female asked.


    I squinted and tried to make out who she was, but the name didn¡¯t come to mind.


    ¡°Is it?¡± Harold addressed me. ¡°How long do we have?¡±


    I looked up briefly then held up a palm, moved it in a circle, then pointed down twice. Tonight marked the start of a waxing moon, and Harold would know based on my gestures. Most of the mine workers had been confused by my signals at first, but after four months of me running the carts, they were used to the basics. We worked together to ignore each other¡¯s shortfalls.


    Harold nodded and also gazed upward. The mine shaft¡¯s ceiling loomed directly overhead. Delvers didn¡¯t need as much headspace as the rest of us. Only when chasing a vein did they open up the area and dig out more room.


    ¡°Three days then. If the vein stays true, we can do it in three days,¡± he said.


    ¡°And the flooding?¡± the inquisitive female asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ll create a pocket,¡± Harold answered.


    ¡°What about supplies?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll ask Young Chase to deliver more.¡±


    I nodded then held up three fingers. Harold responded with four, portraying how large his hand was compared to mine. I nodded again and agreed to four more barrels. They would need at least two more barrels of food if they intended to ride out a full moon. Four would let them work day and night. I¡¯d pack in a tube of the liquid blue, which gave miners a way to create breathable air during cave-ins.


    The moon were important because the mine above closed two nights before and two nights after a full moon. By the time I returned to work in a week, after Rangers had cleared the place out, Harold¡¯s crew would have a full barrel of purple to deliver. They knew how to mine and stay safe at the same time. They were Delvers.


    ¡°There you have it, lads,¡± Harold whispered. ¡°Come on. We¡¯d best take care of this mess. We¡¯ll need the room, that we will, young Chase.¡±


    The first few times I heard a Delver talk, I¡¯d thought he sounded like someone with an extremely sore voice trying to speak up. I later learned it was closer to reverence for the mine¡¯s depths. Only when singing did their voices carry.


    Sometimes I wasn¡¯t even sure he was Harold. Delvers all looked similar. They weren¡¯t like the Felines or Flops, where their fur patterns changed along with the rest of their features. As with most things about the mine, I didn¡¯t give seeking the truth much space in my brain. There were questions worth asking, and the truth of Delvers weren¡¯t one of them.


    ¡°We had a breakthrough. A minor pocket, you see,¡± Harold whispered while waving. He moved fast with his short legs and large feet. ¡°We were looking for the colored ink. We could feel it and took a wrong turn.¡±


    We traveled around two bends. There were no cart tracks down this way. Passages narrowed and ceilings ran low. I slowed my breathing to not waste the air down here, but it were pointless. The blue ink on my arm stayed bright. The Mountain wanted us inside, so why should it supply dirty air?


    ¡°Here.¡± Harold stopped next to a large pile.


    I walked over and angled my head down to let the red light cast better illumination. Not more than a foot away from the Delver sat a mass of huge, limp creatures. Teeth and long scaled tails stood out in the jumble. Air hissed out of me and I fumbled to ready a weapon. The small blade shook.


    My dad¡¯s gun at home were too far away to do a damned bit of good, but the small blade would help. I needed to be able to face these monsters or my entire plan would fail. Rangers weren¡¯t afraid of these beasts, and I wanted to be a Ranger. Creatures spawned of the deep mines could rend a man to pieces if he didn¡¯t fight back. Rangers were simply the best at fighting the darkness.


    The Delver stood there with his large hands placed firmly on his narrow hips and shook his head. ¡°The filthy things. They might have been rats or moles or snakes before their fall. Down into the belly they went, or were sent. Out they came again, changed. Then up the side the filth climbs, through the tunnels in search of daylight. In search of release.¡±


    I waved the knife while alternating my gaze between the unmoving pile and Harold¡¯s passive form.


    ¡°There should be no need for weapons, young Chase. These are dead.¡±


    A single stab through the eye would make sure, I thought.


    Muscles between my shoulders felt like a rock. My head bobbled as I took deep breaths. Red light danced chaotically as each change of direction made liquid splash and flare. Each burst of light brought with it an image of savagely stabbing the monsters. The knife in my hand were lighter than expected.


    Only the foolish believed monsters were so simple. My false confidence got pushed away as I ventured closer. Their teeth were huge. Barbs sat on the end of their tails. One glance at the walls revealed where they had been clawing.


    Harold spoke in soft tones. ¡°Your father and I dealt with many such beasts. Now though, my hands are only good with the earth. They sift through and find treasures I could only dream of as a tall-man. But there are too many of the filthy beasts. I am too short to lift them, nor could foolish Delvers hurl them far enough without springboards.¡±


    He slammed the shovel¡¯s tip into the mass of deceased. I held my breath then waved the knife in front of me in case one roared to life. None moved, and Harold shrugged.


    ¡°We opened the tunnel in search of pure colors. Silver we hoped for, but instead found a mass of monsters attempting to nest.¡±


    I nodded then lowered the knife to my side. They were dead, and my focus were better spent checking surroundings for more. Monsters weren¡¯t rare once a body entered Butcher Hills, especially around Wellbrook Mines. Nor were they unique to our part of the world. But knowing about it, being prepared for it, and liking it were all different ideas.


    ¡°Young Chase, if you¡¯re curious¡­¡± He walked farther into the opened shaft.


    I will never be. The mine¡¯s mysteries can stay locked in its depths. All I wish for is money enough to honor my promise, I thought. The idea never reached my lips, and Harold continued with his presentation.


    ¡°Here is where they got in.¡± Harold waved at a hard-to-see slope our lights didn¡¯t reach. Its angle was just enough to keep the wall stable, but I couldn¡¯t see the other side from here. A bright splash of color welled up on the other side¡ªoverpowering the red and blue lights we used.


    Down that way had to be The Mountain¡¯s heart. It were a shaft that went straight down into the earth and flowed all manner of directions in its attempt to reach the surface. Most mines, like Wellbrook, were carved into the side of these ink wells in order to get the precious resources. But here, we shouldn¡¯t have been so close to the main line. There were rules against tampering with The Mountain¡¯s heart, which were watched over by priests stationed above.


    ¡°It¡¯s safe,¡± the Delver softly insisted.


    I nodded then crept closer to confirm Harold had broken through to the heart.


    If the dead monsters were simply bad, then the hole which Harold stared out of bordered on blasphemy. The red on my helmet beat faster. I took quick, shallow breaths. I refused to get too close. The inside of that pit scared me. I could see from here the curve of earth and rock that led into a rainbow of swirling colors. Around the hole¡¯s edge, light of all sorts bled through. Not dried ink that felt like wet noodles. This was a stained rock that hung slick with moisture from the pool below.


    Harold stepped closer to the slope. One large hand pressed against the wall to prevent him falling. He waved the other hand toward the hole. ¡°You see down there? Its core. There lay The Mountain¡¯s bed. Way down there is its heart. At the bottom, it¡¯s said someone slumbers, dreaming of demons and angels and the sun.¡± His head shook rapidly, and the short man backed away. ¡°Churches on the coast claim these pits are where angels fell. They say all angels¡¯ wings vanished at the same time, and down they crashed. They say they lay there still, bleeding out the sins of humanity. They say that¡¯s why monsters are born. Hungry. Loathing us.¡±


    Harold looked at me. I pressed against the rear wall, letting the pile of dead monsters and the brave Delver stand between the hole and me. My hand waved angrily at the entire mess with four fingers on top smacking rapidly into the thumb, signing ¡°no¡± over and over.


    I could almost hear the other Delvers singing. ¡°Way down we¡¯ll go, go, go, go, go. Even if Chase says no, no, no, no, no. To join his father below, low, low low, low.¡± The words echoed inside my skull and dizziness struck.


    My hand pressed against an ear to drown out the nonexistent noise. My eyes closed briefly so I wouldn¡¯t think about how both our red lanterns beat in unison. I panicked then checked the blue vial. It glowed brighter than ever. Harold dragged a gloved hand against the rainbow wall. Liquid pooled slowly then slipped off the grease-soaked material.


    ¡°Rainbow drops,¡± Harold said. ¡°A fortune that not even we Delvers dare steal.¡±


    My lips tightened and forehead sloped. One arm shook while the other tried to lock in place. The sight made me sick to my stomach. Like my father before me, I lived down here, terrified but desperate. Foreman Kindle knew better than to send me near this part of the mine. I may need the sure paycheck working here provided, but seeing into the heart disturbed me.


    We shouldn¡¯t be peering into the core, I thought.


    ¡°Ah, yes. You¡¯ve been gifted a rainbow drop before. For your father¡¯s sins. I am sorry to mention it.¡±


    I stepped away from the wall and approached him. My fear wouldn¡¯t rule my actions. It were like acrophobia¡ªfear of heights but an inner need to look down.


    As for the rainbow drops, they were valuable, of that there was no doubt. Smuggling any out would be impossible. They required careful handling and a sealed container painted black¡ªwith regular ink, not the stuff we mined. Touching it raw could kill a weak-willed soul.


    ¡°It is sad. A barrel of this would make a man rich. Wars are started for a mine¡¯s control and the lesser colors. Yet the priests above watch us to make sure no fools dare touch that which is truly valuable. Only on the full moon, when it wells to its highest point, is anyone ever given a drop. Even then, only kin to those being passed back to the mountain receive the gift.¡±


    His soft voice calmed me a little. I tried not to take note of the swirl of colors, but at the same time, I found myself approaching the hole. A sliver of the fall wall came into view, and the pattern across from us took my breath away. It shifted and moved like a heartbeat, though the priests would say it was simply a reaction to the heat billowing up from below. I pointed up and lowered both eyebrows. My finger bent up and down repeatedly to signal a question.


    Harold smiled. ¡°We are safe enough, young Chase. They should not be able to see us from this angle. We look down into the hole, not across or up. Even if they notice, it will only be the falling beasts they see. Should they question even that, then we are simply doing our duty.¡±


    I flattened my lips. My head shook in denial, and I turned to walk away. Tearing my eyes from that alluring vision hurt, but I¡¯d done it before. I would do it again if needed. There were barrels to get so the Delvers could work through the full moon. I would deliver their supplies to the other mine shaft, nowhere near this one. As Daddy said¡ªonly foolish men knowingly risk improper temptation. Momma said improper temptation was how they¡¯d gotten hitched in the first place.


    ¡°Young Chase!¡± Harold¡¯s voice rose in volume.


    The earth under my feet rumbled. I clenched my eyes, inhaled, then spun to face the short man.


    His head rocked and arms were held out toward the pile of dead. ¡°I need you to cast the spawn back. I cannot lift them alone.¡± He strained to keep himself at a whisper. ¡°They must return from whence they came. It is the way of things.¡±


    To hell with the rules, I thought. By my count, there had to be hundreds, if not thousands, of such creatures roaming the deepest recesses of our mines. They would be down there in droves where the man-carved shafts gave way to a latticework of naturally formed tunnels. Their hungry eyes and demanding faces would stay calmly tilted upward, waiting for the next full moon. Then they would flood the mine, drowning themselves in wells of ink and dying in purposely set traps. Those that reached the surface would be shot dead by Rangers.


    ¡°Please. Help me send them back,¡± Harold begged. He reached for one of the corpses then dragged it to his fresh hole into The Mountain¡¯s heart. The sight were pathetic.


    I rubbed my eyes violently. The pounding from a budding headache wouldn¡¯t stop. Jobs were meant to be laborious, but not this sort of labor. The dead bothered me, even that of an inhuman creature. Still, those deceased scared me less than that welling of bright colors. Not because of how it belonged to The Mountain, but because of how I wanted to peer into its depths and never look away. Until I too fell into the heart. Weaker men and women had given themselves to The Mountain before.


    Joining them only required a step or a slip. The priests Harold spoke of had dared ask me if I wished to go with my father on the night we buried him. I almost gave in and leapt into the pool where I¡¯d either drown or come out changed. Few survived, but grief eroded sensibilities and caused some to risk the dive.


    I pointed at the pile, then the hole, and ended by brushing my pointer and middle finger back and forth.


    ¡°Of course, young Chase. Once you¡¯ve helped me, it would be best to go. I owe it to your father to make sure the mountain doesn¡¯t get you yet. But rules are rules, and I haven¡¯t the tools here. My springboards are all below, and the nearest Returning Chamber is hours away.¡±


    Springboards made no sense to me. I imagined them to be something related to the traps down in the mine¡¯s deepest levels. When monsters were killed down there, they had to be returned to the mountain as well. Returning Chambers were the usual method. Below, there were rooms dead monsters got stuffed into. During the next full moon, The Mountain could reclaim those dead.


    I stared at the Delver and pursed my lips while tucking back a cheek. Harold moved on to the next body, dragging it closer to the edge. He left them waiting near that sharp tunnel exit. Harold¡¯s brown fur coloring became more obvious in the mixture of rainbow lights. Delvers had a thin layer of fur all over their body, similar to moles.


    My hands clenched tightly then loosened as I resigned myself to the task. Money burned while I dithered in this corner of the mine, and rules were rules. I grabbed a foot sticking out farther than the rest and yanked.


    The creature came to life, bending at the middle and shrieking.

 2 - Diggers of the Deep

    I let go as long claws tore at the thin layer of blubber-treated gear I wore. The sharp tips pierced through, tearing skin. My knife whipped out but fell short of scaring the creature away. Its eyes were wide and teeth misshapen. The thing¡¯s huge ass shook, sending that spiked tail flying toward me. I fell back, holding up the knife with my right hand. Thick tips like wicked knitting needles pierced flesh, causing more damage.


    ¡°Young Chase!¡± Harold¡¯s voice rumbled deeply, grating on my jaw.


    I screamed. Pain cracked my voice for the first time in months. The creature flipped again, yanking those sharp points out of my hand with a twist. A few needles snapped as I tried to keep the weapon but failed. I grabbed a handful of dirt with the other hand then threw it. It splashed into the beast¡¯s eyes, making it hiss angrily.


    A dirt-encrusted shovel smacked its noggin, sending the creature sprawling. Harold leaned over with his knife then jabbed it through its eye socket, exactly how I¡¯d imagined it to be done. My chest muscles shook as one hand fumbled for the blade. I found it a few feet away, then I dove for all the other beasts and slid my weapon in one eye socket after another.


    ¡°Young Chase.¡± Harold whispered.


    I barely heard him through the frantic screaming I couldn¡¯t control. It poured out of me as if a dam had burst. The weapon¡¯s point descended again and again. None of the beasts moved. Once they were all confirmed dead, twice over, I fell onto my rear. My feet kicked as I pulled off the glove.


    Trace amounts of blood oozed underneath. The pain was sharp but bearable. I yanked out cloth and dabbed the wound while inspecting for signs of rot. Poison from a mine-spawned creature could lace through the veins faster than any rattlesnake bite. I¡¯d seen it before.


    ¡°They¡¯re not poisonous,¡± Harold said. ¡°The beasts up here aren¡¯t fresh. These have been left over from the prior full moon. Maybe older.¡±


    They¡¯re not clean neither, I thought, but only a tired glare made it out. My knife were set down within easy reach. Out came a small dab of alcohol that I drizzled over the wound, and I hissed, managing to keep my cursing internal. A clean edge of cloth rubbed away dirt as I bound the wound. The cloth and alcohol would only do so much, but Harold was right. It didn¡¯t look poisoned.


    ¡°I am sorry, young Chase. That should not have happened. We tested them already, but perhaps a fresh one snuck in.¡± Harold looked at the colored drop-off where half the dead bodies were piled. ¡°We need to dump them quickly, then close the hole.¡±


    I nodded while staring at the damaged hand. My wrapping was terrible. The mesh cloth circled around my wrist and between two fingers before knotting awkwardly. Luckily, that creature had done more damage to the gloves than me. Once topside, I could clean it out properly then get a stitching.


    ¡°Toss that mean one in for us, will you? Return that spawn of nightmare to its home. Carefully. Get it out as far as you can.¡± Harold grunted then worked on heaving the next body over.


    My head lowered in a nod. The action made me feel like a damn dipping bird, but there were no better way to agree. Talking didn¡¯t suit me. It weren¡¯t a vow but a choice I¡¯d made after Daddy died. Occasionally events shook me enough to make me speak.


    The beast in my hands had made me break that choice of silence for a moment. Even dead, it looked ugly and weighed more than Harold. It weighed more than my momma too, but not more than a cart. I hefted the giant mockery of a rodent as far as I could. I remembered doing the same thing with my father. He too had gone back to The Mountain, though humans were kindly lowered on a platform from the top.


    My head jerked rapidly to get the image out. I moved toward the next body, and it too sailed down the slanted hole, skipping past the edge and flopping out. The third made me tired, and the fourth almost didn¡¯t get past the wall. Neither Harold nor I wanted them to touch the sides as they were tossed in.


    I bent over, palms pressed to kneecaps, and struggled to slow my breathing. I picked up the glove lying to one side and used it to wipe off my forehead. The gauge still showed a sweet blue glow. Sweat came off my face in droves, and the glove¡¯s greasy outer lining didn¡¯t help. They were saturated with fats to keep the fur slick. This one would need to be mended while I bought a replacement.


    The glove went down on the ground, and I grabbed the next large creature. Its gouged-out eye sockets gazed in my direction. Their black depths mocked me as pulses of red illumination bounced into the holes. I imagined, feverish as I were after working so many days, that a malevolent pulse of red echoed back.


    I tossed this one and missed the ledge. The creature¡¯s hind quarters and tail spun wildly. Black and brown flicked around, scraping against the well¡¯s side. It slammed into the rainbow-colored walls and sent flecks flying.


    My arms went up to defend my face from droplets of raw ink. Harold¡¯s wide eyes turned more bug-like because he saw what I didn¡¯t notice in time¡ªI had taken the glove off to dress a wound from the giant rat. A solid chunk of color smacked into my open palm, between the bandages, where it burned. White images flashed through my mind, followed by a curl of a dozen other colors. The spiral of rainbows claimed my vision, and I dropped to my knees.


    Of all the¡­, I thought, then pain mixed with every other sensation possible.


    My flesh felt as though it boiled where the drop sat. Shivers raced through me, rattling every limb. My breath stilled as I worked hard to focus on keeping steady and imagined a blank canvas. Nose drippings of blood hit the mine floor. I stared out the slanted pit, straight toward The Mountain¡¯s heart¡ªand all the way across to its far side. The swirl of colors danced as I trembled. That one drop of rainbow ink upon my palm burned, tickled, and made me excited enough to hump a hole into solid iron¡ªall in the same heartbeat.


    Something damp pressed against my palm. Harold¡¯s large eyes loomed as I grit my teeth.


    Flashes of my first few days¡¯ training hit me. Other miners had taught me that raw and unpurified ink were dangerous. The only way to avoid corruption lay in making sure the ink stayed formless and unattached. Uncontrolled emotions or strong mental images could cause it to warp then spider across the skin into crude formations. Those weren¡¯t proper creations laid out by a tattooist. Droplets like this were wild, and I refused let my future become broken. I refused to become a beast. I would die a man.


    ¡°I will die a man,¡± an unfamiliar voice repeated.


    ¡°Young Chase?¡± Harold spoke softly in my ear. His giant hand pressed upon my shoulder and shook slightly. Gloved fingers encircled my own, trying to pry them open.


    ¡°I will die a man,¡± the voice said again.


    ¡°Chase, you will be okay.¡±


    ¡°I will die a man!¡± My hands shook and my stomach heaved.


    The weight pulling at fingers got shoved away. Harold flew back into a wall, where he lost what little breath his body held. I turned toward him and shook from unease. He had been so tall, and now his body sat crumpled from pain. With slow, shallow breaths, I uncurled my fingers so I could stare at the spot that had been splashed.


    No sign of the ink were left, but my palm was sweating and my emotions were still a mess. The glove went back on over shaky fingers. My fresh bandages made the fit tight. If the ink had vanished, then maybe that had been me simply breaking down. Six days of work under The Mountain¡¯s gaze could have sent me over the edge as I¡¯d always feared.


    One stupid moment of weakness. What if I had slipped? I¡¯d be with Daddy sooner than later. Who¡¯d watch over Momma then?


    Slow footsteps crept up behind me. A large hand landed softly on my shoulder again. ¡°Does the mountain call you?¡± A dim wheeze lingered in Harold¡¯s breathing.


    My head shook in rapid jerking motions as I fought off the lingering waves of emotion and tried to rationalize the problem away. It were only a dream, a feverish one spawned by fear and near death. Even if it weren¡¯t a dream, there were no surface markings from the rainbow drop. It didn¡¯t take hold, so everything I felt should have been an after-echo.


    Colors were more dangerous than the common black. Those who had been tattooed with The Mountain¡¯s ink told me that being worked on came with all sorts of sensations. I could feel them now, a wild rush of all things that made tears crawl down my face from sorrow even as my groin tingled with angry lust.


    ¡°I tried to remove the rainbow drop, young Chase,¡± Harold said.


    I nodded rapidly then curled my toes tightly to pull blood away from the rest of me. My knees locked, and the throbbing that threatened to overwhelm my senses died down. It sat out of sight then faded to a memory. Anger fueled my tossing of the next two rats. They banged into the sides while I stood farther back.


    Then there were no more to throw. Harold studied me with a slight frown and tightness around his eyes. I extended my fingers on the wounded hand. The pain there could have been from the creature¡¯s barbed tail or the unrefined ink.


    ¡°We are done here,¡± he said.


    I clenched both hands into fists then stomped off. Harold followed me, much lighter and more subdued. The path back confused me at first. There were signs of recent digging, and only some of the narrow passages made sense. Three turns later, I found the tracks and anchored myself accordingly.


    The Delvers were all sorted out. Three were slowly carving away at the hole around their purple prize. Another watched the ceiling and surrounding rocks with a weapon ready. A fifth had both hands on the thick noodle thread and unwound the cheaper black. Once they cleared it away, they could get to the purple.


    They worked hard. I pointed at the barrel and wiggled both gloved forefingers slowly in question. Aches hit my damaged hand, making me wince. The one with their weapon at the ready nodded but stayed quiet.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have a black and purple ready after the moon settles. Tell that to the foreman. He¡¯ll be happy enough,¡± Harold said behind me. He stepped around then took over the watch while the others dug at the wall in search of more treasure.


    I nodded then clenched my undamaged hand tightly. My other one itched like mad, and I wanted to tear off my glove to check the wound. The sensation passed as I took slow breaths. The Mountain had taken its toll before and would again. Pushing the cart with a damaged hand weren¡¯t anything new.


    ¡°You will be okay. We have survived our damage. You will survive yours.¡±


    I smiled only a moment before it faltered. The good hand¡¯s fingers bunched and I tapped my head twice then chest once. The fingers spread apart, and I sighed. They may not understand what the gesture meant, but I had no good way to explain the idea. My brain may understand that pain would pass, but my heart worried.


    ¡°You worry despite knowing it¡¯ll be all right. We too worry, but remember to dream.¡± He looked at my hand then frowned and brought his hands together. His glove-covered hands rubbed together. ¡°Young Chase, thank you for your assistance. But it¡¯s best if you escape the depths while you yet may. Only trouble exists down here unless you can sing it away, and your voice is a broken thing.¡±


    I tried again to reassure Harold with a smile, but it died before even reaching my cheeks. Instead, one part of my lip pulled back and both eyes tightened under my wrinkling forehead. The red pulsing glow gave the stout man a more sinister aura than I remembered. Exhaustion from working so many shifts wore me down to the bone.


    ¡°Go quickly. Let our voices provide the safety yours cannot. Carry us in your mind. Maybe that will be enough to scatter the monsters from your back until day¡¯s light greets you. Maybe if we protect you, The Mountain won¡¯t call.¡±


    I nodded then went for the cart. Harold waved at his crew, and they complained softly. Their position changed a bit as they explored other walls instead of fighting over the one twisted mass of dark colors.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Break¡¯s over, lads. As I said, we¡¯ll sing our young Chase a thanks for the food,¡± he whispered. ¡°And for helping return those filth where they belong.¡±


    The other five nodded, picked up their axes in unison, and hammered out the tune again, as if they had never stopped in the first place.


    Harold glanced at my hands once more then hid his own large ones behind him. I exhaled and checked the blue again. Harold felt guilt, and he should have. He would have known exactly where the pit¡¯s core was and could have avoided it, but they chased the colors.


    With every passing week, I grew to hate working here. Being so near the pit scared me, and had since my daddy were lowered into its depths a year ago.


    ¡°Way down we¡¯ll go,¡± their voices rumbled and echoed, managing to be both soft and thick. I knew no better way to explain how their tone carried. It carried all the way down to where the worn path rejoined the tracks.


    I pushed the cart back onto its track as their words lingered.


    ¡°Until we don¡¯t owe, owe, owe¡­¡± it went on. ¡°And how deep it go, go, go, go, go¡­¡±


    The wheels rattled as they shook loose dirt from the off-track detour. My eyes refused to glance down the shaft where we¡¯d tossed the bodies as I passed. Harold should be smart enough to collapse it soon, or use that location to dump displaced dirt from around their find.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t nobody know,¡± came the last of their song.


    The tune haunted me on my lonely trip back up to the mine¡¯s entrance. There, around the bend from daylight, was a man ready with my next delivery. That was part of the trick¡ªWellbrook Mine¡¯s owners kept us inside the entrance as long as possible. We worked our shifts without leaving, and the deep teams of Delvers often stayed below for weeks at a time. I only got to go outside when it was quitting time. Seeing the sun before shift¡¯s end would have made coming back in that much harder.


    I made three more trips down, delivering supplies and bringing up barrels from other camps. When they were low on manpower to finish the day¡¯s barrel, I helped by cleaning the crew¡¯s area. Swinging a pickax would¡¯ve been hard with a damaged hand, but cleaning were an easier chore. That was how it worked. Take a barrel down and deliver supplies, take back anything discarded so it could be repaired or thrown away in the right spots.


    There weren¡¯t many of us runners. Only a handful were needed to supply all twenty-five crews. Most were in larger batches than the Jeffs or Harold¡¯s Delvers. The mine paid us based on productivity, and job openings were steady.


    By the third trip¡¯s end, I felt exhausted. Both eyes threatened to mutiny and sail my eyelids downward. One leg had a slight limp. The bandaged hand had bled through twice but only lightly. On the fourth and last trip of the night, I should have earned enough to make my goal. I wanted to push through and earn the extra money. Two hundred dollars for a day¡¯s work would let me survive the weekend, pay down our taxes, and afford more supplies to fix the fences around our chicken coop.


    At this rate, I¡¯d soon have enough saved up for my first actual tattoo placed by someone who knew how to work ink into its proper shape. That one should take hold, unlike the rainbow drop. I daydreamed of getting one of the leg patterns to help me in the mines until this year¡¯s Ranger recruitment¡ªwhich were two months away.


    My cart bumped into another, making me gasp in surprise. The red glow had dimmed, but the outline of another cart could be seen, butted against my own. I checked for a sign explaining which track I were on in case I¡¯d gotten turned around.


    ¡°What you doing, mute?¡±


    The words barely pierced my awareness. I pulled the cart back then slid it forward again. The obstruction still blocked me from going forward.


    ¡°Where you headed, you brown-nosing mute?¡± the other man spoke again, and I focused on his face. Ducky glared at me with a hand resting on his weapon, a large hammer used to bust up rocks.


    I pointed down the existing track, hopeful exhaustion hadn¡¯t made it imaginary. The barrel in my cart would net me another eighteen in delivery rewards for a black. The mine would sell it for close to five thousand, but we¡¯d never get the ball rolling while Ducky¡¯s cart stood in my way. I needed to get to the depot, where all the other barrels for the day were kept. Then a collections deputy would let me mark my initials down with the color and a foreman would tally everything up.


    A fourth trip might be pushing it, I thought while willing Ducky and his cart to vanish. The exit were only a few twists away.


    ¡°You stupid son of a bitch. You only get barrels ¡®cus Kindle assigns you the choice crews. Me, I get stuck with shits who can¡¯t finish a job¡ª¡±


    Quack, quack, the murky thought passed through. Dealing with whiners should always be done in the same way¡ªby ignoring them. I didn¡¯t have anything against those who tried to change their lot, but Ducky didn¡¯t give two shits about putting in the work. He were a bundle of useless want.


    I stepped around my cart, checked the straps holding down the barrel, then eyed Ducky¡¯s empty cart. He spoke, but I tuned it out. The same dry evaluation of his words passed through.


    Quack, quack, quack.


    He were in my way and a turnoff sat thirty feet away around the corner. I pushed his cart back four steps before Ducky stopped me. I took a breath then let it out slowly while shaking my head. Both hands turned up in exasperation.


    His eyes narrowed to dark slits barely lit by a red glow. ¡°I checked the logs. You got two back today. You ain¡¯t need a third, so give me your barrel. Weren¡¯t one of the crews I was assigned to that¡¯s completed their work yet.¡±


    My head shook. Our job meant if the crews weren¡¯t done but were close enough, we needed to stick around to help. I¡¯d done that twice today, assisting by cleaning the area quietly or hauling away dirt to be dumped in a dead-end shaft or down one of the bottomless caverns. Work crews both hated and loved having their things straightened out. It saved them time, but after a day in the mines with silence and the sound of picks swinging, sometimes items being shuffled around disturbed them.


    ¡°So? Just hand it over,¡± he said, ignorant of the fact that I were capable of independent thought that ran contrary to his lazy want.


    My hands waved him to the side.


    The other man ignored me. ¡°You¡¯re above quota, you little brown-noser. Give me your barrel so I can make some money.¡±


    I shook my head while rolling tired eyes. He¡¯d have to pay me enough to make it worth my while. Four fingers rubbed against my thumb to make the response clear. We all needed money down here.


    ¡°Fuck you, you greedy bastard,¡± Ducky said.


    I waved again for him to move out of my way. Instead of listening, Ducky pushed me aside and went straight for the barrel. Today¡¯s events irked me beyond belief, and having my income hijacked made it much worse. I spun and jabbed my arm out like Daddy had taught me to do so many years ago. Ducky weren¡¯t the first person in need of a beating. Too bad we were both cut from the same cloth, and I were exhausted.


    My fist hit his shoulder instead of his face like I wanted. He fell to a knee but grabbed the cart¡¯s edge. It jostled around, and my heart skipped a beat in fear of the payload. I stepped over, and he pushed himself off the ground. A return punch to my gut knocked the air out of me. I doubled over then banged my head against his in a mixture of stupidity and cleverness. More sloppy punches were exchanged.


    The cart rocked even more until it tipped to the side. The ruckus made someone yell down the tunnel toward us. Ducky¡¯s head turned, and I managed to connect a weak fist with his face. The jolt hurt and I almost laughed aloud, but instead my eyes rolled back and left me staring at the ceiling that refused to stay in focus. My knees hit the ground, followed by my face.


    ¡°Hey!¡± The sound of metal and feet pounded closer. ¡°What are you boys doing?¡±


    I pulled myself up using the fallen cart and eyed the barrel. It¡¯d tipped over and cracked. Black ink roots matted in layers spilled everywhere. I checked my gloves twice while Ducky stood, wiping off his chin. He straightened up while I struggled to recover the payload. My new gloves were tight but helped protect me while I shoveled ink strands back into the barrel.


    ¡°Explain this. What happened? Who let this barrel get knocked over?¡± Foreman Kindle walked over to the cargo while scowling and shaking his head.


    Ducky continued to preen. I gave two shits about how he looked as he answered for us. ¡°Nothin¡¯, nothin¡¯ at all. Me and Chase were just having a talk about sharing the workload, that¡¯s all. He looked tired and slipped. I think he¡¯s been working too hard.¡±


    Others were approaching. Some of them were ending their shifts for the day and wandered along the main exit. Another batch were returning to work a bit more. The squad of Jeffs arrived with a shared expression of confusion. I tried to remember how much time had passed. Maybe they too were trying to work an extra shift for money.


    Foreman Kindle glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. I got the barrel upright and shook my head at the mess. Some had slipped away, so now the barrel wouldn¡¯t be worth as much. He might as well have stolen from me directly.


    ¡°Is what he says true?¡± Kindle asked, staring at me.


    ¡°Of course it is,¡± Ducky responded.


    Like hell, I thought. I huffed two quick breaths as the idea of losing money registered. I gulped down air to keep myself from feeling sick.


    ¡°We¡¯re all friends down here,¡± the barrel thief insisted.


    When ignoring a fellow ain¡¯t an option, there were another good way to handle them. I dove then slugged Ducky again. The sucker punch caught him off guard. He flopped back then landed on his ass. My body swayed and I struggled to keep myself upright. Jeffs got involved. One pushed me back while the other two stood in the middle. Foreman Kindle didn¡¯t move, a puckered expression on his face.


    Ducky¡¯s finger stuck out. ¡°He struck me. You saw him!¡± he quacked.


    I stopped swaying and glared at him. My eyes felt wider than ever, as though they¡¯d gone past tired into some hyper-awareness state filled with self-delusions. Even without me speaking, he should be smart enough to know that if he got up, I¡¯d figure out a way to hit him again.


    ¡°Which one of you damaged the barrel? Was it you, Chase?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s the one who fell and knocked it over!¡± Ducky exclaimed. He¡¯d made it upright, but the young man¡¯s arms were held back by other miners. I attempted to punch him again, but more stable arms than mine kept us apart. ¡°Dock his pay for bein¡¯ wasteful!¡±


    I flipped him off through the tangle of limbs.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want this, boy. Think of Widow Craig, yeah? Think of your momma,¡± Jeff said in my face. He looked the same as when I¡¯d seen him earlier. All I could see was the dirt color and mocking red light bouncing around. The lot of us smelled sour, the kind of foul stench that threatened to live in a fellow¡¯s nose forever.


    ¡°Did you knock it over, Chase?¡± Foreman Kindle asked me again.


    I looked around, tightened both eyes, then nodded. Momma didn¡¯t raise a liar. My arms jerked to give more explication.


    ¡°Chase, wasting any o¡¯ a barrel hurts our bottom line. This wouldn¡¯t have happened if you¡¯d sealed the top tight ear-nough. I gotta dock you today¡¯s pay. Sorry, boy. Your pap woulda been punished the same,¡± Foreman Kindle said. ¡°He also wouldn¡¯ta gotten into this mess.¡±


    My teeth ground. I struggled to get past the Jeffs and break Ducky¡¯s quacking face. His cheeks were high in a wicked grin. The smile faltered when Foreman Kindle rapped the other teen on his helmet, harder than any time before.


    ¡°We told you when you first started, selfishness will get us all in trouble,¡± Jeff frantically whispered to me while the others looked away. ¡°It¡¯s us against the mountain, not us against each other.¡±


    He kept bobbing his face in front of mine so I couldn¡¯t get a clear line of sight on Ducky. My nose tensed at him and I fought to get free of their grasp. They pushed back. My free arm beat at my chest then pointed toward Ducky.


    ¡°He¡¯ll get his,¡± Jeff said.


    Foreman Kindle laid into the other teen, ¡°And you, Ducky, this¡¯ll be the last warnin¡¯ you ever get. The next time you screw up, I¡¯ll issue a pink slip with your name on it. I¡¯ll shove it so far up your ass you¡¯ll shit the word firah¡¯d a week straight.¡±


    ¡°What for?¡± Ducky shouted.


    ¡°Instigatin¡¯ disorder and poor conduct unbefitting a Wellbrook employee! Don¡¯t think I¡¯m ignorant of your dumb ass being on the wrong track. Maybe you ain¡¯t broke the barrel, but you sure picked this fight.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you,¡± Ducky said. Two of the Jeffs held him back from switching to the foreman.


    The balding man shook his head. He didn¡¯t wear red light like the rest of us since he rarely ventured far into the mines. ¡°Chase, you go now. Git out of here and get that looked at.¡± Kindle nodded at where my hand had bled through again.


    I¡¯d hit Ducky with my bad fist and torn the wounds even further. The Jeffs let go but stayed between me and the asshole that¡¯d gotten in my way. They shuffled like a moving screen as I walked to my cart.


    Cradling my hand, I nodded once while my lips pressed tightly. My cheeks tried to frown and mouth wanted to open in a yell. Both eyes watered from suppressed anger at the shitty timing of a pay cut. I took a breath and reminded myself that keeping the job meant more than causing further strife. I¡¯d have to work my ass off for the next two weeks to reach my goal.


    ¡°And you¡±¡ªForeman Kindle pointed at Ducky and wrinkled his nose¡ª¡°we¡¯re gonna sit down here, you and I, and have us a talk. And if you try to walk away now, I¡¯ll settle for shoving my foot up your ass instead of a pink slip.¡±


    Kindle lashed out worse at Ducky. In that, Foreman Kindle were a fair man. He couldn¡¯t punish what he hadn¡¯t seen. To him, I had taken my pound of flesh out of Ducky¡¯s face during an explosion of ire but had cost the mine money. That couldn¡¯t be overlooked and my ire needed punishing. I understood¡ªbut didn¡¯t like it.


    I grabbed my cart and the nearly full barrel that one of the Jeffs had reseated. The same Jeff moved Ducky¡¯s cart out of my way while the other four stood around Foreman Kindle and the source of today¡¯s aggravation. They were talking, but it grew fuzzy. My head felt heavy and each step took hard effort. A damaged hand slowed me down, and my sides hurt from punches that hadn¡¯t registered.


    ¡°Wait! Chase. Chase!¡± Someone repeated my name when I didn¡¯t turn around. ¡°You¡¯re in no shape¡ª¡±


    Pain coursed through my leg and it slipped. My shoulders slackened and face slammed into the handle. The cart lost momentum a few feet away. I curled into a ball and lay there as someone ran up to me for the second time in a few short minutes. The hint of fading sun touched the ground just past the station where we deposited barrels or ordered more supplies. I stared at the light while my eyesight blurred.


    A hand grabbed mine and I tightened on it reflexively. The other figure hauled me to my feet. One leg hurt to stand on.


    My benefactor said, ¡°Come on, boy. You look to ¡®ave had a rough day.¡±


    I squinted at the other figure. Foreman Kindle had chased after me to help. I didn¡¯t even know he¡¯d been calling me or foregone the lecture with Ducky. I nodded then lifted my hand, where blood seeped through my third glove of the day.


    The foreman shook his head then helped me hobble forward. The cart stayed behind. Turning it in didn¡¯t matter anyway since my pay was being docked. Had I known how this would end, I would have handed Ducky the barrel. Some money were better than no money and intact pride. Pride were for the rich, those with no sense, and the recklessly arrogant.


    And I let pride cost me, I thought. My feet shuffled faster. I wanted nothing more than to be done¡ªand the rest of my wages, which shouldn¡¯t have been hurt by today¡¯s ill-timed scuffle.


    ¡°Calm down. Don¡¯t rush. We¡¯re almost out. It¡¯ll be okay,¡± Foreman Kindle said in a tone that sounded gruff and reassuring. He were another one of my daddy¡¯s friends. Another soul enslaved to the mine who tried to look out for me.


    We broke into daylight and I stumbled rapidly to get distance between that pit and me. My knees buckled and hands sprawled to catch me as I knelt on all fours. Pain rippled up the damaged hand once more, but I held straight. My face bent to kiss the ground in reverence. I peeked behind me to see The Mountain¡¯s maw open in a wide grin, welcoming the next shift of desperate souls.


    ¡°Go see Delilah, get yourself stitched. I¡¯ve got to go back and see if Ducky still wants to work here or if I¡¯ve gotta find a new runner. I swear you kids will be the death of me.¡± Foreman Kindle turned then stomped off, his angry footsteps drowning out the remaining portion of his rant.


    I looked around carefully. A few other folks were packing up for the day. I stood and, with much less urgency, stumbled to one of the shacks set aside for medical treatment.

 3 - Belles of the Town

    In half a dozen buildings that amounted to little more than wooden walls, we had overnight bunks and outhouses. A well-traveled path went from the mine entrance to partway down the hill, where the ink refiners got a fortified home. I weren¡¯t sure who had it worse, us folks in the mine or the people who cleaned the toilets to get piss for leather tanning or shit for fertilizer. Even waste couldn¡¯t be wasted. Personally, I preferred putting all my defecations off in an unused cavern. Crap was the only thing I wanted to give The Mountain after hours in its depths.


    I banged my good hand against the first aid station¡¯s door. The loud rapping noise told me how agitated I¡¯d become. The door opened, and a woman with thick glasses on the end of her nose answered. She wore black and blue clothes and her hair in a bun. Ink¡¯s glow altered her clothing and face, which bothered me. My good hand pulled off the mining hat then tore at the shoulder-mounted tube of blue.


    She snatched my bad hand, which made me whimper and leave off trying to get out the blue tube. ¡°Chase! My God, child! What happened?¡±


    Child? You¡¯re only three years older, I thought. Delilah didn¡¯t care. She¡¯d been a teacher¡¯s aide during primary school back when I was young. In her mind, I were always six with a bloody nose from fights.


    She¡¯d progressed from helping the teachers to learning a few medical skills and now served as one of the mine¡¯s first responders. Three others were on a rotation staff, and at any given moment, one might be in the deep mines, working to help crews searching for rare colors or those cleaning out monsters. But not Delilah. She didn¡¯t go down below.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± her words dragged into a whine. Delilah guided me by the damaged hand toward a bench.


    I tightened one hand and made a motion of punching myself, then I tried to mimic a duck¡¯s quack.


    ¡°You punched someone?!¡± Delilah exclaimed, showing no signs of picking up who I¡¯d hit.


    My lips flattened.


    ¡°Lord above. All right. Sit. Sit. Take off that filthy gear.¡± She waved absently at my clothes. ¡°In there. Don¡¯t get my workspace dirty!¡±


    I ambled to a room separated only by a heavy, dark curtain. My clothes came off slowly, scattering dirt on the floor. They were caked with layers of dust and spilled ink. The bloodied glove came off first, and I set it onto a bench.


    Delilah yanked the curtain to one side without a care for my dwindling clothes then grabbed the glove to inspect it. ¡°Look at this! It needs to go to the purifiers and be repaired. God almighty, they¡¯ll have to scrub that inside and out to remove the blood. I have something¡­¡± She let the curtain close then trailed off while rattling through drawers. If the Delvers were fastidiously tidy, Delilah sat on the other end of a neatness spectrum. ¡°Somewhere. In one of these drawers.¡±


    A quiet grunt escaped me as I tried to get the heavy coat off my damaged arm. My bandaging got in the way and created a knot around the wounded area.


    ¡°Hey!¡± she yelled, yanking the curtain to one side again. The woman ignored my bare torso and glared straight at me. I banged on the wall with my good hand to ride out the fresh pain. ¡°Oh. Oh, tell me that¡¯s not your idea of a bandage.¡±


    It is, I thought while shaking off the pain. Delilah found scissors then cut my poor wrapping. The shirt came off my other arm easier without the obstruction.


    She turned my hand over, inspecting the wounds with a cotton swab bunched at the end of giant tweezers. Delilah dabbed at my wound, lifting away matted blood from a day¡¯s hard labor. The hand looked worse than before.


    ¡°You idiot. You¡¯re lucky these wounds are only on the surface.¡± She cleaned away the last of it then pressed another patch against my skin. More material wrapped around the damage as she kept on talking. ¡°You¡¯ll be bruised for sure. The bone might have a hairline fracture. It¡¯s hard to tell, but you best not use it. Lord above. You shouldn¡¯t have kept working with this in the first place. You should have come right away and gotten it cleaned.¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Why do this to yourself? Surely I showed you better in school, right?¡±


    Four fingers from the good hand rubbed at a thumb, signing my desire for money.


    ¡°What good¡¯s money do the dead?¡±


    My gaze flattened and head tilted slightly.


    ¡°Well, you wouldn¡¯t be dead¡±¡ªshe pushed up her glasses and fidgeted a leg¡ª¡°but much longer and it might have been real dangerous. Wounds can fester. If it starts to pucker at the edges and seep anything that isn¡¯t blood, you come tell me.¡±


    The thought of losing my hand sent chills down my back. Running carts without a hand would be possible, but my work would suffer. That meant less money, which meant no savings, no tattoo, no higher-paying job. Following that, my solution to get Momma out of Chandler Field and The Mountain¡¯s sight would have been a failure. Delilah had a point, but my options were minimal. I couldn¡¯t just drug my momma and send her away with twenty dollars and a note.


    I nodded.


    Delilah raised her eyebrows then shook her head. She were anything but satisfied and made me promise on Daddy¡¯s grave to come back to see her first thing when returning on Monday. I placed my hand flat over my heart then nodded again.


    The sun had nearly set by the time I got cleaned up, saw a foreman about pay for the prior days, and were ready to leave. A coach waited for its last load of passengers to take back to Chandler Field. Horses at its front wore blinders to keep them from startling. Both reared their heads back then stomped. The Mountain¡¯s scent must be teasing as night set in. With a waxing moon, the flow inside would rise and seep through the cracks of our mine¡¯s higher levels. Monsters would grow excited and flood the area.


    Then all the Rangers would be called in to clear the monsters that spawned, or at least make sure none hid in the dark. Afterward, mining would begin once more. That was how it¡¯d gone for two generations and would go for generations more. I was so close to being able to trade the enslavement of these wages for better ones. Sure, a Ranger¡¯s life would be more dangerous, but it paid more. The money would help me get Momma out of town. She needed entirely too much money for a house somewhere else, travel costs, and decent clothes to replace her plain wardrobe.


    I dreamed big as the coach took a mess of us toward Chandler Fields. The seats were crowded, people smelled, and exhaustion made strange bedfellows of other miners. I kept my arms tight and the wages from my job tucked in a shoe. Most folks were decent and hardworking, but folks could also be desperate.


    Getting down took the coach four hours. People with any sense didn¡¯t live close to The Mountain, especially not around a waxing moon. By tomorrow night, the place would be crawling with ink-spawned beasts or other creatures driven to the surface. Some people could stay at the mine¡ªthey had a few safe rooms just inside the entrance with enough supplies to last two weeks. The purification plant where all the ink went was the most fortified place in the entire region. Air sometimes got to be a problem, but there were ways to fix that too.


    ¡°Crossroads!¡± the driver yelled, waking a few people.


    They left, and we all got a little more room to breathe. From there, the coach slowed once every hour to announce a new stop. The workers who got off ambled down roads toward farmhouses in the distance. Not everyone who worked the Wellbrook Mine lived in Chandler Fields. They were from all over, but the stagecoach only went down the one well-traveled road. Those poor souls may be walking an ungodly amount of time before finally reaching their bedding.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Exhaustion pulled me until a coworker¡¯s arm bumped into me. I jerked awake, which startled another passenger. No monsters were around, and the weapon that¡¯d been at my side during the shift was back at the mine. It belonged to them anyway. All they let me take away from the mine were wounds, bad memories, and a paycheck.


    I absently rubbed my wounded palm, feeling the skin where that rainbow drop had hit. Soreness made my fingers twitch when pressed too hard, but that were likely due to the other damage. Purple bruises lined the meat between my fingers. Delilah¡¯s bandage looked clean, but it¡¯d need changing once I got home.


    Someone elbowed me out of slumber again, this time followed up with words. ¡°Chase. Hey. Wake up. I got a question for you.¡±


    I waved off the offender in hopes he¡¯d let me sleep.


    An older man with peppered hair leaned over and stuck a finger at my arm. ¡°Are you going to Poss¡¯s farewell party tomorrow night?¡±


    I frowned as my head bobbed from the bumpy carriage. Outside the window lay pure darkness with little sign of the roads.


    ¡°You¡¯re invited. Poss¡¯s mom said so herself. She said that that girl Lily made a fuss and the Chandler boy made sure it was on a full moon so you¡¯d be off work.¡±


    My shoulder went up in a half-felt shrug. Parties hadn¡¯t meant anything to me in ages. Even my birthday was celebrated without much fanfare. After Daddy died, every joyous activity slowly ground to a halt until the house felt almost as oppressive as the mine. I weren¡¯t sure I¡¯d go even if Greg Chandler, pride of the town, put in a good word for me.


    ¡°My kids said it¡¯ll be the best thing to happen all month and got their dress clothes all picked out.¡± He smiled then stared out the window. He didn¡¯t look old enough to have kids my age, but small town parties went a few years in either direction¡ªotherwise we¡¯d never fill a room.


    Poss and I hadn¡¯t spoken in months. She¡¯d been nice enough. I remembered her constantly having scraped knees as a young girl, then she grew older and married at sixteen to a lawyer¡¯s son. That meant she¡¯d lived rich for the last year while I sat in squalor thanks to a mother who¡¯d given up and a dead father.


    ¡°You watch out for my daughter, will you? Emmy¡¯s old enough and made her mistakes, but Opal¡¯s a bundle of want stuck between being a kid and not being full grown.¡±


    A young girl at that sort of party might make poor choices. I nodded then smiled as if Poss¡¯s party meant everything in the world to me. It didn¡¯t, and Poss meant little either. Lily, on the other hand, I would love to see. She had been the prettiest girl in the town and only grown more impressive with age. Everyone knew it, and still she took time to talk to me as though I meant something. I had no illusions about being anyone¡¯s cup of tea, but everyone else admired her and so did I.


    The carriage bumped on and I made my escape an hour¡¯s ride outside Chandler Field. Our house and property lay a dozen miles outside the city walls. Most of the land sat unused, except a few patches we rented out for the neighbor¡¯s livestock. We had few trees and fewer animals of our own.


    Dawn peeked over the mountains before I saw the door. I staggered straight for the chicken coop and made sure everything sat ready for them in the morning. They laid few eggs, but every bit of food helped.


    When I walked in, Momma didn¡¯t move an inch from the rocking chair she¡¯d passed out in. I stood there trying to figure out if her getting sleep at last should make me happy, or if it were worth being upset that she hadn¡¯t stayed up for me. Maybe after I¡¯d worked six months at the mine, she¡¯d stopped caring. Maybe I were no longer a boy in her mind. The thought made me sad.


    The floor creaked as I tiptoed to a bedroom on the western side of the house. I threw the covers on the floor so they wouldn¡¯t be soiled and crawled onto a bare bed. I lay awake for what felt like forever before sleep won.


    The next day went by without much fuss. Messes around the house were cleaned. Food got knocked from our few dishes. Dirty spots on the floor got scrubbed with an old brush. My clothes were washed then hung out to dry. The coop got a cleaning to make up for seven days of absentminded neglect, though that last chore about shattered my mind. The hens were feisty after being neglected for days.


    That night, I found myself neck-deep in the biggest young adult gathering to hit our town all season. A mob of people chattered while I smiled, nodded, or shook my head in proper order. The event itself brought together a lot of familiar faces from all around the town, people I¡¯d seen less and less of since starting my job.


    Some wore finery. I¡¯d managed to pull out one of my dad¡¯s remaining button shirts. It fit loosely around the waist and was too tight on my shoulders. The tie reminded me too much of the roots of ink we dug up in Wellbrook, so it had stayed at home. On either side of me sat Poss and Lily. They were listening to Greg wax on about his latest gripe.


    ¡°Look, what I want to know is why no one ever gets to watch the Rangers in action. You¡¯d think we could make a killing off it.¡± He wore a tie and suit jacket that flared at the top.


    ¡°Oh lord, here we go,¡± Poss muttered while looking into her wine glass. She¡¯d convinced her husband to break out the fine china for tonight¡¯s event.


    I didn¡¯t even know what the point of china were. The only use looked to be making wine prettier. It didn¡¯t make it more effective or my nose would be completely numb instead of buzzing.


    ¡°No, no, stick with me.¡± Greg¡¯s voice raised in pitch as he got excited.


    I blinked and lost five seconds of explanation as I swayed. The wound on my hand served as an easy distraction.


    ¡°We could build a safe place for everyone to watch, sell the tickets for twenty dollars, and clear ten, maybe twelve hundred easily on the full moon. I mean, right now it¡¯s a waste that only a few get to see them in action.¡±


    ¡°No one would pay that much.¡± Poss sounded elegant and witty. She had a presence to her voice that never felt out of tune or distracted. ¡°The only ones who go out on a full moon are the procession members and those from the temple.¡±


    ¡°And the Rangers,¡± Lily added with a giggle.


    The wine had hit her hardest of all. Her cheeks were flushed, which only served to make her face light up more. Blond locks spiraled down over a display of cleavage that any sane man would look twice at.


    ¡°And the Rangers, of course the goddamned Rangers,¡± Greg agreed. He laughed at a joke no one else caught. ¡°Or the fools who stay up on the hill after money like Chase here.¡±


    My eyes rolled slightly, then I nodded. He were right. Those people staying up there to refine ink in the middle of a full moon were foolish and after money. They¡¯d have to pay me a lot more than a few hundred to stay during an outbreak. They¡¯d have to pay me like a Ranger got paid.


    ¡°Look, Chase, you¡¯re still dead set on joining, right? The Rangers, I mean, not the fools at the mine.¡± The man¡¯s smile looked the same as it ever did. From five on up, Greg Chandler had managed to be the handsome boy of the neighborhood who made old ladies titter. They talked about his every move, putting him on a pedestal while spreading rumors about his proclivities¡ªwhich were probably true. ¡°So once they pick you¡ª¡±


    I pulled back a cheek then studied the floor while shaking my head.


    ¡°You¡¯ll get those war marks and can show the others tricks for us? By Yule, you should be a badass with something. War trophies and scars and all the ladies!¡± Greg said.


    ¡°Please.¡± Poss rolled her eyes and sipped her drink. ¡°Who¡¯d want to sleep with one of the doomed?¡± She pointed at me with the half-empty glass. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t aim to be one, not at all. Save money, get an education, a real one.¡±


    ¡°Rangers protect us,¡± Lily said with a slightly angry glare. She patted my shoulder, her hand lingering long enough to make me blush.


    ¡°They¡¯re badasses. The kind who come riding out of stories to take down demons.¡± Greg¡¯s face lit up as he prepared to launch into a heroic tale¡ªas he¡¯d done many a time before.


    Poss shook her head.


    Greg looked hurt then said, ¡°What? I¡¯m serious.¡±


    ¡°I know. That¡¯s what¡¯s so sad about it all.¡± Poss turned to greet others.


    Some were leaving to reach their homes. She played hostess better than anyone I knew. Rosy cheeks belayed how far into the wine she¡¯d dipped.


    ¡°But it¡¯s so dangerous. Why would anyone want to be a Ranger?¡± Lily asked. She swayed, clearly more inebriated than Poss. She was a year younger.


    In order we went: Greg, Poss, Lily, then me. Opal and the others fit in below us in age. Ducky, thankfully, lived out in Bell Town, our connection to the mighty river which served as a trade route.


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to them, Chase,¡± Greg said with a punch to my shoulder.


    I shrugged then forced a smile while closing my eyes partway. Days of exhaustion and pain made the drink feel unattractive. I needed sleep, and this stuff tasted tart. Smelling everyone else¡¯s breath threatened to put me to sleep. My eyes drifted to the chandelier above, which cast off candlelight. The home came from generations of money, with more rooms and furniture than anyone rightly needed. Even the grounds outside stayed immaculate from year-round groundskeepers¡ªslaves called Flops. I hadn¡¯t seen any tonight, but they were typically asleep when the sun set. Their entire race hated night travel.


    Poss¡¯s home had full running electricity and light bulbs, which were more than most of our town could say. I never thought about it much since the mine had its own lighting system in the form of ink. The house itself belonged to her husband¡¯s family.


    Poss¡¯s husband, Mister Proctor, was near thirty, and there were only one way, aside from a firm personality, Poss might have snagged the man. I knew it had more to do with the firmness of her shape in that slender dress. If Lily were fair with all the curves in the world, Poss¡¯s backside could make a man pant like a dog while limping afterward. Or at least it had two years ago; she dressed a smidge more conservatively since marriage. I didn¡¯t mean any ill will by the thoughts. She¡¯d done well for herself and I believed he got a great end from the bargain.


    Whiskers brushed against my face and fur over an arm. A woman with black-and-white fur on her face reached over to get my attention. ¡°Another drink, sir?¡±

 4 - Burden of the Boy

    I stared at her, then the drink being offered. Felines were ink-changed creatures, like the Delvers, but not at all suited to digging underground. Her eyes brought together gold and brown but were far from her most striking feature. From the side, her face would jut out a bit farther than a human¡¯s and every Feline¡¯s body was covered head to toe in short fur. The waitress¡¯s coloring swirled a white and black patch together that trailed a spotty pattern all the way down to the top of her feet.


    ¡°God, yes. Bring that whole platter over here.¡± Greg leaned past me and waved for the drinks. ¡°Come on, everyone, grab a drink, even you, Opal! You¡¯re legal, right?¡± He grabbed one then pointed at a girl two years younger than me.


    She reminded me of my promise to the other mine worker from the stagecoach.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not,¡± Opal insisted while keeping her hands clasped. The poor girl looked out of her depth, and Greg had five years on her. Those kinds of age differences were unfair if abused.


    ¡°You are tonight. No one¡¯s going to argue with a Chandler, trust me. Now everyone, bottoms up!¡± He smiled.


    Lily downed a drink then intercepted one on its way to Opal. She gasped with wide eyes then put her lips together in a pout at the freshly empty glasses. My face flushed. The way she stuck out that reddened lower lip made my already tired brain short circuit. I cleared my throat after gulping too hard then raised an eyebrow at her.


    ¡°That was Opal¡¯s!¡± Greg protested with a chuckle.


    ¡°Not anymore. It¡¯s my last night in Chandler Field. I aim to forget this place as soon as possible.¡± Lily winked at me then fanned her face.


    They kept drinking. I looked at my own glass while wondering how Greg and Lily would fare out of the town. They¡¯d move on to bigger and better dreams while I stayed here, shackled by my promise that gnawed at me even now. I couldn¡¯t help but appraise all the food being eaten and wonder if there might be a handkerchief I could tuck some fruits into. Strawberries were out of season and momma loved them.


    Greg held up his arms and shouted over the crowd, ¡°Quiet down, you lot! Come on!¡± He held up a fresh glass while spinning around. That charming grin sat upon his face, and I watched Lily feign a swoon at his commanding tone. ¡°Ladies, gentlemen¡±¡ªhe pointed at the younger teens¡ª¡°and whatever you lot in the corner think you are, I¡¯d like to propose a toast, to myself of course, and this poor girl caught up in my wake.¡±


    Lily blushed then bowed, and I tried not to stare. The dress displayed a proud valley of well-framed distraction. She came up and brushed her hair back while I proceeded to find the bottom of my glass very interesting. Sour wine bit my tongue, which in turn made me cough. Greg had the audacity to wink at me, as if I¡¯d suppressed a laugh at his absurd actions. I liked the guy, but at the same time, I knew he was destined for great things¡ªand me being amused at his dumb jokes were hardly a notable achievement.


    ¡°Tonight marks the last night I plan on spending in Chandler Field, for tomorrow we¡¯re headed to Bell Town, then off toward the coast¡ªwhere we shall escape the mountain¡¯s sight and be free to live our lives in peace and harmony.¡±


    ¡°And make real money,¡± Poss shouted. She¡¯d ventured off to another social circle as Greg readied his toast.


    ¡°And make money! Which brings me to my toast! To friends, fools, and family. May those of who venture beyond Chandler¡¯s far shores never be forced to return!¡±


    ¡°Cheers,¡± Lily said with much gusto. She drained her glass.


    When Opal showed hesitation, Lily grabbed hers and drained it too. She gasped at the end and held up both wine glasses. The crowd of thirty or so cheered.


    I smiled but faltered in joy when Lily went to hug Greg instead of me. She¡¯d told me her intent to leave in the morning, and the time for confessions had passed. My eyebrows lifted from a suppressed sigh, then I slowly sipped my fresh glass. It still tasted like sour piss and I had no clue who¡¯d refilled it. It might have been one of the Felines wandering around.


    Lily looked over Greg¡¯s shoulder and winked in my direction. Her cheeks were stained red and eyelids heavy. I thought entirely unwholesome things that were best left unshared. She¡¯d leave, and I¡¯d never brave telling her how pretty moonlight made her hair. I¡¯d never thank her for taking the time to talk to me through all these years. Many had been put off by my sudden silence.


    ¡°Come on, everyone! Dance! Make music! Steal a bed! Our hostess has kindly lent us more than enough rooms,¡± Greg shouted.


    ¡°But keep the sheets clean!¡± Poss responded loudly while stamping her foot. ¡°And just know all those mattresses have already been thoroughly tested by my husband and me.¡±


    ¡°Possy! Surely not all of them!¡± Lily looked around, apparently scanning for a possibly untainted chair.


    Poss lifted her glass, gave a wicked little grin, then wiggled her eyebrows. Lily laughed, a delightful sound that ended in a hiccup. I sighed and wondered what life as Poss would be like. All the money one might need, a huge house, and the free time to fornicate on every piece of furniture¡ªshe¡¯d surely been blessed.


    The hurrah had been going for two hours by the time Greg completed his toast. Everyone came from the local area and we¡¯d grown up knowing each other, but I still felt like the odd man out. Plenty of people here knew who I were, but very few connected beyond that.


    They danced, talked, and gossiped while I found my way to a window. The shutters were wide open, and the moon above hung low. I saw The Mountain¡¯s face in the distance¡ªalmost lost among a dozen other peaks across Butcher Hills. I watched it and a reflection of the darker-skinned girl. Opal kept trying to sneak off, and the window¡¯s reflection let me keep an eye on her as her father had asked me to do.


    ¡°You look lost, little boy. Your mind still down in the mine?¡±


    I turned to see a flush-faced Lily. Her dress, which bunched around the arms to look poofy, slid down a bit, revealing a lot of shoulder and even more of her breasts. I paused and couldn¡¯t stop my eyebrows from shooting up or my head from shaking.


    Not anymore, I thought then smiled. Seeing her made me feel less exhausted. Right now, I didn¡¯t have to share her attention. All the guests were busy, even Greg and Poss.


    ¡°What¡¯s it like there?¡± she asked.


    I hoped Lily didn¡¯t really want to know. My hand went up, stayed level, then tilted back and forth in a gesture of so-so.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you go in there. Poss and Greg say it¡¯s a death trap. And poor Opal. She got all knock-kneed when she found out you worked with her father.¡± Lily¡¯s smile always managed to peek out from under curls of hair that spilled over her shoulders.


    Opal had likely gotten worried for another reason entirely. Her father had presented himself nicely enough during our ride, but he were also a father of two girls. No man raising girls knew the meaning of friendly when boys came sniffing around.


    I shook my head at Lily and mimed myself using a sword and shield. The wine glass served as a poor weapon. My clothes were far too poor for this party, much less a knight sent to protect the lady.


    ¡°Some shining armor.¡± Lily didn¡¯t miss a beat. That served as part of her allure. She understood me. Poss and Greg didn¡¯t.


    Some foolish young man plied Opal with another drink in an entirely too fancy glass. The young man didn¡¯t look familiar. My lips flattened in a frown. I turned and found myself less than a nose away from Lily¡¯s swaying form. I glanced past her, then back down at a view that made my throat feel dry.


    ¡°What do you do there?¡±


    I wiggled my fingers and she giggled. The motion made her blush, and I didn¡¯t know why.


    ¡°So you run around? Chasing things?¡±


    Chasing money maybe. Close enough, I thought. My cheeks tightened and a chuckle escaped. A shoulder lifted in a half shrug, and I nodded while trying not to laugh. It were her that made me smile, not anything clever about my job.


    ¡°If you¡¯re so good at chasing things, how come you¡¯ve never tried to chase me?¡± she asked while looking through strands of hair.


    The entire remains of my drink went down in single swig that made my eyes water.


    ¡°What would it take to get your attention?¡±


    My eyebrow went up and I wanted to smile like Greg could. Lily laughed then put two tiny arms over my shoulders and pressed close. Heat stirred my groin to life that even the presence of people couldn¡¯t embarrass away.


    ¡°What do you say, Chase? One last happy memory before I leave Chandler Field?¡±


    I nodded eagerly. Lily grinned with red in her cheeks. Running were out. Days at the mine doing manual labor had left me weary on the weekends. Still, when she tugged my arm and walked off displaying a mouthwatering sway¡ªI followed her well-dressed behind. Even those puffy shoulders couldn¡¯t put me off from what she¡¯d insinuated. Our slow chase went all the way to one of the side bedrooms of Poss¡¯s mansion.


    Lily knocked softly on the door. Upon hearing no answer, she tiptoed in and her eyes dared me to follow. A tightness to my pants forbade me from going anywhere else. I looked around twice then followed her, locking the door behind me.


    Bed sheets rustled as she moved. The room itself were dark but I saw an outline of her body against the open window. Lily bunched her hair and lifted it away from the dress¡¯s backing. A soft hint of dark gold glinted against the full moon.


    ¡°Care to help a lady out of her dress?¡± she asked as I stumbled forward.


    I did just that, and helped her out of the rest of her clothes too.


    Her hands roamed up and down my sides, making my skin jump from the contact. We both were naked as the day we were born. Lily pressed her curves to me, preventing me from getting enough time to see what had been hidden under the dress.


    ¡°Now, let¡¯s test your vow of silence.¡±


    I frowned then bit my lip. One eyebrow raised in question.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you know? Girls like to hear what they¡¯re doing is working.¡± Lily leaned up and a smile peeked out from the curls of hair.


    I stared down, seeing a view men dreamed of. My hands attentively went to her shoulders, then lower to arms, then lower still toward the small of her back, pulling Lily closer.


    She reached between us and wrapped her warm fingers around my cock. I went red but couldn¡¯t fight a low moan at her touch. There weren¡¯t a lot of opportunity to be with a woman of any sort here in Chandler Field¡ªbut Lily sure knew what she wanted. As my momma said, a wise man ain¡¯t to let a chance go by ungrabbed.


    I grabbed Lily and rolled her on the bed. She let out a startled squeak then giggled while opening her arms wide. After that, there were only skin on skin as we worked together to explore every inch of each other. I did not remain silent for long.


    She took charge, asking me to do all sorts of things. Calling her names, touching everywhere, and even a slap across the face. I honestly didn¡¯t understand why she tried so many different positions and actions. Most she didn¡¯t act pleased by, but we found a number she liked. Lily loved it from behind, and by that point, my mind were numb with need.


    Later, and how much later I couldn¡¯t rightly say, we lay in a bed that had passed a few rounds of testing. The sheets were a mess with fluids too dark to see. My eyes were wide as I tried to figure out what had happened.


    ¡°Care to go with me?¡± she asked with a sad smile. Her head tilted to one side and her eyes were heavy. Our experiment-filled romp had left us both worn. ¡°Out there into the world?¡±


    I held still, wondering if she¡¯d really asked me to leave. What kind of man would I be by walking away from a promise to my daddy? My head shook slowly.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think so,¡± she said quietly.


    I swallowed, then asked, ¡°Why me?¡±


    ¡°I needed someone to show me what those things were like. And you¡¯d never tell anyone. Would you?¡±


    My head shook. This moment had been one to keep to myself¡ªa last memory between childhood friends. I weren¡¯t stupid or looking at it the wrong way. Lily still intended to leave and I couldn¡¯t go with her. I dare not promise to come find her either. By the time my jobs earned enough money to get Momma out of town for good, Lily could find another man. A real one who¡¯d treat her like Poss¡¯s husband did. With all the riches and rooms to fornicate in she might want.


    She could have kids. I knew Lily would make a great mom.


    ¡°Once more? Slower this time. Gentle like?¡± she asked.


    I rolled over and did my best to make the night one she¡¯d never forget. Slowly, as the lady asked.


    What felt good turned to numbness that claimed my hips. I grunted and strained to remain even-paced. Her breathing picked up, turning from quiet whispers into a long series of groans. All at once, she clenched then panted, nails digging into my back holding me still.


    And for a moment, I lost myself¡ªforgetting about my promise to Daddy, The Mountain, ink, and everything else as white pleasure laid claim to my mind and liquid jerked out my cock. Still, my body moved, limping along with weight braced by the good hand.


    Lily kept grinding while I winced at the overload. Her breathing hitched again as she clenched a second time, gentler this go, and let out a low moan while her sheath fluttered lightly. She rode out the moment then went utterly limp.


    I fell to the side and stared across the bed at her and a heavy moon looming outside. My mind stayed pleasantly white as the urgency of that around me grew less. Days of work coupled with wine and more positions than I knew what to do with made my mind slip into oblivion.


    I woke and stared at Lily¡¯s naked form then attempted the impossible task of memorizing every curve. The sun hadn¡¯t risen yet, but the room smelled of our coupling. Someone knocked on the door¡ªdisturbing my admiring and making both of us jump.


    ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± Lily asked, knowing I wouldn¡¯t speak aloud. I¡¯d used my voice in appreciation of Lily¡¯s efforts and worn it out.


    Feet shuffled on the other side. A key turned the lock, and I pulled blankets over us as the door cracked open. Only the whiskers of a Feline poked through. ¡°Miss Spark? Please be careful. There¡¯s an angry gentleman in the halls. It¡¯s best to stay in your room.¡±


    ¡°Who is it?¡±


    ¡°Miss Proctor says it¡¯s Opal¡¯s father, Mister Jewel.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Abby. It is Abby, right?¡± Lily smiled and patted me.


    I relaxed a little but didn¡¯t move the covers. They were a mess but our only concealment over the indecent acts Lily and I¡¯d committed upon each other. I flushed red again, surprised my body still had energy to do so. She¡¯d tried many an act that shattered my mind and made me beg for them in return. The woman had practically crammed a lifetime of exploration into a few hours, and I counted myself thoroughly educated.


    ¡°Yes, miss,¡± the raspy-voiced woman responded. ¡°I¡¯m to warn others. Good night, Miss Spark.¡±


    Lily Spark put on clothes while I stared heavy-lidded at the door. People shouted in the distance. A chorus of protesting teenagers shouted two by two as doors banged open. Someone outside¡ªMister Jewel, I presumed¡ªopened doors with a loud thud of wood slamming into walls. He sounded like a rhino intent on finding his daughter.


    I fumbled from the bed to get dressed before he burst in here. Lily glanced over her shoulder at me for a moment then smiled. I blushed and went back to figuring out which portion were the insides of my long johns.


    ¡°What kind of whore house is this?¡± the man angrily yelled, his voice rattling the hall. ¡°Does no one in here wear clothes?¡±


    Lily snickered then whispered, ¡°Can you do the clasp?¡± as I tried to figure out how shirts went on. The holes all seemed the wrong size for my head. I gave up and yanked the article off then went to help Lily get dressed.


    The wall shuddered as a door next to ours gave way. I reached for a weapon but found nothing. The place were dark but not the mines¡ªand my reaction had been out of place anyway. The last few days had me jumpy, despite the worn feeling Lily¡¯s encouragements left me with.


    ¡°Opal! Where are you?¡± Mister Jewel yelled.


    Three shrieks sounded in response, two female and one male, or maybe two young males. I wondered who in this party might sound like that, but no one came to mind.


    ¡°We were just talking!¡± Opal said. Her voice were muffled by our closed door and a wall. It sounded like the next room over.


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me! Ain¡¯t no woman on her knees just talking! Not to a boy with no pants! And who¡¯s that harlot? My God, I should have never let you go¡ª¡± Mister Jewel said, then a loud thumping noise echoed from head height.


    ¡°Da!¡± the girl protested.


    ¡°Never mind! We¡¯re going home right now!¡±


    ¡°Nothing happened!¡± Opal¡¯s words slurred, and a clattering sound made me think she¡¯d fallen. The young woman took poorly to imbibing. ¡°Da, stop it! Stop! Ow!¡±


    My forehead wrinkled and hair sat matted from sweat. I cracked open the door and peeked outside. Two large Feline males stood on either side of Poss. Their muscles were thick enough to make an athlete feel inferior, though no one in their right mind let the two races compete. Felines were slaves in most cases, like Flops and Delvers.


    The hallway felt cold compared to the comfort of the bed. I looked behind me to see Lily sitting on the bed¡¯s edge. She seemed lost in thought. The commotion in the hallway might head in our direction, so I kept a lookout. My head stuck out the doorway enough to get a solid line of sight on a mess of people.


    ¡°Mister Jewel, you¡¯re disturbing my party,¡± Poss said with an arm crossed under her breasts. She held a wine glass in the other, but the liquid looked like simple water.


    ¡°What kind of party are you throwing? One where daughters get knocked up by boys they hardly know? I already had one daughter turn into a whore. I ain¡¯t about to let the other fall that way.¡± He pointed at Poss.


    She looked at the offending digit and tightened her lips. Poss¡¯s attitude were as firm as the rest of her. ¡°The way I see it, you raised a woman who could make her own choices¡ª¡±


    Opal¡¯s father cut her off. ¡°Says you. We all know you¡¯re in favor of cradle robbing when offered an easy life. We¡¯ll see if you think the same when you¡¯ve a daughter old enough to be doing the same. No mother alive would accept this debauchery.¡±


    A lot of teens were still present, and if Mister Jewel could be believed, Lily and I weren¡¯t the only ones who¡¯d sneaked off to a room. Greg had suggested as much to us earlier during his toast. He probably had one of the rooms himself, though I had no guesses as to who his partner might be. Still, a lot were fully clothed. Not everyone were intent upon engaging in coitus apparently.


    Poss¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly, and she took a slow, measured breath. ¡°You¡¯ve no right to gauge my mother¡¯s beliefs. Now I think you should go, Mister Jewel. You¡¯ll be hearing from Leon on the matter of our bill for the broken doors.¡±


    ¡°Tell your husband to cram his bill, and I don¡¯t need your permission to leave.¡± Opal¡¯s father pushed the gawking teens out of the way. Some bristled, others folded, but he headed down the hallway and approached the doorway I stood in.


    ¡°That you don¡¯t,¡± Poss muttered. She motioned to the two large Felines. They nodded then followed the Jewels.


    Mister Jewel passed me and narrowed his eyes. I tilted my head and squinted slightly in a tentative greeting. My shirt still lay in the room behind me, leaving me bare-chested and red from markings¡ªcourtesy of Lily¡¯s fingernails.


    Mister Jewel¡¯s eyes were red and neck tense with barely suppressed rage. Poss¡¯s ability to endure his ire were to be applauded. ¡°I asked you to look out for her,¡± he said to me with an even tone. ¡°And where were you? Enjoying a dalliance with one of these whores-to-be? I hope your moment of pleasure was worth my daughter¡¯s dignity.¡±


    My mouth hung open and head shook. Opal¡¯s father turned away sharply then yanked his daughter forward. He stormed off with the Felines close behind. I wanted to go after them. My duty to watch over the young girl may have failed in favor of carnal pleasure, but I could at least make sure they got home safely. Transportation late at night wouldn¡¯t come easy¡ªworse, we were a day away from the full moon. Monsters could make it down here.


    I stepped away, but a small hand touched my shoulder. I¡¯d briefly forgotten about Lily dressing behind me. My fingers laced with hers as her other hand stuffed the shirt under my arm.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Lily whispered before giving me a kiss on the cheek. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it was more than a few moments of pleasure. I¡¯ll remember it for the rest of my life.¡±


    My eyes cast down as I huffed, unsure how to respond. Lily slid behind me and went directly down the hall. Her hair were ruffled, and she smiled while passing Poss. The hostess suspended her glare at the departing Mister Jewel and nodded in my direction. I didn¡¯t know what their shared look meant, but tonight would be one I¡¯d remember for the rest of my life as well. Every girl would be measured against the first.


    Lily¡¯s back stood straight, but spirit seemed weighed down by a burden she didn¡¯t want. She vanished while I stood at the crossroads of duty and desire. I sighed and knew we¡¯d likely not cross paths again that night.


    The shirt made more sense with light and quickly went on. I stumbled after Opal and her father, intent on watching them from afar in case trouble appeared. Once outside, cold air hit my face, making me shiver. Mister Jewel stood in the courtyard, getting his daughter onto the back of a horse. She¡¯d ceased complaining and lay loosely, arms draped over the animal¡¯s neck. Her father got up behind her then clicked the reins.


    They left far too fast for me to follow without a horse of my own. I looked back at the dwindling party then at a looming sunrise, which chose now to peek over the horizon.


    Better get some rest, I thought. In a day¡¯s time, I¡¯d need to be on the coach headed back to work. Without Lily, the party meant little anyway. I ambled home along a long, empty road past town.


    Too late, I mustered the courage to tell an empty road what should have been said to Lily. ¡°You¡¯re beautiful,¡± I said.


    My feet swept inside, past the front room, and I ignored my mother, whose head moved listlessly in my direction. I staggered, wanting to wash myself clean of the night¡¯s activities. In the bathroom, I noticed blood on my body that hadn¡¯t been there before and hurriedly checked my wounds. The small stitches and wrapping were still in place.


    That meant Lily had been a virgin. She sure hadn¡¯t acted like one, but maybe that¡¯d been the wine talking. I flushed red, ashamed, and worked hard to get clean. I stood in the dark, thinking of promises while hearing bathwater drain away through a pipe under the house and out to the field.


    My eyes were locked on the discolored portion of my hand. A mine¡¯s purples, greens, and reds weren¡¯t the same as a bruise¡¯s colors. I pressed the edge and saw no pus, only a bit of clear perspiration. I thumbed the drop off my shaking hand and tasted it. It were sweet, sour, and frightening at the same time.


    As dawn turned into noon, I made it back to my room but remained unable to sleep. Sobriety brought new thoughts. Lily would have left by now, gone on the morning coach. She¡¯d escaped this hell hole where The Mountain stood like a sore thumb among the rest of Butcher Hills. I wondered what might have happened if I¡¯d told her yes instead of no when she asked me to go with her. Where did she go that she wanted to sully herself with me? Could we have made that night of pleasure a reoccurring dream?


    As Harold had said, I dreamed¡ªbut it were only impossible fantasy. The deck had been stacked against me from minute one. I had been born by The Mountain, and as Daddy said¡ªonce The Mountain had you, there were no getting out alive. Here I¡¯d been born, and in the end, here I¡¯d die. I didn¡¯t know any place else. I wasn¡¯t brave like Lily.


    ¡°Wake up, boy! There are chores to be done,¡± Momma shouted through the door then banged on it. She shook the doorknob violently. Vibrations rattled through my head. ¡°Don¡¯t laze about all day! I can¡¯t do this by myself.¡±


    I know. Momma weren¡¯t much use since Daddy died. I wanted to hate her for it but felt too tired. She kept pounding on the door. I sat with my back pressed against it and stared at the discolored hand.


    ¡°Chase? You answer me when I''m talking to you!¡±


    It isn¡¯t fair, I thought. Momma, known far and wide as Widow Craig since Daddy passed on, still had a chance to get away. Widow Craig could have a life out there, free of this oppressive place. I¡¯d promised.


    Then I¡¯d be free of Momma¡¯s burden. Maybe not free like Lily¡ªbut allowed to be a man in my own right, instead of simply the pitied widow¡¯s son. There weren¡¯t anything my soul wanted more.


    And when I finally slept, I dreamt of pure silver.

 5 - Price of the Night

    One eye opened to a glare that warned me to keep the other eye shut. Sunlight assaulted me from a window with uncaring brightness. My head lifted from the floor slightly, making the world spin in all the wrong places. The skin on my face felt stiff from sleeping on the wooden floor. Dryness coated my tongue and stayed even after swallowing.


    I pushed off the floor, wiped away dried drool, then took stock. Last night¡¯s adventures had no black holes but plenty of reasons to keep my mouth shut. The taste of Lily¡¯s skin haunted my taste buds¡ªreminding me I¡¯d played both a wise man and a fool.


    The bedroom door stood open at my backside. Everything in the room that had been on shelves lay scattered. Clothes especially were everywhere. The bed had fared no better, with the mattress tipped on its side. At least my thinking stayed in order even if the rest of my bedroom had not.


    Luckily, I learned to keep my money hidden, I thought. Momma took my pay as rent to help buy stuff for the house, which made sense. She earned little, and our only saving grace had been having enough land to grow a garden and keep the coop. Those had gotten us by for six months after Daddy¡¯s death, but since I¡¯d started working the mine, they fell into sad states. My weekends at home could only do so much.


    Momma¡¯s footsteps stomped on the floor near the kitchen. The boards creaked with every motion she made, and the cabinets grated even worse. I wondered how on earth I¡¯d slept through such ruckus before it became obvious. Work, wine, and an experimental woman had been followed by a long, tiring walk home¡ªand shame over my failure to keep an eye on Opal.


    A Ranger would have been alert and never let their sleeping area get invaded, I told myself.


    I stood, making more boards groan in protest. Momma picked up the movement immediately and charged across our small house. My body jerked once in a failed effort to crawl away before she got here.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what kind of boy I raised, sleeping until afternoon. It¡¯s a wonder your daddy don¡¯t come crawling out of the mountain to give you a lashing,¡± she complained as she came through the doorway. Momma grabbed clothes then threw them into a pile.


    The dead don¡¯t come back, I thought. Dead humans never came back. Animals went in and came out changed. Some were washed by the ink multiple times and became powerful creatures that Rangers had to work together to subdue¡ªor so rumor told.


    ¡°Not that he could. Bless his soul. Now here you are, working in the same spot he died in. God above, when I woke this morning to see you lying there, drunk as a skunk, with that busted hand¡­ well, my heart about stopped. Then those other marks? Don¡¯t try to tell me you weren¡¯t out all night at a party. Your momma ain¡¯t dumb. Those are nail marks from a lady.¡±


    Momma didn¡¯t know the meaning of ¡°inner thoughts.¡± Most days, her endless commentary rolled off my back. It meant nothing. She talked to hear noise while I stayed quiet to hear less. During her ramble, she¡¯d started fixing all the belongings in my room that had been overturned. I managed to keep on my feet but turned to lean against a wall. The coolness of wood helped mute my throbbing headache.


    ¡°Your momma may be a widow, but she ain¡¯t dead inside. When someone talks about a party, I listen. Which is how I heard the Chandler¡¯s golden boy was throwing a going away bash with Mister Proctor¡¯s wife.¡± She sighed and let the thin mattress slam into place. Springs on the bed creaked loudly enough to drive my headache to another level. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t surprise me to learn the two of them were cavorting in a room somewhere, but everyone knows that boy Greg is as gay as a sunny day and that Poss girl is surprisingly loyal. She¡¯d have to be. Mister Proctor wasn¡¯t raised to let a woman step out on him. Though those Feline servants sure do talk about how Sunday mornings are a sordid affair. No wonder Mister Proctor keeps such strict banker¡¯s hours.¡±


    Momma¡¯s rattling never ceased. I swallowed and finally found enough presence of mind to push from the wall and stumble over to her. I gently grabbed her arm, stooped low, and butted her shoulder with my forehead.


    ¡°Momma, please stop talking,¡± I begged.


    She didn¡¯t. ¡°See? I knew you were all right. That hand though, we¡¯ll need to redress the wound. Your poor daddy used to return all the time with worse. And God knows I stick a needle better than those poor people at the medical tent. I did my turn once or twice there back when¡­¡± Momma paused and lost focus. ¡°Well, back when every minute counted. That¡¯s something Miss Proctor and I have in common. Loyalty and finding time for sordid affairs. Though when your daddy were around, we made sure every day had something special to keep him peppy.¡±


    Thankfully, her rumor-mongering ramble dwindled as she walked out the door. I stood there recovering my scattered wits and set my mind about ignoring everything she¡¯d just said. Greg¡¯s proclivities were new to me, and like any other story my momma spread, I suspected her words held only a grain of truth.


    I dressed then set out a few changes of clothes for my next shift at the mines. Socks and undergarments went in my bag by the droves, while only two pairs of shirts and pants would be needed for the next seven days. For a few dollars, I could have someone on site wash the garments, but they never wanted to clean the underwear. Apparently they found men¡¯s underwear gross, which were fair since I did too after two days¡¯ sweat.


    The packed bag went next to the front door. I turned around to find momma putting a plate with scrambled eggs and greens onto the table.


    ¡°Now. Eat. Between bites you can tell me all about the young miss who left such a kind review of your efforts on your skin.¡± She waved an oven mitt at the food and reduced the air flow to the stove so it¡¯d burn lower.


    The stove itself was built on top of the fireplace and used the radiating heat for cooking. In winter, our family used to bundle up in front of the fire and listen to Daddy¡¯s stories. I remembered waiting for him to come home on the weekends and tell me stories. That was a different time.


    Momma sat down after making her own food, but she barely touched it. They were thin pancakes made from old flour. I traded some eggs away for a pancake. She needed more than a thin meal to stay healthy. A touch of honey helped sweeten the dull meal. Real fruit would have been better. Momma¡¯s chest lifted in preparation to unleash a torrent of babble. I quickly willed myself deaf, but as always, the effort failed.


    ¡°Well, she must have been something. You let me know if I¡¯m to expect anyone else for Sunday dinners. Might be nice to have some company ¡®round here. God knows you¡¯re a sullen one even on a beautiful day. Like this morning. Sleeping all day and still you can¡¯t find it in you to say more than four words. Maybe you¡¯re being chased by the ghosts of last night¡¯s wine? It would serve you right.¡±


    I nodded slowly then realized what she¡¯d said. My body froze mid bite before I decided to not care. Momma would figure out whatever she wanted to. The bedroom had already been ransacked; no doubt she¡¯d looked for money and clues about what happened. The scratches on my back from Lily¡¯s lack of control painted a clear picture. Wine on my morning breath advertised the rest.


    ¡°Well, son? Am I to be expecting to meet this lady or not?¡±


    My eyes met Momma¡¯s. Her face pinched at the sides and body held still as she struggled to wait for a response before talking more. I looked back down then shook my head slowly. Lily Spark would not be coming to Sunday dinner, now or ever.


    ¡°Well, color me disappointed but unsurprised. You make sure to do right by your night visitors. Especially if they get with child. Ain¡¯t fair to leave a mother alone without help.¡±


    I winced at her words. No, it¡¯s not fair at all. To either the mother or child.


    ¡°But since you¡¯ve been sitting there all quiet like while eating the food I made, maybe you can give me a better answer to another question.¡±


    I glanced up slowly.


    ¡°What is this?¡± my momma asked while holding up a small pile of bills with a twenty on top.


    The food in my stomach flopped and threatened to come back up. I don¡¯t know. My head shook slowly.


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me, boy. I didn¡¯t raise you to fib to your momma,¡± she said.


    I had a flashback to Mister Jewel dragging his daughter out of Poss¡¯s mansion¡ªusing the exact same words. Only young Opal and I had different understandings of the truth. I, for one, knew all of my money was still in place and hidden. Mister Jewel¡¯s daughter had been plastered and in a bedroom with a pants-less man. Though what actually happened, I hadn¡¯t stuck around to ascertain. The issue went onto a list of things to inquire about.


    ¡°Money?¡± I answered. The word cracked. My throat hurt and felt dry. Bits of burnt pancake were stuck and I looked for water to wash it down. I pushed back the chair and stumbled to get a drink.


    ¡°Then there¡¯s this note, says ¡®for services rendered.¡¯ What services are those exactly?¡± As Momma grilled me, all I could think were I¡¯d forgotten the strawberries. ¡°Since when are you working for the Proctors? Though God as my witness, I¡¯d die a happy woman if you worked anywhere but them mines. They took your daddy, and I don¡¯t know what I¡¯ll do if they claim you too.¡±


    I sat back down then looked at the meal in front of me. Fruits of any kind would have gone great with the butter and bread. There hadn¡¯t been fruit in this house for too long. Maybe I could spare some funds to buy a sapling early next year. Though every dollar wasted delayed me getting the tattoo, which I needed to become a Ranger and get Momma out of this place.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Well, if I were a few years younger, I might have tried to catch myself Leon¡¯s older brother, Jimmy. He¡¯s still single, I hear. But I¡¯m a widow. No one would want damaged goods like me.¡±


    Momma¡¯s love life woes weren¡¯t a topic I cared to hear much about. My own were a mess, and last night¡¯s bout of pleasure suddenly had a whole new twist that hadn¡¯t registered before. The connection were simple¡ªPoss had paid me to act the stud for Lily. Nothing else had happened last night which might warrant being paid any amount of money. I¡¯d done the deed any way she wanted for free, and getting paid for the act felt wrong. I also worried about what Lily had asked me to do during our romp. Slapping a girl and calling her names felt outside the bounds of decency.


    ¡°Anyway, we got bills to pay. I¡¯ll be deducting your fee ¡®for services rendered¡¯ to pay some of them. Maybe I can save a few dollars and convince the general store to part with some thread and mend our clothes. God knows you could use something new. Your pants must be made of holes by now.¡±


    Fine, I thought with a nod. They were full of holes. I suspected if the dead were able to crawl out of The Mountain, then this would be the time to do so. There could be no way on God¡¯s green Earth that Daddy would have sat right with Momma getting money paid to me for laying a pretty girl. Momma meant well, and as Lily had said, our coupling would stay secret. The money could have helped me pay for the last portion of my tattoo, but instead it barely compensated for the pay cut from a spilled barrel.


    I walked to the front door and picked up a pair of boots. They had belonged to my father and were snug on my feet. My toes had little wiggle room at the end. Momma rambled while I got the hand-me-down jacket and hat left behind by my daddy.


    ¡°And where are you going? You¡¯ve got to head to work tomorrow morning and there ain¡¯t much daylight left. Unless you¡¯re off to visit your lady and ask her to dinner next weekend. That¡¯d be all right by me. It¡¯s time you got set up with someone a bit more your speed. God knows I can¡¯t be around forever to watch over you. Boys need to grow up.¡±


    I forced a smile and moved my ears to make it seem genuine. The hat I put on felt lighter than my mining equipment and almost fell off my head. I¡¯d need a haircut soon. A list of chores came to mind, but like everything else, they required money we couldn¡¯t spare.


    ¡°We need grease,¡± I said while pointing at the kitchen door¡¯s hinges. ¡°I¡¯ll pick some up before work.¡±


    And I need to talk to Poss about these services rendered, I thought.


    Momma studied the hinges and frowned. She could have looked in any direction of our small home and picked a reason to be upset, but at least we agreed on one point. ¡°Well. Coach leaves in the morrow, and you¡¯re almost a man. I guess I can¡¯t be upset if you stay out late. Still. You do your chores and help out. There¡¯s too much around the house for me to manage. God knows those chickens get all riled if I dare set my foot inside the coup.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± I said with a nod. Talking to Momma were easier than most people. A few words to Lily had taken far more effort. ¡°I do what I can.¡±


    Momma poked a fork at her untouched food then sighed. I pretended not to notice the dirt stains on her knees or threadbare spots near the shoulders. We both needed new clothes. The house bills and taxes about killed us. The loans Momma had taken out after Daddy died were still being repaid. Animals cost money to feed, and we needed to eat.


    Money at the mine only went so far. I could give up on the tattoo and take all that saved cash to pay off some bills, but that would set my goal back even further. I hoped to have enough to get myself inked before the next Ranger choosing. Being a Ranger paid triple what the mine did, plus lodging. Though how they made their money, no one talked about.


    ¡°I know. God knows I know. I¡¯m just tired. Tired all the time like a doll that¡¯s worn at the seams.¡± She looked at me, then her cheeks twitched in a quickly dying smile. ¡°Don¡¯t get old, you hear me? It¡¯s hell. You fall in love, you have kids, and think ¡®this is it.¡¯ Then it ain¡¯t. Life still needs living and it don¡¯t get easier or simpler. It just goes on, forever and ever until you die. We¡ªI¡ªwell, it weren¡¯t the intent to die alone.¡±


    As she rambled, I wool-gathered over how we¡¯d gotten to this point. The year since Dad¡¯s passing hadn¡¯t been an easy one. I planned to sell this place after getting Momma out of town. Then those funds could go to support her while I adjusted to being a Ranger. My hopes were staked on this. But if that failed, the right tattoo would help me work more in the mine, so the fallback plan weren¡¯t bad.


    I got ready for a few more chores before heading back to work for the week. Momma simply blinked.


    ¡°You look like your father,¡± she said then shook her head. A hand shooed me. ¡°I think I need to go lie down now. You go on. Don¡¯t pay any mind to my chatter.¡±


    I gave Momma a hug and wondered when I¡¯d grown taller than her.


    The trip to town went quicker by daylight. I thumbed down a neighbor and got a ride on their carriage. The man said nothing and got nothing in return. They knew I hadn¡¯t been a talker for over a year. Facts like that made it around to everyone in Chandler Field. I¡¯d bet on half of Bell Town and the rest of the county knowing too.


    Chase weren¡¯t right in the head since his daddy done died, they¡¯d say.


    I got off at the main square and did some personal shopping with money I¡¯d managed to hide from Momma. The tab from Momma¡¯s purchases during the week was paid off, leaving me with less than I¡¯d expected. Every time a dollar went away, my mind ran through numbers to figure out how far back my freedom had been set.


    The general store held on to my purchases while I went for one more stop. The Proctors¡¯ mansion sat on a hill and stretched down to the small river below. It wasn¡¯t as big as Bell Town¡¯s waterway, but without the river, our town wouldn¡¯t be able to sustain itself.


    As for the mansion itself, the building had two huge wings and too many bedrooms to count. It looked more impressive during the night, with all the electricity running through. Two years ago, before Leon married the much younger Poss, he¡¯d used much of his legal fees and family fortune to bring us a generator that ran using river water and steam. I didn¡¯t understand the peculiars of it, but the short version were part of town had lights and didn¡¯t have to use lanterns anymore.


    I knocked on the door. The black-and-white Feline from last night led me in with a greeting.


    ¡°Mister Craig. You¡¯ve returned.¡± She smiled, whiskers pulled back, and displayed a row of sharp teeth. The Feline wore a tight-fitting top displaying fur-covered breasts. I wasn¡¯t sure whose benefit the display were for, and it paled in attractiveness compared to Lily¡¯s.


    My head bobbed while one cheek tightened. I felt guilty for not being able to return the favor of calling her by name. I wanted to remember what Lily used but couldn¡¯t. Lily¡¯s body had finished wearing me out and left little room in my head for pleasantries.


    The Feline wouldn¡¯t know my hand signals like the miners did. My throat still felt dry, but at least the foulness of my breath had been washed away by a meal and drink. I took a breath and asked, ¡°Is Poss in?¡± before clamping my lips tight in case the wine still lingered.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see if Mrs. Proctor is available for you.¡± The Feline nodded. ¡°Sundays can be a difficult time to get her attention, even this late in the afternoon.¡±


    My momma woulda smiled gleefully over hearing a rumor confirmation like that one. I didn¡¯t care and smiled before dipping my head in thanks. The motion reminded me to remove Daddy¡¯s hat and hold it like a civilized person. Though Poss had never been poor, I felt worse than ever standing in her entryway while waiting.


    Poss arrived and descended a stairwell slowly. Her legs wobbled every few steps. I stood still and waited for any sign she might want or need my help. Poss didn¡¯t, and she made it to the bottom while keeping a hand on the rail. She looked less composed this morning. Darkness hung from her eyes and a hint of red laced through them. Poss probably had only recently been to sleep and looked to have a worse hangover than any I¡¯d ever seen before.


    ¡°Good afternoon, Chase,¡± Poss said quietly. The sound of her own voice made the woman swoon.


    I frowned but stepped over to lend an arm. She stopped me and, using her hands along a wall, found a chair to sit in. Poss waved to the Feline servant who stood nearby.


    The Feline scooted off quickly. Her view from the rear was far more attractive than the front, but the tail made me blink. It swished as the former human dodged around a corner to perform whatever errand Poss had sent her on.


    The lady of the house sighed and took a deep breath. ¡°How¡¯s your back? I heard a tale it received quite a beating.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t gesture my way through our conversation. Poss and I weren¡¯t friends, or enemies. She didn¡¯t know me as well as Greg or Lily. Speaking were the only option.


    ¡°I can¡¯t say,¡± I muttered.


    Poss knew the answer, but Lily had picked me for my silence. I¡¯d honor the implied request of keeping what had happened between us private. Instead, I held up the note I¡¯d sneaked away from Momma during our hug and gestured to it with a raised eyebrow.


    ¡°Still keeping yourself locked tight. You¡¯ll never change, will you, Chase? Acting like you imagine a gentleman to be. She could have chosen far worse.¡±


    I stared at Poss and tried to understand what that implied. The statement fit with my own thinking regarding the payment, but I wanted to make sure. It annoyed me fiercely to think the suspicion might be true.


    ¡°Services rendered?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I believe Lily put that in your shirt pocket when you were getting dressed and defending the doorway like a topless knight.¡± Poss gazed past me while frowning. She motioned a hand. ¡°She said she almost forgot, distracted as she was.¡±


    The Feline maid rushed by with a glass of water and a scraping of powders. I studied the white substance and wondered what medication she might be taking to cure a hangover. Poss ignored me, poured the powder into her drink, and stirred. The water turned murky then went down Poss¡¯s throat in a few quick gulps.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t need to be paid.¡± The words came out haltingly.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. I wouldn¡¯t have paid you, and it certainly wasn¡¯t my money. It was hers. Lily gave you everything she had before moving on.¡±


    My hands rapidly turned up and head shook. ¡°Where¡­¡± The question died and I tried again. ¡°Where did she¡ª¡±


    Poss waved. ¡°None of your business. Lily made me promise not to tell, and so I won¡¯t. I¡¯m a married woman now. You and I both know promises are everything. If I don¡¯t do as I said I¡¯d do, everything falls apart. You should understand, having little of value besides your word.¡±


    Poss could be a mean bitch because her manner held no punches. Not to her friends, comrades, and if my momma¡¯s rambling were to believed, Poss even kept her husband on the straight and narrow. Her words made me recall my own convictions. Honoring a promise did mean everything, even if that commitment had been made with a person who had passed on. In Daddy¡¯s passing, the promise meant even more.


    ¡°You had your fun, but a boy like you couldn¡¯t hold a woman like Lily for long. Your pockets aren¡¯t deep enough to give her what she needs. Your arms aren¡¯t strong enough to fight off the dogs chasing her legs. And look at you, still a boy struggling to be a man wearing his father¡¯s leftovers. A poor knight.¡±


    For a girl only two years older than me, you sure act high and mighty, I thought.


    There were other men after Lily. There always had been. I knew¡ªeven as we¡¯d completed the act last night¡ªthat we weren¡¯t going to be together. That weren¡¯t why I was upset. Nothing Poss said was a lie, and though I wanted to scream back, there¡¯d be no point. Poss had money; I didn¡¯t. I needed money to make life better and knew it.


    ¡°A woman needs stability and surety in her future. You provide neither. Be happy she chose you for a night and leave it be. Be happy she valued your time enough to invest in you.¡± Poss drove home the painful truth, and I stood there hating where life had put me.


    An investment. That was what my moment with Lily had been. Then it hit me what that really meant and why she¡¯d asked me to do all those strange acts. Mister Jewel had been right when he called it ¡°a dalliance with one of these whores-to-be.¡±


    A cold pit in my stomach crawled along my spine in a trail of tingles. Slender fingers of ice wrapped around my neck as heat drained from my face. The idea that Lily would be out there somewhere turning tricks made me sick. I gave a shallow nod in farewell then scooted quickly before bile could make its way up my throat. I managed to reach an outdoor flowerbed before I emptied my guts.

 6 - Lure of the Deep

    At the sidewalk, I heaved myself empty a second time. All the while, my mind repeated, I can barely support one woman. How could I ever provide a future to another?


    The family house always needed fixing. Our livestock hardly amounted to anything. I couldn¡¯t afford a beauty like Lily when she could fish in larger waters. My faith in money was renewed in that moment.


    My feet hastily rushed to the edge of town. More than ever, I needed to keep at my work and earn more funds. There were other jobs in town, but they didn¡¯t give the hours or money Wellbrook Mine did. They didn¡¯t pay bonuses like bringing back a barrel would. Most employment didn¡¯t risk being attacked by a pile of dead animals or being touched by raw ink either.


    I needed more than six meager months in the mine to earn my way onto real crews and get higher pay. The deep crews were harder, but maybe I could volunteer for a shift or two down below. What good were my life anyway?


    Judging by the stack of bills my momma had, my time was valued at one hundred dollars a day. Too bad the mine didn¡¯t pay me that well. Thinking of Lily¡¯s future made me sour, but I hoped she¡¯d earn enough to live somewhere happier. Maybe she¡¯d net a man who had a fortune and knew a sweet girl when he saw her.


    I grabbed my goods from the store, stumbled home, and greased the cabinets. Perishables went into the cellar under our small house where they¡¯d stay cool. Momma had already ventured to her room for sleep.


    I got a few hours myself then woke early. A poorly scrawled note of farewell was bundled with money and left behind. Then it were back to the main road to catch a ride to Wellbrook Mines, gateway of The Mountain¡¯s welcoming maw.


    I walked slowly and stood under a sign for the carriage. The wait took forever. Early in the morning, before even the sun knew how to think straight, the carriage arrived.


    The crossing where I grabbed the coach had only me most days. Sometimes the driver didn¡¯t slow down and I had to dive for a rail to get aboard. We were all lucky the mine paid for our rides. It was about the only thing they forked out money for¡ªbut the full moon made it dangerous to build a settlement right at the doorway like they did at the ore mines farther north.


    Two escorts were also headed along with us to the mines. Being attacked on the commute back did happen occasionally, but Rangers were busiest on the full moon and would have cleared the obvious threats.


    ¡°Morning,¡± I said to the woman on the horse. She were a Ranger, and my own desire for silence didn¡¯t outweigh the need to make friendly.


    She spit on the coach floor. That amounted to more of a greeting than my prior two attempts at hello, so I accepted it. I elbowed my way to a window seat then plopped down. Behind me were Ducky and Mister Jewel, along with a few others.


    ¡°Fancy seeing you here, mute.¡± Ducky¡¯s eye were blackened still.


    Mister Jewel were right next to Ducky and did nothing but glare. They must have gotten on during the stop in town. I remembered my failure from the night before.


    In light of being paid for my services, the whole affair felt tainted. It didn¡¯t matter Lily had said, ¡°I¡¯ll remember it forever¡±¡ªonly that she¡¯d cheapened a great experience with money. However well-intentioned it might have been, it left me sour.


    Our time together were an opportunity to live a dream for one night. That was all and nothing more. I told myself that repeatedly and knew it might take me a few days to get over it. By the end of the week, I¡¯d hoped to forget all about her.


    ¡°Morning, Hardwood. I heard about Ranger Sterling,¡± Mister Jewel said out the window to our escort.


    ¡°Mourning is right,¡± the woman responded.


    I didn¡¯t understand until one of the other passengers said, ¡°My condolences, Ranger Hardwood.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t need ¡®em. Sterling was an asshole, but he died doing his duty. That¡¯s as good a death as any.¡± The cart bumped us around, but her body on the horse jostled even more.


    I looked again. The Ranger escorting us had been doing this for years, to my knowledge. I¡¯d only seen her once or twice, and only after a full moon. Her face was weathered with wrinkles from years of sun, and a faded tattoo sat on her marriage finger.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said to Mister Jewel. Daddy had taught me to be wise and own my mistakes rather than let them fester. Plenty of events in life couldn¡¯t be controlled and apologizing for those were pointless, but poor choices could be fixed next time.


    ¡°I dragged that girl home, and she spent the entire trip protesting she¡¯d fallen out of bed in front of Gregory Chandler.¡±


    I shrugged. Maybe she had. People had been handing young ladies drinks all night, though Lily had seemed willing to intercept everything that would have gone to Opal. Maybe the room had simply been occupied. Poss didn¡¯t strike me as the type to let a girl unwillingly do anything.


    ¡°You think girls just ended up in those rooms by accident? People were set up to be together. Nothing¡¯s changed in twenty years in the Proctor house. Then the Chandlers do what they¡¯ve always done. Their sons don¡¯t fall far from the family tree. Maybe children never do.¡±


    My father might have understood whatever Mister Jewel meant. I only knew his words didn¡¯t appear as simple as they sounded¡ªbecause he had never once bad-mouthed my daddy or momma. No one ever did in the mine. They did, however, feel free to tell me what the man would have thought of my choices and actions.


    ¡°Opal looked tired. Maybe she passed out,¡± I said. The last I¡¯d seen, Opal was talking to people in a corner of the main dining room. She¡¯d had a drag to her step and her movements spoke of dizziness.


    ¡°If you believe that, then I got a barrel of silver to sell you for cheap.¡±


    ¡°Silver¡¯s a myth,¡± Ducky said with wince to his cheek. ¡°And everyone knows Greg¡¯s into coc¡ª¡± He stopped talking abruptly.


    ¡°Silver¡¯s real,¡± I said quietly. As for Greg¡¯s preferences, it weren¡¯t my business.


    The other miners, almost everyone, perked up and stared in my direction. I tensed then sank into myself, trying to get smaller. Last night had my brain all muddled and the filters that should have been controlling my mouth weren¡¯t.


    ¡°Keep dreaming, kid. Maybe one day soon you¡¯ll grow up and do right for a change.¡± Mister Jewel crossed his arms and looked away.


    I¡¯ve seen it before, I thought. Only once though, in The Mountain¡¯s heart, on the night my daddy were returned to its depths. As his body descended into the mire, I saw the silver shimmering, then it sank with him.


    Eventually the others went back to their early morning naps.


    The Ranger rode along next to us, her eye rounded by leathery looking skin that had baked under the sun. She peered around frequently, at every tree and stretch of land as if a monster might appear. None did in the daylight.


    Ducky pushed past Opal¡¯s father and leaned out the window. ¡°I hear you got a choosing coming up soon. Next month, right?¡±


    Mr. Jewel puckered his lips and motioned for Ducky to move. They switched spots, and a few people were introduced to elbows. I rolled my eyes as Ducky earned ire from more people than Foreman Kindle and me.


    ¡°Who¡¯re you?¡± the Ranger asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m Derek Lake.¡± Derek stuck out a hand to shake and got no response from the Ranger. ¡°I¡¯m hoping to be chosen next month when you all pick a new member. I think being a Ranger would be a great honor.¡±


    I hoped to be chosen too. How Ducky had any money saved were beyond me. The man didn¡¯t know how to work at all. He did nothing, and I had no clue how he would have found money for his first tattoo. Ducky and I had almost the same background, except his parents were dead.


    My eyes clenched tightly as the realization made me almost envy him. He may have no one, but he also didn¡¯t have to support anyone. The twisted mixture of envy and pity made my already upset stomach outright sick. The cart¡¯s lurching motion ramped up. I felt every footstep the horses took and they all made me nauseated.


    The hooves of the Ranger¡¯s ride got closer. Her name would be easier to remember than the Feline¡¯s at Poss¡¯s house. Ranger Hardwood and Ranger Sterling were almost comical in description.


    ¡°You listen close. Rangers are called from those who wish to serve, or those who have lost family to the deep creatures spawned. But there isn¡¯t one among us that signed up because we''re after honor.¡±


    Ducky¡¯s smiled vanished for a moment then came back. ¡°But you¡¯re heroes. You fight those monsters without fear and win.¡±


    Ranger Hardwood spit on the ground. Her horse ambled on as Ducky waited for divine guidance to spill forth. To avoid attention, I kept my gaze leveled at no one in particular. I¡¯d said hello and gotten nothing. Ranger Hardwood felt like the kind of person who only talked to prove others wrong.


    ¡°We have no use for thrill-seekers or would-be heroes in our ranks. You want that, go join the real army and die against the Saracons. They¡¯ll pin a wall of medals on your chest posthumously and say the world¡¯s a better place due to your heroism.¡± Ranger Hardwood¡¯s face wrinkled. Her voice sounded worn, and the hint of two tattoos peeked out of a long set of gloves going up her arm. They became more obvious as she rode closer due to her desire to tell Ducky off.


    Ducky¡¯s face lost most of its color the longer Ranger Hardwood¡¯s speech went on.


    ¡°We don¡¯t get medals. We don¡¯t get ceremonies. When we die, we get tossed into the mountain where the very creatures we hunt spawn.¡±


    ¡°What about the desperate?¡± I whispered.


    Other coach riders turned their heads to give me a glance¡ªagain. Ducky scowled, and Ranger Hardwood narrowed her eyes, intensifying her wrinkles. I took a small breath then looked away. My mouth had done nothing but get me in trouble this morning, and I needed a bent nail to keep it shut.


    She answered despite my attempt to pretend the question were never spoken, ¡°Desperation makes a better crop than a thrill-seeker, but they¡¯re far from ideal. A desperate person wanting to be a Ranger jumps in without knowing the truth of what they¡¯re asking to become.¡±Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    I didn¡¯t turn back and acted as if the question had come from some other fool on the crowded coach. Ducky glared as people on the stagecoach made idle chatter. Ranger Hardwood tilted her head, and from the corner of my eye, I saw her staring at me.


    ¡°What about strength? Or stamina. Plenty of us can handle the work,¡± Ducky asked.


    ¡°Boy, you may be tough, but you aren¡¯t hard enough.¡± Ranger Hardwood snorted a mile of road dust then spit on the ground again.


    ¡°How¡¯s anyone supposta know if they¡¯re good enough?¡± he responded.


    Mister Jewel rolled his eyes while shaking his head. His lips muttered words I couldn¡¯t make out.


    ¡°You¡¯ll know,¡± she said with a chuckle.


    Mister Jewel echoed the laugh, along with a few of the older mine workers. She shook her head then led the horse farther away from our stagecoach.


    I scanned carefully for clues on the joke. A few of the miners met my gaze dead-on and didn¡¯t blink. Whatever shared joke they were all in on, I was about ten years of hard labor away from understanding. My mouth remained sealed this time.


    ¡°Self-righteous cunt. ¡®You¡¯ll know,¡¯¡± he mimicked her tone with a sneer.


    Another miner rapped on his head with their knuckles. Ducky opened his mouth to complain but paused upon noticing the other man¡¯s size. The teen crossed his arms and stared out the window. Our ride only got more crowded as we made additional stops on the way up. How such a small carriage fit so many people escaped me.


    Ranger Hardwood rode farther away while snorting in amusement. She stayed within sight but outside easy range for talking. I eyed her horse, noticing it looked off from the ones ahead of our stagecoach. The beast''s head were longer and thinner, almost a caricature of a horse that wouldn¡¯t be noticed until they were side by side. The fur itself looked too vibrant.


    I¡¯d only seen a few creatures of ink, besides the commonly accepted races. Her horse might be an altered creature, like Flops, Felines, and Delvers. I¡¯d keep my eyes and ears open to figure out if such a thing were possible. Being able to make use of those respawned monsters would be more useful than throwing them back in.


    The thought kept me quiet as we traveled. By the time we started up the steeper part of the mountains, more than twenty people were crammed into the small coach. The smell made me dizzy. As a group, we went straight to the refinery door. That were normal for the first day back after a full moon.


    I leapt out with my bag and scuttled out of the way. A pile of people unloaded behind me. We stretched, wiggled, yawned, and stumbled forward to the open gates. A small group of people were watching over the doorway¡ªguardsmen supplied by the president to protect his investment. We only got a handful of them, and they switched out every few months. All of them had guns at the ready in case monsters attacked. I heard they preferred fighting the Saracons to guarding the mines.


    ¡°Hey. Don¡¯t spill another barrel, all right, mute?¡± Ducky said as he stormed straight for the barracks.


    My eyes rolled as a breath went out. The trip up had passed without needed sleep. I stumbled through the big double doors, and the guards hardly paid any attention. They were only around for the monsters, not us poor saps working the mine.


    I took slow steps forward. Some people charged by while others lagged behind. A few were going straight for billboards to check what the crew assignments were. Another crew that had arrived before us already had their gear on and hefted large pallets of equipment. Soon they¡¯d be rolling it along the same tracks used to bring up barrels to the refinery.


    The smell of ink processing hung in the air. That entire section weren¡¯t open to me, as a lowly runner. If I wanted to work anywhere besides the mines, it needed to be earned¡ªno matter who my father had been. Truthfully, a lot of miners hated the refinery side for having a cushy job.


    A crisscross of metal suspended from brick and wood covered the eastern side of our refinery. Grates were used to separate this floor from the next without blocking sunlight. The metal that went into our refinery could have built a fleet of ships, but wars needed ink more.


    A tattooist stood on one of the catwalks above. The woman looked familiar. Her name was Cassandra. She wore multiple layers of clothes that were bright and flashed as she walked. I hoped to approach her, or one of the other tattooists, to see about buying my tattoo once I could afford a barrel.


    Ranger Hardwood and Tattooist Cassandra were talking quietly while glancing our way. What they could be conversing about, I didn¡¯t feel right guessing, but from the way Cassandra gazed unabashedly in our direction, I knew it¡¯d be a mess.


    ¡°You¡¯d never make it in the refinery side.¡± Mister Jewel glared at me, once again shoving his disapproval in my face. ¡°Hell, kid, you¡¯d never make it as a Ranger either. You can¡¯t see past your own pecker and take care of those who need saving. Like the lady said, you¡¯re strong but too soft.¡±


    I swallowed a lump. She¡¯d said it toward Ducky but might have meant us both. Or Mister Jewel might simply be misunderstanding.


    ¡°Have you even asked an artist? Did you look at the prices? Do you even have a clue what types of ink will be required?¡± Mister Jewel shook his head.


    ¡°How do you¡ª¡± were all I could manage before Opal¡¯s father laughed. He weren¡¯t one of my father¡¯s friends, like Harold or the Jeffs, but he acted as if he knew all about me. I would have punched him like I did Ducky, but I couldn¡¯t afford another fine.


    ¡°I got eyes, boy. Every time we come here, I see you staring at the Tattooists. Every time there¡¯s a Ranger around, you try to soak in every detail. You¡¯re worse than Derek,¡± Mister Jewel said loudly.


    If he knew, everyone knew. The mine¡¯s gossip chain outperformed Momma¡¯s and she¡¯d made it a first and second job. That meant it would only be a matter of time before parts of my plan were no longer secret.


    ¡°Mute wants to be a Ranger? You ain¡¯t got a chance,¡± Ducky said, charging past me toward the boards. He¡¯d already gotten dressed.


    Of course, I thought.


    Now Ducky suspected we were after the same slot because Rangers only ever picked one person a year. Now I needed to fight to earn money, then fight for attention over the loudmouth. It hit me to wonder, why exactly had Ducky been on the same stagecoach as me? He lived in the next district over.


    I went to a locker for clothes. My bag of clean socks and clothes went into an alcove. There were used clothes in the lockers, and Ducky had taken the set that fit our builds. We were the two youngest workers here, and both shared the wiry build of teens who couldn¡¯t afford good food.


    The new clothes were loose and the gloves didn¡¯t seal perfectly. I rubbed my hand, feeling the fresh layer of wrapping from last night. Momma hadn¡¯t done any of the work herself, but she¡¯d found supplies and left a note saying to be careful the next few days. Seeing the damage reminded me Delilah wanted me to visit first thing.


    I headed over to the medic¡¯s shack. Hopefully she¡¯d holed up safely with the staff members who never went home. Some people without families chose to stay all month long at the mines. I would have too, but Momma made it impossible, plus the mine¡¯s bank charged money to hold on to cash.


    My mood were terrible and showed no signs of improving. Ducky¡¯s grin across the yard made my good hand twitch. Mister Jewel and a pack of people around him were turning shoulders away from me already. By the end of the day, they¡¯d all know how I¡¯d screwed up over the weekend. But no one should know about Lily.


    I walked into the medical building, where there were three tired-looking people and a Ranger laying on a stretcher. He struggled to sit.


    ¡°Uncle Herse, you were asked to lay still,¡± Delilah came in from another part of the room and addressed the man on the stretcher.


    ¡°It¡¯s Tawny. You know we¡ª¡± The man coughed. He looked like a sheet made of skin on sharp bones and sounded close to death. Wet, hacking coughs bent him at the middle. He weren¡¯t wearing a shirt and had gray cloth wrapped around his chest.


    ¡°You¡¯ll always be Uncle Herse to me. I don¡¯t care what oaths you took.¡± Delilah opened a cabinet then shook her head; whatever she sought weren¡¯t inside the wooden shelves.


    The man scowled. Uncle implied they were related, and the only part that looked similar were the bushy black eyebrows. Delilah wore glasses, and Ranger Tawny didn¡¯t. Both were thin, but Delilah hid it with frill-covered clothes. She tightened her cheek, chewed on her inner lip, then traveled right around me toward the cot holding Ranger Tawny.


    ¡°Stop moving,¡± she said sternly while pointing. ¡°You know you don¡¯t heal as fast as other Rangers since you took the wings. You need to rest.¡±


    I waved as Delilah came by. She ignored me with a head shake and stuck a needle into Tawny¡¯s arm. I couldn¡¯t remember their real names from our few crossings, but colors were common for the Ranger crowd. They used them as code names.


    ¡°I need to get back to the hunt. The bear that killed Sterling is still out there.¡±


    The one both Hardwood and Tawny talked about were a Ranger I didn¡¯t know. I pulled the bandage from home aside a little. Everything underneath had scabbed over and didn¡¯t need to be redressed. No puss oozed from the wounds, though where the rainbow drop hit, I still felt swollen skin. Thumbing the drop from the wound then licking it resulted in a sweet and sour taste that evoked emotions.


    ¡°You¡¯ll stay right here. Auntie Tanner is here and speaking with Cassandra,¡± Delilah responded. Her eyes became wider than the glasses, making her forehead shrink.


    ¡°That¡¯s good. She found Sterling¡¯s body, but Hardwood¡¯ll know what to do. She always does,¡± Ranger Tawny responded.


    I let them talk and pressed the soft tissue to see if more drops of clear sweat would come forth.


    ¡°And you¡¯ll be staying here until that gut wound is healed. Which won¡¯t be until after the tide falls on this moon.¡±


    ¡°I can still work,¡± he insisted while struggling to sit.


    Other people were on stretchers but were out cold. Chests lifted slowly, and bandages were all over their bodies. I stared at them while pretending not to eavesdrop on Delilah and the Ranger. I knew he was a Ranger, not only because they¡¯d said it but he wore the mark on his neck. Two quick-looking strokes represented The Mountain¡¯s chosen.


    ¡°You¡¯ll sit your ass down or I''ll tell Aunt Tanner. You can explain to her why her husband is a stubborn mule intent upon tearing open his gut.¡±


    ¡°She wouldn¡¯t like that,¡± the Ranger said, falling back onto the cot with a defeated expression. His eyes rolled and hand pressed against the bandaged stomach.


    I waved good-bye to Delilah. It felt clear enough she didn¡¯t have time or need to pay attention to me. Two other medics were there, but they appeared to be busy checking stockpiles of equipment. Only Delilah had even looked at me. I decided to duck out and head to work. If my hand could survive rendering services to Lily, it would survive working for the day.


    Delilah waved, but the limpness to her wrist looked distracted. Family mattered more than a random miner who¡¯d probably end up with new wounds. In my time working the mine, I¡¯d suffered more than barbs from rat creatures. It happened to all of us. Bumps or knocks on equipment, monsters that weren¡¯t cleared, or touching ink.


    The gloves stayed on. One hand kept slipping while the damaged one felt cramped. Mismatched gear were a common problem. The shoes were stiff and worn on my soles. While walking, I shook every limb in turn to get the equipment loosened. Overalls and the baggy shirt were held in place by a large belt without a buckle. I stopped outside the medic hut to tuck the long pants into my boots, then I walked on slowly.


    I glanced at the sun overhead then rolled my eyes. Midday meant nothing to miners. The inside could be hot or cold depending on the portion of the mine. A mental inventory of the tasks available to me failed to show me a path to enough money. I calculated the earnings if I stayed on the first two floors and found the results wanting. I couldn¡¯t afford a tattoo at this rate. Before the week ended, I needed to talk to one of the tattooists and get a solid price. Mister Jewel had that much right¡ªI should have asked how much this would cost me.


    Money mattered. The thought had crossed my mind a dozen times today, and in each instance, it felt like a fresh spike being nailed into me. I needed onto one of the better crews or harder jobs. I needed more hours in the day or a rich patron. I¡¯d ask Foreman Kindle for a better assignment then work my ass off to prove myself capable.


    I stood in line to talk to him. He directed people and dealt with arguments over last week¡¯s pay. The person in front of me squabbled over five dollars being cut. Broken gloves cost a dollar. Sleeping overnight cost three dollars. Meals were six for a day. Working in the mine paid a lot, but unless you did a good job and avoided extra costs, then you would barely break even.


    ¡°I don¡¯t set prices. I don¡¯t set wages. Those are all determined by Wellbrook Mines.¡±


    ¡°Well, you tell them no man can live on this kind of money,¡± the person in front of me said, his face twisted in a snarl. ¡°Much less provide for a family.¡±


    ¡°I ¡®ave,¡± Foreman Kindle said.


    ¡°Well, tell them again! Then again!¡±


    Kindle¡¯s lips twitched, and he shook his head. ¡°Right. Til then, you¡¯re on six or you can go find another job.¡± Kindle pointed toward a cafeteria. ¡°Or you can go make a sandwich for the real workers. Pick, because daylight¡¯s burning and I got a line.¡±


    A dozen people were behind me from two stagecoaches that had arrived recently. I¡¯d have to make my desires known quickly. The man in front of me stormed off. He chose to work in the mine over the cafeteria. People making meals didn¡¯t earn as much. There were a chain to getting money. Rangers, refiners, deeper mines and medics, upper mines, and all the others. Runners and support staff were all on the same level. The order shifted around a bit for senior leadership.


    When I stood in front of the foreman, my fingers rubbed against my thumb to signify money.


    Foreman Kindle¡¯s nostrils flared and his arms crossed. ¡°Not you too. Not after last week. You¡¯re really gonna come in here and tell me you need more?¡±


    My head shook. ¡°Deep crews. I want.¡± The line behind me kept getting longer and I shuddered. ¡°To move up.¡±


    A few weeks of risking my life should cover the house bills and let me save enough for the tattoo. Survival mattered, but on average, only one person died a week. Two hundred went down, so only one loss amounted to good odds. Generations with the mine had taught us how to keep people alive. The answer to that were also ink. We went down for it. We mined by its illumination. We studied its flows. I felt confident my life wouldn¡¯t be one of the ones lost.


    ¡°You¡¯d go to the deeps willingly?¡±


    I closed my eyes then nodded slowly.

 7 - Promise of the Daring

    ¡°Come on, Kindle,¡± the person behind me said. ¡°Tell him no and move on.¡±


    The people back there made me hesitate. I wanted to explain I needed more money but didn¡¯t mind working for it. Ducky and I were different in that regard. I took my whippings but kept coming back because of money.


    He checked his clipboard then squinted. ¡°No. First, you go check on Harold¡¯s crew. Log says you delivered enough food for an army, and I need to see if they got those barrels ready.¡± Foreman Kindle narrowed his eyes even further. ¡°Unless you want I should give the credit to Ducky?¡±


    I deflated and rolled my head to one side. Being nice to Ducky weren¡¯t one of the plans. I needed money or else life would keep being crap.


    ¡°Once he¡¯s back, send them both to the deeps. Let them see.¡± A woman¡¯s silken voice interrupted my contemplation.


    I turned to see Tattooist Cassandra studying me. Her pale face tilted down and her eyes locked on my gloved hand. I hastily covered the wound.


    Can she see where the rainbow drop landed? I asked myself. The ink hadn¡¯t taken hold or there¡¯d be a clear mark. At least that was what happened to other people.


    ¡°You sure, miss?¡± Kindle asked Cassandra.


    ¡°Send him to the deeps. He¡¯ll see how Rangers operate. He may die. Or he may survive. What does it matter to you?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t move people up without reason.¡± Foreman Kindle made an effort to speak clearly. He too often fell back into a heavily accented tone.


    I¡¯d heard stories from my daddy. In the deep mines, there were monsters under every rock. Born of the ink and hunted by Rangers. There were the barrels of every rare color possible. Down there, we could mine the best materials, especially after a full moon.


    ¡°He has potential.¡± She dragged out the word, and it slid around inside my head, making me squirm. ¡°How well he¡¯ll do during the trials, I do not know. But I sense promise.¡±


    My eyes went wide and breathing sped up. I have potential? I couldn¡¯t keep myself stable. Fresh aches radiated to my elbow from the damaged hand. No one had ever told me I had potential for anything. Not even Daddy. I shook.


    ¡°Come on,¡± the person behind me said. ¡°I don¡¯t care if he¡¯s got the biggest dick on The Mountain! I need to switch my assignment!¡±


    Foreman Kindle leaned over and lifted a piece of paper up between him at the Tattooist. He shouted to the man behind me, ¡°No. You¡¯re stuck on three! Jus¡¯ like last week. Jus¡¯ like the week before. And you¡¯ll be there next week unless you want a foot up your ass.¡±


    ¡°Come on!¡±


    ¡°No. Maybe if you worked harder instead of pissin¡¯ and moanin¡¯ here, the rest of your crew wouldn¡¯t chase you out!¡± The foreman¡¯s accent resurfaced as a vein in his forehead throbbed.


    I still had the word potential rattling around. Cassandra were sneaking glances at my hand.


    ¡°Chase,¡± he said. My attention had wandered. ¡°You get back the barrels twelve promised. Tell Harold and his boys they need a rest afterward. Delvers or not, they need to come up fo¡¯ air.¡±


    I hustled out of line and to the double-wide railway cart. A dozen workers stood ready for their shift. Piles of food and other supplies were in the middle of the fortress, along with a tired-looking man holding a clipboard. He marked names and ticked off boxes as people requested supplies. I ordered food to make up for a nonexistent breakfast and pretended not to notice the checkbox that would dock my pay at the end of the week.


    We traveled en masse to the mine¡¯s entrance. Two Rangers with their tattoos of The Mountain kindly gave us the babble about the upper mines being cleared. People nodded, others glared at the middle distance, while still more fingered weapons because they knew the Rangers had missed critters with angry teeth.


    Ducky and a handful of crews made their way in. Mister Jewel glared at me before leaving with his small gathering. The Jeffs waved to several other miners and smiled as they entered The Mountain¡¯s greedy maw. I briefly rested my eyes then loaded supplies from the second platform.


    Once I felt as though enough time for Ducky to fall into a pit had passed, I bellied up to the entryway then confirmed my destination. Down I went, intent on seeing how Harold and his kind had fared during the full moon.


    The railway stopped well before Harold¡¯s assigned area. Around the corner, a small passageway could be seen in the bobbing red light from my helmet. I stopped the cart then peered down the tunnel¡¯s access way. Rocks and dirt had fallen in the path.


    I grabbed a quick pack with food and a thin tube of reds and blues. I stepped farther down the path with my weapon ready. Rangers should have cleared this place, but little monsters might be anywhere. Closer to the small passage, the sound of chopping and picks could be heard. Their singing hadn¡¯t halted, but the noise were exhausted sounding.


    I kicked my steel-toed boot against a rocky outcropping three times then waited. The hammering and singing stopped. A light shuffling of feet could be heard. The noise dimmed to utter silence, and seconds later, someone peeked out. Their red headlamp could be seen.


    ¡°Clear,¡± I said.


    Harold¡¯s face peered from between the small crack. ¡°Chase?¡±


    I nodded. His eyes swept the hallway. His ink barely illuminated the crack he hid in. The material had worn down to near uselessness. I held out the resupply satchel. Harold walked forward. His face had scratches on it that were crusted with dirt. A sour smell wafted forward and made my nose wrinkle.


    ¡°What day is it?¡± Harold asked.


    ¡°Tuesday. Afternoon.¡± It might be closer to mid-day. The whistle from the camp up top which denoted hours couldn¡¯t be heard this deep inside.


    ¡°The tide is over then,¡± he said.


    I nodded.


    Harold pulled back into his hole a few feet. His voice came from around the corner, ¡°Did they get the bear?¡±


    The bear sounded like a mine boss. They were tough creatures. My head shook, but he wouldn¡¯t have seen me.


    I said, ¡°The one that killed Ranger Sterling?¡±


    ¡°Yes, young Chase. Is it dead? Bears are too big for us Delvers. Rats. Gophers. Other filthy things we can handle. But we don¡¯t have springboards here. Or traps. They seek the sunlight and are mad with their need for relief.¡±


    I inched closer without disguising my footsteps. The Delvers pulled back as I approached. Their red illumination shifted around.


    ¡°Food and supplies. Then the barrels.¡± The words were harder to say even if Harold were a family friend.


    He looked timid. I imagined how big a bear looked to me. I¡¯d seen one brought down by a neighbor years ago.


    Pickax noises elevated. A series of frantic bangs dug out chunks of dirt. The wall crumbled. I backed away as the tunnel widened on one side. Indistinct words were muffled by the noises of walls crumbling. They dug out tunnels and revealed a support pillar that had been placed long ago. Then went right around it, clearing more dirt so they could get out the larger barrels.


    ¡°We must go above,¡± a shaky female voice whispered repeatedly.


    Others mumbled with her, repeating the idea like a chant.


    Dirt continued to be yanked out of the way. Harold came down the newly reopened path, carefully rolling one of the barrels on its edge. I waited until he was clear of those breaking down the wall. Dirt fell from the ceiling, and we all paused to look up.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Young Chase.¡± Harold¡¯s words broke into a rumble then calmed back down. ¡°We must load up and leave. We must go now before the large filth returns.¡±


    We remained still until the earth settled. After a minute with no signs of collapse, Harold turned to his crew members then shook his head. They tiptoed back into the hard-to-see shaft and grabbed items.


    I didn¡¯t have a ton on the cart, only a few of the resupply bags. The load back with two full barrels would be harder to push. Plus some of the Delvers must be utterly exhausted.


    Harold¡¯s urgency got me moving rapidly. We loaded both barrels in silence. Items and gear were gathered for turn in. Two crew members, sporting wounds that were blackened, loaded into the minecart with the barrels. They dangled their legs over the edge limply and scanned their surroundings.


    The Delvers returned with me, one pushing beside me while two kept their weapons ready. A sixth scouted ahead but these halls were clear. There were small signs of battles were all around. I could see it easier now in the light of so many dim red headlamps.


    How did I miss all this? I thought. Then it hit me¡ªthe word potential had blinded me. My shoulders tightened as we steadily traveled to the top.


    As we neared the exit, the Delvers visibly relaxed. Weapons went into pouches for everyone but Harold. He kept his hand on the knife¡¯s hilt but no longer checked every corner for signs of impending attack. I kept pushing.


    ¡°Are you working after this?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Where to, young Chase?¡±


    I took the pressure off my still-healing hand and pointed down repeatedly. The cart slowed as the weight of ink and slumbering Delvers made moving difficult. I slipped down and pushed the cart using a forearm and my good hand.


    ¡°You are going below?¡±


    Sweat dripped down my head, matting my short hair. I nodded then wiped away the forming river. Going into the deep would be harder. I wouldn¡¯t be a runner but instead a worker. Set to dig away while pulling threads of formed ink.


    ¡°You must be careful,¡± Harold said while fidgeting with his weapon handle. ¡°Every tide has an evil with it. A filth so strong it eats others of its kind.¡±


    When the full moon hit, liquid welled up from The Mountain¡¯s heart. With it came a wave of monsters that were enraged versions of normal creatures from the surface. Harold had told me about the extra factor I already knew¡ªnot only were there regular creatures, but every full moon spawned one large monster.


    My father had told me tales of the great beasts. The kind of monsters Rangers regarded as a challenge.


    ¡°The Rangers will kill it,¡± I said.


    ¡°They already lost one to the beast.¡±


    I swallowed then nodded. ¡°Sterling.¡±


    The loss of a Ranger hurt us all. Every single one who passed meant fewer people able to stand toe to toe with the darkness. Normal people didn¡¯t get the war markings Rangers did. Ones that led to death for monster and humans alike. They were the guards of all who lived near The Mountain, all who worked inside, and they retrieved those who dared escape. I still didn¡¯t know how they made money¡ªbut everyone were aware that Rangers made more than every person related to the mine.


    ¡°The evil filth still roams. It searches for food. Now that Rangers have killed most of the surface creatures, it will go back to the deeps to look for new meals.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s below?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes. Young Chase, most filth comes to the surface to be freed by sunlight, but the strongest filths do not. They come to the surface to feed on the weaker ones trying to escape.¡±


    I shook my head. The habits of such large creatures had been a childhood question of mine. One of my favorites. Daddy said that most creatures spawned of The Mountain were in agony, born mad with the need for relief. He said some monsters were like people, born with a soul so dark that they accepted the madness and freed their comrades in the foulest of ways. It made a good story for a boy¡ªuntil sleep time. Then it were nightmares until Momma made him stop telling me stories of the full moon.


    Thoughts of youth kept me distracted until we reached the docking station. In the two hours since venturing below, little had changed. Additional guards stood at the ready, along with two Rangers.


    We slowed the cart before it hit the station. The Delvers helped each other while humans stood farther away. They nodded at the short people but did nothing else. All the Delvers kept their heads down and carried the packs I¡¯d brought. My supplies were mostly unused except for the fresh red to light their way.


    Harold tilted his head back and watched the station. He wanted to make sure to record all the supplies brought back, along with both barrels. A receipt were deposited into the crew leader¡¯s hands, and he let out a long, shuddering sigh.


    ¡°Your father died in those depths. It would not do well for you to go the same way,¡± Harold said.


    ¡°I need to go,¡± I said then rubbed my fingers together to sign money.


    ¡°Then heed some advice, young Chase.¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Avoid the pools and anything green. Traps are marked in a color those born of the deep do not see.¡±


    My lips tightened. His advice matched the stories told by my father. Green glowed distinctly different than red or blue. Monsters were oblivious to its illumination. Near the green would be a trap designed to skewer lesser creatures.


    ¡°Be safe, young Chase. I will say a prayer for you.¡± His soft words scared me.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said while looking down.


    Harold left, and I checked in with the station master. He told me to wait for the first trip below.


    My stomach shook then knotted as more people arrived. Two Rangers came up from the depths by the hand-crank elevator near the weigh station. Ducky arrived and looked green too, which didn¡¯t help me feel less queasy. The next part went by with agonizing slowness; the knot in my belly twisted.


    No one spoke as we loaded into the elevator with a wall of supplies. Lips were sealed as we lowered. Neither Ranger said a thing to warn us of the dangers. The Jeffs, who¡¯d been waiting for us at the elevator, kept their heads down and moved their mouths in unison, but not a sound made it out. They didn¡¯t explain why they were headed below. The heaviness of a dozen people breathing served as a reminder that we were headed to a place where men died.


    Ranger Hardwood raised a hand to those of us on the pulley system. Ducky and I kept our quibbling down and worked together to slow the descent. We hit bottom quietly.


    The air smelled thin, if such a thing were possible. I took quick breaths and tried to understand how the air felt wrong. Blue light glowed on my upper arm. I shuddered as something washed over me. A chill swirled through every limb then massed at my heart. I rubbed my chest. The other miners and Ducky shook as well.


    Only the Rangers were unaffected. Their disregard of the deep¡¯s impact left me amazed. I glanced at Ducky. He gulped but stayed tight-lipped. The Rangers moved forward with bladed weapons. Jeff¡¯s crew moved next. Ducky and I pushed two carts with a mess of supplies loaded into them. They made more noise than everyone else combined.


    I couldn¡¯t remember the map perfectly for this floor. I did know the tracks stopped early. After that, we¡¯d need to pack the gear in a fortified room then lock the door. There were other protocols that were the same all over the mine. Be fully clothed. Wear the headgear with a heavy opaque substance that looked like glass but melted easily. They were three dollars to replace.


    My hand felt tender. Two days had barely helped it heal. Coming back to push carts had already taken its toll. My breathing hitched, but I managed to stay quiet. Ducky huffed louder. The Jeffs trudged along, carrying their own supplies in bags.


    We reached the large fortified room. Jeff directed us to load materials inside, which Ducky and I did in silence. Whatever issues we had as people, or he had in working, Ducky acted as if they had all flitted away. I suspected the Rangers¡¯ presence influenced his actions.


    The leader of the Jeffs spoke first. ¡°If there¡¯s trouble, find one of these rooms. Run back. Close the door, and don¡¯t open it until you see the green go off inside.¡±


    He tapped his fingers on the inside and outside of the door, directing my attention to a board that said ¡°clear inside¡± then ¡°trapped¡± on the outside. The system had been set up so those in need of rescue could alter the outside by triggering a splash of ink that would replicate on the outside.


    ¡°Not even for you?¡± Ducky asked.


    All five shook their heads in unison. Ranger Hardwood scowled. The other Ranger had gone ahead to scout while we loaded our supplies into the shed.


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Survival, yeah?¡± a Jeff answered.


    The rest nodded in unison.


    My eyebrows knitted as I looked around. The idea of not helping fellow miners felt like a trick. Deaths in the mine were only one person a week¡ªno more. This room must have been in case our efforts went badly¡ªor maybe a leftover from two hundred years ago.


    I studied the room again. The walls were sealed tightly. All around the door was a thick material that might be good enough to lock against air. I ran a finger along the border and couldn¡¯t understand how well protected the room might be if this chamber flooded.


    ¡°Brat. You¡¯re with me.¡± Ranger Hardwood¡¯s voice sounded rougher than it had back at the stagecoach hours ago. ¡°Move quickly and quietly.¡±


    My musings about the room¡¯s makeup could wait. If life went right, I¡¯d be down here multiple times in the month to come. Thinking about how the location were put together would distract me for hours. Down in the mine, distractions were dangerous but also a much-needed commodity.


    I carefully walked after the Ranger and wished for a better fitting pair of shoes. The larger shoe bashed into rocks and uneven patches of dirt. Red light on my helmet jostled. Scratching noises came from down a mineshaft that looked closer to a natural tunnel than a Delver-created structure. The woman in front of me ignored the sound, but I turned as we passed the tunnel. Nothing leapt from the darkness to catch us.


    Ranger Hardwood shook her head as though she were annoyed with something. I saw her sniff the air while tapping a spot on her shoulder every few seconds. My fingers were tight against the hilt of a dagger that didn¡¯t have the reach of a gun or Hardwood¡¯s weapon. She practically had a sword, though it were slightly shorter than a full blade, for reasons I didn¡¯t know.


    I didn¡¯t have enough time to study her. We crept along tunnels that grew less cut and more natural¡ªpast uneven drops that showed signs of being partially worked on. I began to wonder if she meant to leave me in the mines to die.


    ¡°Where¡ª¡±


    A hand were shoved in my face. ¡°To think, I almost liked you for a second.¡±


    Small smears of green illuminated the distance with dead near their markings. We passed a pit outlined by the same barely visible ink. Red illumination over the edge displayed a dead pile of creatures. Transformed raccoons or possums. I grabbed the wall and backed away from the pit trap.


    ¡°What?¡± I asked as we wove past another trap in a long line of dozens.


    Ranger Hardwood turned in my direction. For the first time, I realized she didn¡¯t have a red ink headband like I did. She wore no blue or any ink other than the clear tattooing on her body. ¡°The bear. It will be here somewhere. Soon, if not already. They always come down here. To the pits.¡±


    I backed up. She survived down here without noticing the chill or worry of the dangers. The woman hunted here as if this were a jaunt into the backwoods to kill some rabbits.


    Her grin widened. ¡°You¡¯re right to be afraid of me, brat. But if you can¡¯t overcome the fear, then you¡¯ll never be hard enough to make a Ranger.¡±

 8 - Heart of the Beast

    I held still while attempting to brave my own silent nature. The woman kept on smiling then sniffed the air again. From this angle, I finally saw what she¡¯d been tapping earlier. On her shoulder was a tattoo of a plant. A strange rose with hooking petals and rows of spiky teeth. Green lined its colors. A sweet scent mixed with some spice carried across the thin air. Ranger Hardwood turned around, sniffing, and scanned the darkness.


    Out of habit, I checked my blue ink again. The liquid glowed pure. I wanted to ask how she survived down here without anything more than tattoos, but my daddy had told me Rangers were magical. They survived anywhere. By power of The Mountain¡¯s given substance, they could perform tricks that defied nature. Anyone could, for a price. Rangers, however, got the war markings that no tattooist alive could make work on another soul.


    ¡°Hug the wall!¡± she whispered. Her head were tilted upward.


    I backed up, ready for the ceiling to fall. It didn¡¯t; instead, creatures rapidly skittered along it. Their teeth were huge inside grinning mouths. Brown and black bodies nearly melded with the ceiling. Only a flicker of red casting shadows made them visible.


    Ranger Hardwood dove along the pathway under them. She skirted a glow of green that caught my eye.


    ¡°Look out!¡± I cried, startled by the volume of my own voice.


    A blade fell from the ceiling, startling everyone but the Ranger. Creatures leapt down like falling stars. Hardwood¡¯s sword were drawn, one of falling creatures impaled down to the hilt. She swung the blade, and the grinning corpse flew to one side, then she stepped forward again as another pair let go of the ceiling.


    Those two were cut apart; a sticky sweet smell hung in the air. Hardwood¡¯s fingers glowed deep forest green as she wove the blade backward. She braced an attack with her forearm. Sharp teeth sank into her arm but got stuck¡ªand I couldn¡¯t see blood as she punched the creature repeatedly. Its teeth shattered and the body flew into a wall near me.


    The heavy ax which had swung down from the ceiling rocked back and forth, shearing the skin of another one of the pack.


    I tilted my head and stared at a creature, my blade ready. The remains twitched, trying to pull itself together before ceasing movement. Its body had wings resembling hairy spider legs. The teeth made no sense. It couldn¡¯t be more than a cat or small dog in weight but spread out over four feet.


    It twitched again, and one of those long hairy arms moved. I stabbed my blade into its head then stabbed the next one over, to be sure. They stilled completely, and I collected myself. The air down here were thin. A shriek followed by bone crunching shook me. I backed up to the wall on high alert.


    I looked up to find all the critters were dead. Her blade jutted from the back of a creature''s head. Ranger Hardwood stood over the recently deceased, her leathery cheeks puckered. Its arms twitched. Her disturbingly white teeth smiled at me under the pulsing red illumination. I looked at it and where I''d left my knife. The damn thing had nearly snuck up on me.


    My eyes sought focus. Tingles crawled up the back of my spine. She stood ten feet away in a mess of dead monsters. The cavern were dim and the glow of my helmet hid as much as it revealed. Hardwood¡¯s shadow sketched a wicked grin against the wall.


    ¡°Done?¡± she asked.


    I vomited¡ªnot because of the monsters but because of the air. Liquid splattered repeatedly as my breakfast vanished, leaving me shakier than before. I wiped away the remains and saw Hardwood chuckle¡ªin a manner that felt more like a judgmental snort.


    ¡°You had the right idea, finishing them off. But a lack of awareness will get you killed. Now, reset the trap,¡± she said while cradling her arm.


    How do I do that? I asked myself.


    The ax slowly slid back and forth as the last bit of inertia died down. I stood, intent upon making a good showing for the Ranger. My knees wobbled as the ax¡¯s reset process confounded me. There were gears at the top. Thick rock that looked Delver-made supported the object in an otherwise natural-seeming cave. I looked at the Ranger and turned up one palm.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to need to learn to ask questions aloud. That¡¯s assuming you really do want to be a Ranger, and make it through the trials.¡± Her head shook. ¡°Now turn around. Check the wall to the right. There should be a crank hidden in the back.¡±


    Everyone on the planet knew of my intentions to be a Ranger, and I¡¯d managed to get my life saved like an idiot. I should have hugged the wall and only killed the one¡ªbut instead I¡¯d ended up in the middle of the tunnel, feverishly stabbing monsters. It felt just like my daddy¡¯s stories. Only instead of me being the hero as I¡¯d always imagined, I¡¯d become the one being rescued.


    I fumbled along the wall, feeling stupid the entire time. Ranger Hardwood rolled her eyes. The black pits under them looked even more pronounced from the red glow of my helmet. It bobbed rapidly as I finally grabbed the recessed chain. Rust flaked off on my hand as I pulled it down, end over end. The ax lifted into the ceiling. It passed by me as I hugged the wall.


    While pulling, I studied the green glowing marks again. It looked as if someone had crudely painted an arrow on both the wall and ground. Arrows must mean bad things from the ceiling¡ªor at least the direction of the trap. I filed away the knowledge and resolved to pay more attention to the traps as we went. They clearly helped, and even Rangers needed assistance.


    ¡°Your arm?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It¡¯ll heal. One of the perks of being attuned to the green.¡± Ranger Hardwood said attunement as a matter-of-fact piece of information.


    My daddy¡¯s stories had never mentioned any such thing, but I nodded as if it made sense. It almost did, but how the Rangers used ink didn¡¯t line up with the options available to the rest of us. We, normal people, could get all types of tattoos, but most were based on increasing our endurance or skills. People in Chandler¡¯s Field got them. People in Bell Town got them. But the farther away from a mine one went, the fewer tattoos there were. At least until approaching one of the overseas mines.


    The ax locked into place. I pulled the chain again, in case. Hardwood moved on, picking broken white shards out of her arm. The teeth fell to the ground as we continued past the dead bodies. Once again, the Ranger pressed the tattoo of a funny-looking rose. She sniffed the air and ignored the wounds.


    I held my weapon ready while trying not to shake. We marched past more traps. I looked at everything, studying the pitfalls in case our strange jaunt through the deep caves went south. The idea of being so far underground shook me enough to check the blue ink again. It still glowed, but the air down here hadn¡¯t improved.


    Ranger Hardwood stepped past everything with ease. We traveled through a cavern with a large hole in the middle. Two ledges went around the pit. Spikes lined both sides, but green arrows glowed on the wall. She walked with them, slowly. The spikes bent with her steps.


    ¡°Don¡¯t try to turn around in these rooms,¡± she explained. I sucked in air at hearing her speak for the first time in twenty minutes. ¡°The spikes will pierce to the bone. At best you¡¯ll get tetanus. At worse you¡¯ll panic and fall into the pool below.¡±


    She faced away and didn¡¯t notice my agreement. We kept moving, and I continued my study of the traps. Every single device looked worn down. Most were designed to not require human interaction or could be easily reset.


    We passed by one spot that were a series of poles on a spinning gear. Ranger Hardwood skirted around that one, and I couldn¡¯t hang back long enough to really study how it worked. Like most traps, it looked to use throwing monsters in pits as its main weapon.


    Many traps already had victims. Dead monsters were laying in droves. I assumed they were fresh from the full moon that occurred yesterday, but I could have been wrong. Ranger Hardwood ignored them, but I didn¡¯t. Each one got stabbed through the eye, where their bodies were softest. Ranger Hardwood scouted at the corner while I compulsively took care of the beasts. The older woman said nothing more in judgment.


    One of the walls moved as we approached. A living mass of bugs crawled across its surface. I sucked in air and managed to stifle the scream. They probably feasted on the dead creatures spawned down here. They might have been ink critters. I didn¡¯t know and watched the Ranger¡¯s reactions. Hardwood¡¯s lips were pursed as her head shook.


    I wanted to ask her questions but couldn¡¯t figure out how. The woman clearly didn¡¯t like chatter but felt comfortable enough to talk anyway. She were driven, focused, and judgmental. Beyond that, I couldn¡¯t quite figure out how to handle her. I wondered why a Ranger, any Ranger, would allow me to tag along.


    Tattooist Cassandra had been the one to start all this. I figured her word must somehow be higher than the Ranger¡¯s. Which made sense¡ªconsidering Rangers wouldn¡¯t exist without someone to ink them with war markings. Hardwood had kept me safe thus far¡ªshowing me traps, fighting off those smiling things¡ªand seemed to be evaluating me.


    Is this a trial? Am I already being considered for the Rangers? I asked myself but had no good answer. Part of me assumed asking Hardwood would invalidate the results somehow. The idea that we were already in the testing made me tense at every little noise, worried that even the slightest weakness would mean failure.


    ¡°We¡¯re almost there. I hope you¡¯re remembering all this, brat. If something happens, it¡¯ll be on you to make it back safely. I ain¡¯t above using you as bait either,¡± she said.


    I shuddered then counted the turns while wondering what fool had told me the deep mines were a good idea. The answer, of course, were simple¡ªI¡¯d told myself coming down here would lead to money. Money increased my chance of being a Ranger. Being a Ranger meant more money and freedom for and from Momma.


    I wished I¡¯d done better in school. I wished a lot of things. Dreams of changing my past were pure useless fantasy that couldn¡¯t solve my problems.


    The Ranger laughed, which still sounded like a snort full of all the world¡¯s judgment. Then we left, moving on to the next twist in the caves. All the while, we headed slowly downhill, going farther into the depths. Two rooms later, we came into a huge cavern¡ªbigger than any I¡¯d ever seen. The soft glow of a multi-colored pool came from twenty or thirty feet below.


    ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± she whispered, crouching to peer at the pool. ¡°This is one of the reclamation chambers for the deep. Big ones always come here, seeking easy meals.¡±


    I held still, looking for signs of danger. The cave felt too natural and wide open. Not like the mines above¡ªthose were well carved with support beams. Down here, with only traps as a sign of life, it were far more nerve-racking.


    She stayed kneeling. I ran through the prior rooms over and over in my head while looking around. This location didn¡¯t match up with any of the others. Up above sat another ledge with two long, slick polearms hanging out over the edge. That might have been one of the rooms we passed before. I couldn¡¯t find any other familiar landmarks anywhere in the giant cave.


    Ranger Hardwood covered her lips with a finger and used the other hand to tap the tattoo. She sniffed for the millionth time while searching. One of the dark shadows moved, a rolling bundle of blackness that managed to be darker than anything could rightly be.


    It weren¡¯t bugs. I stepped carefully to the Ranger and pointed.


    Ranger Hardwood¡¯s eyes widened as if she were excited or confused. Her nostrils flared. ¡°I¡¯m going to kill that son of a bitch.¡±


    The woman¡¯s hand reached behind her back, and a brackish green flared to life. The pattern spiraled out of control on her back, pushing back the red coloring. The creature¡¯s upper half rose quickly. It leaned across the pool until its head reached the light cast from my helmet. It were a monstrous bear face with pitch-black eyes. Its face tilted and lip trembled. I shook while my heart skipped a beat.


    Its face scrunched tightly, then exploded with a mess of noise and spit. A glob of spittle slammed into my face. I stood there stupidly, wondering how any sane person handled a creature of such size and immensity.


    Ranger Hardwood stood and bellowed back. I turned my head slowly, trying to comprehend which screw in her head hadn¡¯t been tightened properly. She grinned, leveled a gun on it, then frowned. The bear ignored the Ranger and stared at me.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    She shouted, ¡°Run, you idiot!¡± Then she fired.


    The bear let loose a second roar. Her shout made me jump. The large bear slammed down then stood again on its hind legs. It nearly reached the next floor up. I didn¡¯t know if it could jump over the pool to me, but I imagined it might try.


    I put a hand on my helmet then ran.


    Footsteps shook the earth behind me. The ceiling narrowed as I exited the passageway. My only thought were, I have to get to the safe room.


    Green illuminations were almost impossible to see. Red ink cast a bouncy glow against the dark walls. Ranger Hardwood yelled a battle cry no human could match. Still, the giant bear kept coming after me.


    Room after room of traps, pitfalls, ledges, and slippery slopes filled my mind. I took two turns in the right direction then slammed into a bar stretched across the ground. It spun, and a second bar hit me in the back of the calves while I stumbled. I fell to all fours then scrambled madly forward.


    A hole lay in front of me. I remembered coming out of it, but it looked different from this side. Sharper edges meant a mean spike overhead.


    I crawled through the narrow passage. The bear thudded into the wall behind me. Hot breath warmed the bottom of my boots as I scrambled forward. My knees banged into rocks, and my eyes rolled with pain. None of it stopped me. It roared in honking bursts, over and over as I crawled through the other end. My hand slammed into a pressure plate, and the monstrous cries behind me dissolved into a yowl.


    My elation didn¡¯t last long. The passageway behind me shuddered. A snout poked out of the small passage I¡¯d dodged through. The creature¡¯s body wiggled and struggled while I backed away slowly. My heartbeat raced while I prayed the bear would get stuck.


    It didn¡¯t. I turned to run again.


    My passageway joined with another. I still couldn¡¯t remember the map for this floor, and everything felt wrong from this angle. The rock behind me crumbled and a fresh roar of noise echoed.


    Where the hell is Hardwood? I asked myself.


    I stumbled forward, favoring my weakened knee. There were other creatures too. They ran, like I did, away from the huge bulk of anger and muscle. We approached the splitting pathway of spikes. I stumbled then nearly fell onto the pointed edges. My hand grabbed the wall before reeling back. Bugs crawled across my hand.


    Monsters ran past me in a wave. Their tiny claws tore my skin in a frantic scramble as they went around or between my legs. We were all afraid. I pushed through the pile of ink-born monsters. Beasts knocked me to my knees.


    The bear approached. Its leg dragged, so it¡¯d been left wounded but angry. I watched as the beast slammed its paw into a straggling rat creature. That giant rat squished like a grape. The bear stopped and licked off its paw. I took advantage of the break to walk quickly down the safer path. The beast screamed after me.


    Why? I asked myself. A million smaller critters were scattering in every direction. It didn¡¯t need to chase me.


    Playing dead weren¡¯t an option. My knees knocked at the thought of even letting it get close. I clutched the blade tightly and drove it at a grinning bat spider that got too frisky. It squealed then fell onto the path. I moved to the exit, hoping another meal might slow the bear.


    It didn¡¯t. The creature¡¯s heavy footsteps shook the ceiling and rattled my teeth. My knees struggled to work each time the earth vibrated.


    Two turns later and I reached another long corridor. Dead bat spider critters littered the floor. The ax trap should be nearby. I laid eyes on the green glow then stumbled to the left side of the narrow hallway. The bear reduced most of our gap, its loud nails grinding against dirt. Huffs came from right behind my shoulder and somehow grew closer. A click could be heard, followed by the ax sliding seamlessly from the ceiling. It slammed into the beast, bringing forth a fresh howl. The wall shuddered and I kept stumbling, afraid to find out how close it¡¯d been.


    At the end of the hallway, I had no idea which way to go. There were too many twisting passageways. The safe room could be left or right¡ªI didn¡¯t know. Miners couldn¡¯t be heard over the monster¡¯s noises. I looked both directions, hoping for a sign. A roar¡ªtoo close¡ªcame from behind me. It bellowed again, and I shook. The blade in my hands would do nothing against that monster.


    I turned then stood with my back to the wall. The giant bear lumbered into the next passage after me. It no longer ran. Liquid matted its skin, and one eye had been ripped open. Its back leg moved unevenly, but still he came forth, intent upon getting me.


    Where the hell is Hardwood? I thought again¡ªamong a scattered collection of other questions. Harold¡¯s warning came back to me. The giant filth spawned every full moon¡ªI¡¯d found a source of corruption so evil it ate its own kind.


    It reared but dropped once its huge form hit the ceiling. Our passageway didn¡¯t have enough room for the creature to reach its full height. Tons of muscle rippled under wounded fur. Blinded by blood, but still its one eye was locked on me. Pounding rushed through my ears in time with the damned red ink.


    It¡¯s going to kill me. I¡¯ll be dead in these mines, just like Momma were afraid of, I thought.


    It charged. I glanced to each side; either choice might end my life. Staying here certainly would. I went right then were abruptly shoved to the ground by a hand. My shoulder planted into a wall and my knees buckled. The ground¡¯s cold indifference greeted my face. One foot jerked in a useless attempt to escape.


    Hardwood¡¯s boot entered my line of sight. Her skin glowed green and black like brambles on a bush. I heard gunfire. It echoed again, deafening me.


    I groaned and rolled to the side, covering my ears. She fired her gun twice more. Still the bear charged. I watched as its huge bulk moved in surges. Three more bullets pierced its body, hardly slowing the beast. The bear¡¯s front paw bent wrong. It fell forward. Mass and inertia carried it in a slide that threatened to squish me. My body pushed flat against the wall, struggling to find a deeper hole to hide in.


    Then the noise stopped. There were no bullets. The glow of green and black had vanished. I couldn¡¯t hear lesser creatures. It were just¡­ silent. My eyes opened and color returned. Hands came off my ears and the sound of heavy breathing could be heard.


    A pitch-black eye gazed in my direction. The other was disfigured from its wounds. Its shoulder had a huge gash with pink meat and blood oozing. Maybe the color were different. My helmet lay a few feet from me, creating unfamiliar shadows.


    Ranger Hardwood sat. Her arm had tiny little tremors that she tried to cover up. She took short breaths and stared at the bear. I got up slowly then grabbed my knife. The blade slid into its eye socket, turning the good one into a gooey mess.


    The bear stayed still and I let out a shuddering sigh.


    ¡°Good for you. Even if you wet your pants, you got the right idea. It¡¯s as useless as tits on a bull, but it¡¯s the right idea.¡± Hardwood stood and dusted off her pants.


    I stared down the hall she¡¯d come from. It must somehow connect with one of the earlier passageways. The layout made no sense in my mind. She¡¯d shot the creature dead¡ªI¡¯d made sure. Still, its huge body filled most of the hall, reminding me how close death had been.


    What big teeth it has, I thought.


    Hardwood¡¯s voice startled me. ¡°Do you know why it chased you and not me?¡±


    I fell against a wall and kicked the creature with a steel-toed boot while considering what she¡¯d asked. The question made me chilly. That cold pit at the center of my chest lingered. My skin were blanketed in goose bumps. Hair stood on end as I rubbed an arm with excessive force.


    The giant corpse lay in front of me. My mind couldn¡¯t fathom how it had made it past the spiked floors or ignored pitfalls. The beast simply moved with surprising agility for such a huge creature. It had also seemed undaunted by the sheer amount of damage done to it. As though it¡¯d been fixated on me.


    All those questions and more flooded my mind in a jumble. I asked, ¡°Why?¡± while shakily pointing at the corpse.


    ¡°I have my guesses.¡± She smiled but didn¡¯t explain it.


    Ranger Hardwood¡¯s grin never faltered. Her expression were like those earlier bat spider creatures¡ªpure disturbing amusement mixed with a hard edge that might eat me alive. She tapped the tattoo on her shoulder then sniffed. I suspected she used that marking to sense the ink-touched monsters somehow.


    She withdrew her short blade then carved the creature''s hide. My skin crawled and I shivered.


    Hardwood ignored me and nodded. ¡°Cassandra said you had potential. I see now.¡±


    ¡°Why did it go after me?¡± I asked while backing up a few paces¡ªin case it came to life and wanted to eat me again.


    ¡°I¡¯ll show you something, brat. On the off chance I¡¯m right.¡± She pulled out a thinner blade that had been tucked inside her boot. The weapon made my own knife look like a fingernail file.


    Ranger Hardwood wasted little time gutting the beast. Guts poured out, sizzling as they touched the air. I kicked back some ways from the gooey mass. The smell of rot filled our corridor, and the blue gauge on my shoulder flickered as our air changed. My fingers grasped tightly and eyes searched for the route back, in case whatever Hardwood had done had somehow turned The Mountain¡¯s depths against us.


    But The Mountain didn¡¯t care we¡¯d killed such a beast. Eventually, the blue settled back to its normal light hue. The smell of rotting flesh never left.


    I turned to see what the Ranger had dug out. She held a large ball. Bigger than a beating heart, but smoother and round. The object formed a perfect sphere.


    ¡°What?¡± I asked.


    ¡°You almost managed to ask your question aloud. Maybe you can be taught.¡±


    ¡°What is¡ª¡± The effort of talking hurt. There¡¯d been too many bumps and bangs in that chase.


    ¡°Here it is, brat. The truth of how Rangers earn money. We find the biggest, meanest, ugliest monster from the mines or above the ground and tear out its still beating heart. Only monster hearts, those from the mines anyway, they aren¡¯t like normal hearts.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked.


    ¡°This is what makes ink work. The heart, which all ink crawls toward as its host transforms.¡± She held up the pulsing glow. It swirled like material from The Mountain¡¯s heart. Alive, constantly changing.


    I shuddered to think how they¡¯d use a substance that looked like reverse rainbow drops to make tattoos work. I realized then, she wore no gloves. She handled ink raw. I rubbed my hand where the scattered drop had sent me to the floor. Why Ranger Hardwood could touch it without adverse effects, or what that implied, were beyond me.


    ¡°That other brat. He asked about being a Ranger and how to know if you¡¯re hard enough. And word is you want to apply at the next choosing. Do you want to find out if you¡¯re hard enough for this work?¡±


    My jaw moved, but no noise came out. The woman¡¯s eyes locked onto my face, waiting for an answer. I nodded. My hands tightened into fists. I leaned forward. Her face glowed red, showing every single wrinkle on the deeply worn skin. The sight made my heartbeat race.


    ¡°Here¡¯s how you really know. This¡¯ll tell you if you¡¯re hard enough.¡± She nodded toward the beast¡¯s deformed heart. ¡°You just touch it.¡±


    If she could, then I could. They¡¯d taught me that on my first day. Surviving raw ink were a matter of keeping my mind clear. It must be how she¡¯d managed to touch so much of it¡ªif that was what the ball-shaped heart were made of. Maybe monsters had something else in the gullets.


    My hand lifted to grab the object.


    Ranger Hardwood pulled the object a bit back then said, ¡°Might kill you.¡±


    My eyebrows bunched. Death scared me, but the heartache Momma would suffer made the idea truly frightening. Fear alone wouldn¡¯t stop me from the risk.


    ¡°Or?¡± I coughed from the dry scraping uttering one word caused my throat.


    ¡°Might help you. Might activate something else in you. Give you an edge. But no boon comes without a price.¡± The Ranger stopped smiling and leveled a cold glare at me.


    I needed to be the one chosen. I needed it so I could be free of the promise to Daddy. Part of me believed death weren¡¯t a real risk. Every day I worked in the mines meant another brush with the soul-devouring devils of this place.


    ¡°You stand at a crossroads, brat. Like that other child who dreams of being a hero. But the choice, and the risk, is yours alone.¡±


    There were never a choice, I thought.


    I touched the mass. Heat burned my fingertips, making me jerk back. I turned the hand over and spasms racked through my arm. The scalding warmth crawled upward as I inhaled to scream. The yell stilled as another sensation hit. Frost¡ªwhich had clutched my heart since our descent to this floor¡ªspiraled up to meet the burning. They touched, and sparks clouded my vision.


    A torrent of sensations blanketed me as the two forces met. Pain, pleasure, hunger, excitement, jealous rage all knotted together. The yell which had been building became a mix of moans and snarls. Ranger Hardwood¡¯s dry chuckles were buried by sensations making my body twitch. The heartbeat of light from my helmet pulsed.


    Memories surfaced. Lily¡¯s face came in first. She smiled in purple sheets that might have been velvet. I¡¯d never had high quality sheets so it were hard to tell. ¡°One more time? Gentle like?¡±


    She swirled away to be replaced by Poss. ¡°Look at you, still a boy struggling to be a man wearing his father¡¯s leftovers.¡±


    A ring of murky gray marred her features. Thick darkness lined the corners of the memory. That too vanished, and I saw my daddy with a steady light-blue aura that cracked yellow¡ªlike a sunny day. I reached for him while listening to his words that drove me forward.


    ¡°Promise me, boy. Promise you¡¯ll get your momma way from The Mountain. Promise me.¡± His eyes were closed and chest moving slowly. The imaged faded to be replaced by yet another face.


    Momma¡¯s voice came back from yesterday. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I¡¯ll do if they claim you too,¡± she said, framed with holly berries and leaves.


    Pain cramped my toes, then legs and stomach. Everything clenched. Crimson laced with angry agony won over the other sensations, and time blurred. My teeth ground as I thrashed, struggling to keep hold of my mind.


    ¡°I will,¡± someone said in answer to Daddy¡¯s demand. But Daddy¡¯d died an age ago. I gasped again and found enough air to scream.


    Then it ended as the words registered fully. I¡¯d spoken them. Silver swam over the other colors and blanketed my mind in the absence of all sensation. My body slackened and lay there.


    Blackness swallowed the final color, then it too faded. After an age, I found myself staring without comprehension at a lit room. The stable pale yellow looked wrong. It had no heartbeat and should have been a deep red. Red stood for pain, and love, and hate¡ªall emotions which twisted together around pieces of my past.


    But since the ceiling weren¡¯t red, this couldn¡¯t be inside The Mountain. Somehow, after all those memories rushing by, I¡¯d been taken out of the Wellbrook Mine.


    My arm lifted then flopped back down.


    Another person spoke, ¡°You¡¯re safe enough. My niece patched you up.¡±


    The world lacked focus. Wrong colors swam over everything. A stink of dried bark and burning wood mixed into disgusting gunk up my nose that stung. I felt lost without screeches, snarling beasts, or the red, pulsing heartbeat.


    ¡°You still want to be one of us?¡± the other person asked.


    I blinked then turned my head to the side. The man speaking¡ªRanger Tawny¡ªwere a gaunt fellow who looked more skeleton than human. He sat hunched on a cot with his hands clasped.


    ¡°Well, boy?¡± Ranger Tawny asked.


    I gazed at him without comprehension. My leg hurt, but the muscles in my neck felt slack. Relaxed, like when I had been a child ignorant of the world at large. I didn¡¯t want to lose the sensation and attempted not to think of anything but peace.


    He leaned back, closed his eyes, and rotated his head around a few times before speaking. ¡°Shocked, I imagine. Rattled. You almost drowned under the sharpest point of a tide. You were almost lost under the first taste of something no sane Ranger sees in the first six months, if ever.¡±


    My eyes tightened, and I struggled to understand what he meant.


    ¡°You listen close, boy. My wife, she did something she shouldn¡¯ta.¡± He shook his pale, skeleton-like head. The man¡¯s neck hardly had any skin to spare as he moved back and forth. I watched his jaw before daring to meet Tawny¡¯s gaunt eyes. ¡°Or are you deaf as well as mute? Blink twice if you hear me.¡±


    His head quivered slightly as he spoke. An air about him were a faint reminder of Daddy. Instead of looking at the sun, it felt more like seeing a rippling sea of soft flower petals, or feathers on a canary.


    I blinked twice then closed my eyes for a long time.


    He continued speaking despite my eyes being closed. ¡°You touched The Mountain when you shouldn¡¯ta, boy. Be wary on your path. Go much farther now, it¡¯ll touch you back. Then it won¡¯t matter what you want. Your soul won¡¯t be yours no more.¡±


    Those words lingered as my mind drifted. Sometime later, I opened my eyes and found myself alone in the medical room. I glared out a small window and watched as sunlight broke around The Mountain¡¯s tip, casting a looming shadow in the room. Even now, the mine¡¯s entrance smiled.

 9 - Swirl of the Dress

    While I lay in recovery for two days, Rangers cleared The Mountain then vanished. Foreman Kindle paid me a chunk of change equivalent to a week¡¯s effort on the upper floors. He kindly waived the fee for my damaged gear but also said I couldn¡¯t lie in bed for free. Being out of commission and in medical for so many days made the whole affair a wash.


    I counted myself wiser from the experience but no richer. Being trapped did afford me plenty of opportunities to cast some sidelong glances at Delilah as she bustled around. Under the layers of clothes and just past the glasses, a pretty girl lurked. She knew it and made no move to hide her sway, but nothing untoward ever happened.


    On the third day, Ducky arrived, flush-faced and staggering worse than a drunk. His arm had been cocooned by cotton. Dark red bled through in two spots. I looked and judged the damage to be extensive then turned away to mind my own business. My head swam with colors from moving too fast.


    Ducky spoke, ¡°I need new stitches, and they told me I couldn¡¯t do it down below.¡±


    The bed next to me creaked loudly. Ducky sucked in air then gave a muffled scream. I stared at the wall then closed both eyes because everything kept shifting without my say so.


    ¡°Good lord, Derek. What is this awful mess?¡± Her voice lifted. ¡°Who dressed the wound?¡±


    Ducky grunted to cover fresh-sounding pain. ¡°That asshole, Ranger Obsidian.¡± Ducky grunted again. Delilah murmured quietly as the bed next to mine shook. ¡°He said it was good enough as it was. I thought so too until it burst open on me.¡±


    Delilah¡¯s body scooted in next to mine and fiddled through a drawer. I opened one eye for a peek then pretended to be ignorant. Drawers were pulled out, making a rattling noise as objects slid around.


    ¡°When?¡± she asked while picking up an object that clinked like metal.


    ¡°After the full moon. The mute and me went down below,¡± Ducky answered.


    ¡°Full moon? Fool¡¯s moon, I¡¯d wager. And Chase isn¡¯t a mute.¡±


    ¡°Well, he don¡¯t talk.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t talk to you. Everyone knows it¡¯s because you two might as well be oil and water.¡± My bed moved again as Delilah bumped into it. ¡°Shame, knowing you have so much in common, having both lost parents to the mine.¡±


    ¡°Which one of us is oil?¡±


    She laughed as if it were a good joke. It weren¡¯t. ¡°Oh, Derek, I can¡¯t answer that.¡±


    ¡°Well. Fuck,¡± Ducky said, then gave a startled yelp. ¡°You¡¯d think he¡¯d understand what it¡¯s like trying to support ourselves after losing people to a place like this.¡± He squawked again as I assumed Delilah was sticking him in the arm without being gentle.


    Quack, quack, I thought but didn¡¯t have the energy to laugh.


    ¡°No, you¡¯re supporting yourself. He¡¯s still got his mother who can¡¯t hold a job to save her life,¡± Delilah said and tore something repeatedly. ¡°So he¡¯s supporting two. Why else would he fight you over the pittance runners get for delivering a barrel? And that wasn¡¯t my question anyway. I asked when the stitches bust open. You¡¯ve lost blood and you¡¯ve got no green.¡±


    Ducky didn¡¯t answer straight away but hissed from pain. ¡°Blue are better. That¡¯s what I got last week. Eagle Eyes, Cassandra said. Just a hint of soft azure that¡¯ll let me see when monsters are close, even if they¡¯s hiding. She said later, if I get picked as a Ranger, she can fix it so I got even more out of the mark.¡±


    He has a tattoo already? I cursed but kept pretending to sleep. The news added another bit of foulness to an otherwise cruddy week. Reaching out to the silk-voiced Tattooist Cassandra would be my next order of business. As Mister Jewel had said, I needed to ask questions and get dollar amounts. So far, all my saving had been based on secondhand information for the prices. But if Ducky could get a marking, then it should be possible for me as well.


    I didn¡¯t want stupid eyes of anything. My goal were still legs of some sort. They could make me stronger, last longer, or run faster. Most did a mix of all three, and even if I failed, I would still be able to work in the mines. Four of the five Jeffs had tattoos. Most Delvers had once been marked before going too far.


    ¡°Good for you. Maybe in next month¡¯s choosing, you¡¯ll get to be a Ranger. But hear my words like your head ain¡¯t full of cotton. Pick up a useful green because you¡¯re clearly prone to danger.¡±


    Ducky did something that made Delilah sniff.


    ¡°I think that¡¯ll do it. Now you lie down and get some rest. You can¡¯t be working with an arm like that. Doctor¡¯s orders,¡± she said.


    ¡°Thank you, miss,¡± he responded, then slowly stumbled out the door. ¡°But I have to head into town.¡±


    ¡°Stay off the arm anyway. Get one of the guards to help you aboard the coach. Get your water, get some meat, and get some sleep.¡±


    He went home that day, and I didn¡¯t see him again. I slept as much as possible in order to not be bothered. Ducky were ahead of me, though where he¡¯d gotten the money only God knew.


    Once my body functioned as commanded, I started back on the upper floors while wearing extra padding. I refused to touch any ink to see what it¡¯d be like raw. That single brush had almost shattered my mind while Ranger Hardwood had handled it like a harmless melon. I could hear her snort of judgmental laughter as a record, playing the same part over and over.


    Days passed, then two weeks. I struggled to keep moving in the name of profit but didn¡¯t want to damage myself as Ducky had. Runners earned a pittance. The first weekend home resulted in most of the money being spent on food and paying the tax collectors, with hardly anything left to put in the bank. On the second weekend home, I stayed on the packed coach into town then got off in the square. I needed supplies for a friend and the house.


    Before stepping off the coach, I adjusted the thin rider¡¯s gloves Delilah had insisted I wear. The fingertips on one hand were blackened. I took off the glove, quickly made a fist, then looked around. No one paid any mind to my actions¡ªwhat few people stumbled around had their own business to tend to. The glove went back on.


    I peeked under the other glove and saw a small web of coloring where the rainbow drop had touched weeks ago. What little blood remained in my face vanished. My knees locked, back straightened, and eyes widened.


    What does that mean? I asked myself. The gloves were decent but might not last much longer. They¡¯d worn down over two weeks, but I knew for sure neither mark had been there during my last trip home. I¡¯d showered and would have noticed blackened fingertips.


    Delilah knew, I thought. She¡¯d insisted I wear these gloves. Had Delilah expected the twisted marks? That must have been it. She believed something would happen.


    I marched straight to the general store. Tonight required more than gathering supplies before venturing home. It¡¯d been weeks since my only trip into the deep mines, and considering these recent discoveries, I¡¯d decided a nightcap were in order.


    The man operating the register could have been my granddaddy. He wore gray like no other color in the world existed. It lined his skin, hair, and every ounce of clothing down to his boot tips.


    ¡°All I¡¯m asking is that you let us put up the sign. So that we can gather the faithful,¡± a man I didn¡¯t know said. He sounded thin and whiny. Like Ducky with less spine and more age.


    That were unkind of me. Ducky had suffered wounds down below too. The damage to his arm must be extensive. He hadn¡¯t returned to the mine in two weeks. Maybe he¡¯d actually been working hard during my absence¡ªhard enough to at least pop those stitches¡ªthen needed bed rest to recover. Maybe he¡¯d run off with his tattoo to a great adventure. Eagle Eyes. I failed to see how a detection ability would help him do more than survive.


    ¡°No signs but my own in this store. Don¡¯t like them. They clutter the windows.¡± When the store proprietor spoke, he sounded as though he were frowning, but not an ounce of expression touched his face. It amazed me a soul could say one thing then show another with his manner.


    ¡°It¡¯s for the church. How else do we spread the gospel of The Mountain¡¯s origins? Don¡¯t you want the Angel¡¯s Fall to have meaning?¡± The gangly man had large eyes framed by tired skin. It made him look sad and whimpering.


    ¡°Nope,¡± the owner responded.


    ¡°Sir, please.¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°Fine, but consider yourself welcome tomorrow morning. We¡¯ve always got room to help spread the word.¡± He tipped his hat to the store owner then walked past me, out the door.


    ¡°Nope,¡± the owner said once again. The other man couldn¡¯t have heard him, but this shop¡¯s owner didn¡¯t care.


    Their conversation gave me plenty of time to get a few foodstuffs. Small amounts of nearly stale bread, a piece of candy, and more. I stepped across the room and pointed at a small murky container on the top shelf. ¡°A bottle of whiskey.¡±


    ¡°Chase, don¡¯t tell me you grown a year overnight.¡±


    I glanced down at the clothes that didn¡¯t fit me¡ªcastoffs from my father as Poss had said. Overalls hung loose, the shirt were untucked, and I couldn¡¯t fight the sharp rosy cheeks I¡¯d inherited. Not to mention the holes Momma never did find time to mend.


    ¡°I¡¯m old enough to work the mines. Old enough to be my daddy¡¯s escort up the hill when Momma wouldn¡¯t. I think that makes me old enough for a bottle, sir,¡± I said while fighting to stand straight. Weariness had entered my bones. I didn¡¯t care what Momma said, that age made it worse¡ªI already felt exhausted enough.


    ¡°Eight dollars then,¡± he said. ¡°Fifteen fifty with the rest.¡±


    I added a few smaller supplies, paid the man, got my drink, and staggered to a vaguely private hollow partway home. A half-moon hung above and the sun had mostly set. It lingered over The Mountain¡¯s horizon as if unwilling to leave our town to darkness without a fight. All I saw were that damnable range of hills. Beyond the mine were even taller peaks with snow on their tips. Storms got stuck over there, blown west from the ocean¡ªor so I¡¯d heard.


    Other things lurked past the Butcher Hills. The guards said there were large armies. The ladies downtown stated the Saracons were savages that ate misbehaving children in the night. Stories from my daddy made them out like boogie men without faces who¡¯d abduct babies from their mommas¡¯ arms.


    Momma responded that it were all hogwash and Saracons were the same as any other human. Their only difference were in their olive-colored skin, almost like burnt chestnuts. She used to go on about this servant boy her parents had owned. I was always enthralled by those tales. Momma had been a rich heiress destined for money and life in the inner circles of stardom. But she ran away for lust or love and tossed that life away. Daddy knew he didn¡¯t deserve her. To look at her now felt like a shame against what could have been.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    A million thoughts ran through my brain. I stared at the goods from the store. Bandages, a few dried seeds, and sewing supplies. Ten dollars¡¯ worth of items set me back a bit. But they were barter for an associate who might be a friend some days. Maybe my only one left in Chandler¡¯s Field. Waiting for her took a lot of time.


    I felt closer to Daddy than ever while staring at The Mountain. It smiled back with the lingering sunset hovering like a fat king on its throne. I pointed at the distant range with my bottle¡¯s mouth. The religious man from the store¡ªor maybe the drink¡ªhad me thinking. Harold had said the church believed the inkwells to be places where angels had fallen.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you were an angel. I think you were a devil,¡± I said. ¡°If ever you were an angel, like the church says, then why were you cast down? Why¡¯d you fall, huh? God ain¡¯t just taking wings away for the giggles.¡±


    The Mountain didn¡¯t answer. The sun dipped a bit farther till orange simmered behind the crests. My arms ached. Damage from weeks before still lingered. The ache had grown worse, and liquor made my head swell.


    Only a month remained until the choosing and the bank had too little funds to pay for anything good. Of that I felt sure, despite not checking with a tattooist. Since daddy¡¯d died, poverty were a constant companion. The unfairness bothered me. I stood and threw a rock. It hit a tree. More followed as I drunkenly raged. Each one plopped to the ground or banged. My aim worsened.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do! I don¡¯t know how to make this work!¡± I yelled then took another swig.


    I¡¯d balanced a checkbook under my bed last weekend. Each time I figured the numbers, they came out against me. The calculations escaped me now, but I could see that silly negative symbol taunting me. A thousand dollars sat between me and the goal in my head.


    ¡°Goddamnit!¡± I raised my voice. ¡°Fuck you, you motherless devil!¡±


    The next two rocks hit trees again. I threw more and continued my journey to the bottle¡¯s bottom. The whiskey tasted like shit and smelled worse. My free hand cupped mouth to nose and I huffed a few times.


    Good lord, Momma will kill me. God above could smell the fumes coming off my bottle and breath. It didn¡¯t stop me from continuing to unleash my feeble ire toward the horizon.


    ¡°Everyone here is your damn slave! Everyone!¡±


    Still the sun dipped lower until the clouds had a ring of light. The glen I¡¯d found grew colder. Torn up earth and rocks were all over, along with a few tree branches and clumps of grass. I stared at the mess while swaying. My eyes closed longer each time I blinked.


    ¡°Can¡¯t find a good job that ain¡¯t at the mine. Town wouldn¡¯t exist without the ink. Daddy would still be alive¡­¡± The world went black for a moment and I forgot what were going on.


    I came to with the last few drops of whiskey spilling on my shirt. I turned away then walked toward the road home.


    ¡°Some angel. Or devil. Or forgotten faerie. But if you were an angel, I¡¯d say you fell ¡®cause you were too big an asshole for heaven,¡± I said slowly. ¡°Big gaping ass¡­¡±


    Then the world tilted sideways. I hit the dirt and passed out.


    Silent nightmares chased me. I saw myself standing at the ridge of the mountain¡¯s top, where¡ªon the night of a full moon¡ªthe smooth lake of ink lifted until it almost overflowed. In my dream, I relived the past when my father¡¯s body gradually lowered into the distorted pool. His lifeless arms reached toward me in a silent plea.


    ¡°Don¡¯t feed me to the devil,¡± my daddy¡¯s words broke in a hoarse cry.


    I screamed and dove for him. The risen ink took on a life of its own and swarmed out of the pit, over Daddy, and onto my skin. It burned as it took away everything.


    I woke to sunlight, sweat, and a giant rabbit¡¯s foot in my face. The rust-colored toes twitched every few seconds. A hint of claws rippled from under the extra folds of skin. I gazed past her thick soled feet to the rest of my morning guest.


    If Felines were simple cat-like people, Flops were rabbit-like people. Or something. Her skin still had healthy pink, but the hair, ears, and most of her legs were certainly not normal.


    ¡°Jenn?¡± I asked.


    The dirty red foot twitched. I leaned back and sighed. The reason I¡¯d picked this place was to help another friend, one who watched over my momma when she wandered off¡ªa Flop named Jenn. She roosted near this clearing, though her home were actually underground. Most Flops lived in burrows. They liked the security.


    ¡°Jenn.¡± I poked her foot. The toes flexed and rolled.


    ¡°Not home,¡± Jenn responded. Her fingers brushed against a mixture of white-and-rust fur starting at the ears and grew in thickness the farther back one looked. The length never got more than a few inches. Flops with longer hair were rare.


    She lay stretched across me in a manner my mother would have called indecent. To Jenn, sleeping on me probably meant not being on the cold ground. She¡¯d done this before. It had caused me many a night of confusion during my early teens.


    I pushed the woman off me, and she fell to the ground. Free of the tiny lady¡¯s weight, I had room to sit and brush off the dirt clumps everywhere. My hair felt matted. I needed a shower.


    ¡°Smell.¡± Her nose twitched rapidly. A foot kicked then dug into my side. Her nails were thankfully blunt. ¡°Dirt and drink and Chase?¡± She curled into a ball then unwound and pulled herself up by the arms¡ªin a movement more animal than human.


    ¡°Morning,¡± I said.


    Jenn blinked. ¡°You smell strange.¡± She approached closer, trying to pinpoint the smell.


    I rubbed my hands together and pretended everything were fine. These gloves should cover any possible discolorations. They might give off a scent. Maybe herbs could mask that.


    Her head tilted, then she shrugged. The Flop could be considered a clipped and solitary girl who grew irate with people faster than a preacher cried hallelujah. Jenn were short for Jenny, which had been short for Jennifer, as she¡¯d been named by her father in a house of God¡ªboth of whom she hated. It was her father¡¯s fault she¡¯d become a Flop in the first place. And the reasons were twisted. I¡¯d have shot her daddy, but he were already dead. Some said he¡¯d met his end by Jenn¡¯s own hands. They imagined her a killer at such a young age.


    ¡°Cold,¡± she said, rubbing her arms. ¡°I was warm. Food now?¡± The Flop¡¯s arms went out and gestured for me to hand over my goods. She must not have noticed them sitting behind her.


    I pointed at myself twice then wiggled a finger in question.


    ¡°You were cold. And smelled. Like you bathed in bleach. Like that man. Didn¡¯t like it. Hoped you¡¯d suffocate.¡± She sniffed, then she shivered.


    The woman had a chest and thighs like a goddess, but anything more than admiring were off-limits. She didn¡¯t like men in that way. Jenn barely liked males in any way. They were too tall, she¡¯d told me more than once. Clammy hands, smelly feet, unwashed buttholes, and every other foul description one could use without actually using curse words.


    I suppose I should feel thankful she¡¯s still comfortable with me, I thought.


    The truth were¡ªif Jenn ever wanted to go for a tumble, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. In some areas further east, they thought it were weird, but those of us near The Mountain had been around Flops and Felines and Delvers for ages. They were creatures like everyone else¡ªand we were all cursed by the fat-assed fallen angel.


    I walked over to grab the small bag of goods that¡¯d been set on the ground prior to my tantrum.


    ¡°My momma?¡± I asked for the report.


    Our deal were a simple one. Jenn got what she needed¡ªwhile someone kept an eye on my momma during the week. The price were costly and served as one of many reasons we stayed poor.


    ¡°Went to town. Bought clothes. Ate little all week. One bath, yesterday.¡± Jenn shook her head rapidly then dug a finger in one ear. ¡°Near starves herself. Very unhealthy. Food now, please.¡±


    I closed my eyes and sighed. Jenn pried my fingers open to get at the prizes. She shuffled through the small woven bog while tapping a foot. The pitter patter and strength from her short form were amazing. All transformed races excelled in various tasks. They had gone too far with their ink tattoos and retained an equivalent strength but were changed.


    ¡°She¡ª¡± My head hurt fiercely enough that my entire train of thought halted. ¡°Didn¡¯t have problems again?¡±


    ¡°Stupid men from town. There was one. Sneaking after her. I punched him in the balls. Enjoyed it.¡± She stared at me around a mouthful of food. One small loaf of sweetbread were all I could afford.


    My legs tightened a bit. She¡¯d been asleep on top of me and thankfully chosen not to inflict the same wound. I checked myself for more awkwardness and had nothing but the urge to pee.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said. Keeping silent all the time were a lot of work.


    She studied me while chewing. I couldn¡¯t tell if Jenn hated me half the time. Flops were harder to get to know. Felines were everywhere. Though both were usually slaves of rich people who¡¯d spent forty thousand dollars on tattoos to force a transformation.


    I stood and made my way to a tree. The chaotic rock piles around it spoke loudly about my state last night. Pissing all over the mess were just a cherry on top.


    ¡°Gross,¡± Jenn muttered.


    When I finished, which took longer than I¡¯d ever expected, Jenn had gone. I guessed she¡¯d returned to a nearby burrow. Hopefully Jenn would take time to clean her clothes and close the holes. I¡¯d offer to let her bed down at my home, but Momma hated Flops, Felines, and Delvers. Not with outright words, but the gossip took on a nasty tone. She¡¯d think poorly of any Flop using my bed for the week while I worked.


    I staggered home in the bright morning sun then sneaked in for a bath. That meant five trips back and forth quietly with buckets of water. The morning sun provided no heat, and wasting logs on a fire cost money. So I sat in the cold water and felt almost civilized by the end. Chilly enough to be a popsicle and worn enough I could barely lift myself from the tub.


    But I did. Five more trips were required to empty the tub and water the plants. I limped to bed before Momma even stirred.


    That afternoon, I sneaked out the window and proceeded to do a week¡¯s worth of chores. Chickens were fed. They were angry as always. The garden was weeded and fresh seeds planted for the upcoming season. It¡¯d take a month to grow, but everything helped.


    It served as another reason for Jenn to be here. She would have loved the garden. It were quiet and peaceful. I¡¯d bet the chickens would have liked her more than Momma. Though they would have loved anyone more than Momma. Neither woman would accept that idea though¡ªand my home life wouldn¡¯t improve without money. According to Ranger Hardwood, killing monsters equaled money. She¡¯d laid bare the great secret to a Ranger¡¯s income.


    I can learn. I will learn, I told myself.


    With a gun and magical tattoos, I¡¯d be better able to handle the minor monsters. Even a man with a pickax or hammer could take down a beast or two. Harold, with his comically large hands and feet, could take on giant rats. I¡¯d wager even the smaller monsters had weird core bits that were worth money.


    I dusted myself off, washed my face, and made for town. The tattooist might not be local, but I intended to ask around and find out. Cassandra would be able to answer questions, tell me prices, and maybe strike a deal. Without some bargain, I¡¯d never make it in time for the testing next week.


    The townspeople¡¯s rumors ended with me traveling in circles. Not many people knew where Cassandra lived. Each person sent me to the next. The butcher to a farmer. The farmer pointed me to a courier who ran for the post office. He suggested I travel to the middle of nowhere¡ªwhich happened to be far north of town. I could borrow a ride on a carriage, and worst case, I could walk back. According to the courier, there¡¯d be a lightly used path after the crossroads.


    I went there the next day instead. The trek took hours, but there were a path right off the road¡ªexactly as advertised. On a tree near the trail, a dozen markings of color sat. Almost invisible if I hadn¡¯t known where to search.


    A wall of trees separated the building from any roads. The shack itself couldn¡¯t be more than a few hundred square feet, if that. The shingles seemed to be well maintained, brushed free of leaves. I stepped closer to see more. Hopefully Cassandra took weekends at home. Though she¡¯d been at the mine before me a few weeks ago.


    It might not even be hers, I thought.


    I crept through the overgrown path of untamed shrubbery. They were mixed with late fall weeds that could have been poison ivy. Wood were piled on the eastern side of the building, and most of the area had been utterly rundown. Dogs were lying against the house. I froze.


    A low growl of noise came from the bushes to my left.


    I pulled out a dagger and prepared to fight. My back pressed against the tree. The object behind me served as a poor shield. Two different dogs crawled out of the bush. One had a broken paw it limped on. The other had tears along its jaw. Both were slobbering, angry, and larger than the rat creatures that had attacked me in the mine. They were a pair of stocky-faced hunting hounds, like the batch by the house.


    They moved in my direction. I brandished the knife and slashed it at them while figuring out which one would leap first. The one with the limp sidestepped left. The other barked loudly. Their tails were stiff. Other hounds from the main group barked. My head turned to listen better, but I kept both eyes on the dogs slinking around me.


    They moved in closer. I waved the knife while longing for the gun.


    A sharp whistle cut the air, and both dogs jerked their heads to the side. One whined, the other turned back to me. Someone whistled a second time. They broke from me and leapt toward the house. Yips, whimpers, and excited barks filled the air.


    I poked around the tree¡¯s edge to see where all the dogs had run. Cassandra stood in the middle of a dozen dogs. They barked at her. Most were behind her while two larger canines leapt up, trying to get to her face. A small horde of puppies came around the house¡¯s corner.


    ¡°Best come out. Put away any weapons and keep your hands open or the mutts will be nervous.¡±


    Her voice tickled my ears. It hid a low silk-sounding hum I could almost feel. Though Poss¡¯s guest room were the closest I¡¯d ever been to real silk.


    I put up the knife and slowed my breathing. My hands trembled. And I want to fight monsters? Handling normal dogs felt difficult enough. The swarm would have taken me down in seconds. Facing four or five rat creatures couldn¡¯t be easy. Taking on two of these mongrels at once would be about as tough as five rats, maybe.


    ¡°Well?¡±


    God, her voice.


    Everything else about her became secondary to that mental tickle. It made me want to pant with the dogs. I brought my tremors under control and stepped farther along the path to the front door.

 10 - Pack of the Forrest

    ¡°Chase Craig. You¡¯re a funny child.¡± Tattooist Cassandra wore the same style of clothes she had at the refinery. Lots of fancy colors and multiple layers.


    I raised an eyebrow. The mess of dogs completely ignored me. Cassandra had bits of cooked meat and mush in a bucket. She laid it into bowls, and the dogs bullied each other out of the way for food. The puppies were knocked over by wagging tails, each other, or sometimes nothing.


    She bustled between them, and I stared. A dozen layers of cloth were between my gaze and her swaying form.


    ¡°Well, tell me what you¡¯re looking for?¡±


    Her words shook me, and I tried to figure out exactly what I¡¯d been staring at. I looked abruptly at her face to see she¡¯d been gazing at me. Cassandra¡¯s eyes lit up. Her cheeks and mouth were harder to make out, but part of me desperately hoped she¡¯d been smiling after seeing me. I couldn¡¯t even tell why a woman I barely knew mattered so much. It were as if she pulled at me.


    My words stuttered more than usual. ¡°Y-You said I have potential. W-What does that mean?¡±


    She laughed, and my knees went weak. ¡°Exactly what the word means. You have potential. To be useful.¡±


    To you? I asked myself. It weren¡¯t even sex¡ªbut the option remained open if it might please her. I could have held open the door or cleaned the house. She didn¡¯t have a garden. I plotted how to set one up. The problem would be getting around the dogs. They were a well-ordered bunch once fed.


    ¡°I can¡¯t be selected without a tattoo,¡± I said.


    ¡°That¡¯s true. There¡¯s a requirement. We think of it as proof of your commitment to the task. It¡¯s such a simple thing to ask. Everyone has a marking, don¡¯t they?¡±


    It¡¯s proof all right. Proof we¡¯re enslaved, I thought. Being a slave to someone else bothered me¡ªif only because a man can¡¯t hold so many obligations. Mine had already been claimed. The idea made my mind derail. I blinked rapidly but couldn¡¯t shake the feeling of needing to please her.


    ¡°Well? You surely know many who¡¯ve been marked. Don¡¯t you want to tell me about them?¡± she asked.


    I wanted to please her by giving the right answer. I started to sign a response then noticed her frown. My mouth opened instead. ¡°Deep miners get them. High-end street walkers. The sheriff and store owners. Everyone. My friend were turned into a Flop slave for money. Because someone wanted a pet to keep their bed warm. But she, and those others, don¡¯t become Rangers.¡±


    ¡°Not everyone is up to the task. Not everyone dares to fight the monsters. What do you think of that?¡±


    My mind still sat on Jenn. ¡°Some don¡¯t have a choice. Some get made into what they are.¡±


    The dogs were circling around her clothes. The layers of color waved as their wagging tails knocked them around. I got lost in the swirls of fabric and wondered which piece of fabric were her favorite. It¡¯d be easy enough to set aside a few dollars and purchase more of whichever kind she liked.


    ¡°Does that bother you? The Felines, Flops, or Delvers? Do they disgust you?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°My d-daddy¡¯s friends, a lot of them are D-delvers. They¡¯re kind. And short. And sad. But not disgusting.¡±


    Her eyebrows raised in surprise. The response made me nervous. I couldn¡¯t tell if I¡¯d pleased her or simply missed the mark.


    In haste, I continued, ¡°This girl I¡¯d known, Poss Proctor. Her husband keeps Felines as servants. They¡¯ve always been nice. The guys are a bit scary, but the girls are polite.¡±


    Cassandra smiled. I fidgeted and tried to figure out what I¡¯d said wrong. Poss¡¯s Felines were a bit scary. The men had muscle for days; their type could also be fast. Hunters who excelled at night chasing.


    ¡°The girl I know, Jenn, is a Flop. She¡¯s amazingly cute. Especially the ears. They¡¯ve very soft, but Jenn¡¯s distrustful of people. She didn¡¯t want to be turned, and sometimes I see her trembling while losing focus. She once told me how close death had been during her transformation. She said she knew. Knew that she could have chosen to die. Jenn¡¯s father slapped half a dozen gray tattoos on her. He went to Bell Town, got a shoddy artist to do them¡­¡± I felt dizzy. The rush of words that had escaped me would have gone on forever, but I¡¯d run out of breath.


    Heat flushed my face. Jenn¡¯s history weren¡¯t one I should have shared. She¡¯d made me promise not to tell anyone¡ªthough plenty knew the rumors. In a town with people like Momma spouting their gossip, secrets were rare.


    My back pressed against the wall of her home. I couldn¡¯t figure out when I¡¯d made it past the throng of dogs to lean against it. Tattooist Cassandra kept smiling, but it looked less gleeful because of how her bottom lip quivered and a small wrinkle on her brow.


    ¡°So no, they don¡¯t disgust me. It¡¯s not their fault what The Mountain did to them,¡± I finished weakly.


    ¡°Mmhm,¡± she said.


    I swallowed a lump and stared into the tree canopy. She still hadn¡¯t been pleased. Women were tough creatures to appease.


    ¡°I think that¡¯s good enough. Now tell me, something must be wrong for you to come all the way out here to visit me.¡±


    Cassandra had hit the mark. No one in their right mind would come here with all these dogs. Unless the woman wanted company. Many people would want to please her, sure as I wanted to now.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have enough money for a marking. I need it to get the best job this town can offer a man with no good connections. Poss¡¯d never hire me for anything decent. Her husband¡¯s too rich to even give me the time of day. I need the money so Momma can live somewhere else¡­¡± Too many thoughts tangled together. One of them had to make Cassandra happy. ¡°I need her to leave here and be free. If I do, then I¡¯ll be able to hold my head up and know I honored my daddy¡¯s dying wish. Then I¡¯ll be released.¡±


    I¡¯d never shared that with anyone. Revealing my goals made me pause. Something else were wrong though. Not simply financial woes and the rest of my family. I¡¯d been talking far too much, which made no sense. I closed my mouth then fought the urge to answer Cassandra¡¯s question with even more detail.


    My jaw locked so tight it hurt. She smiled sweetly while my stomach lurched. Failing to answer her felt wrong and knotted my stomach. It were like lying to Momma.


    I should tell her about the deep mines and my fingertip marking. And the rainbow drop on my other hand.


    Those were secrets I¡¯d intended not to mention but seriously considered spilling my guts if that¡¯d make the tattooist happy. Even if Delilah knew, she surely wouldn¡¯t have told anyone else. Ranger Hardwood might have mentioned having me touch the core with its dark exterior. The fact that I wanted to spill those secrets was what bothered me most.


    Why do I want to tell her all this? I asked myself.


    That¡ªand the talking. She¡¯d bewitched me. There were no better explanation. The idea occurred to me, and almost immediately, I could breathe easier. I woke from the dream with a series of unexpected huffs.


    Tattooist Cassandra must have a lure. Momma had talked about such things to explain how some men fell prey to loving ladies outside their marriage. The vocally-born enthrallment would have been caused by a tattoo. I¡¯d been hypnotized into telling her more than I should have, especially about Jenn.


    I really looked at Cassandra¡¯s face for the first time. Every other instance had been a glance as a dreamy filter sifted out anything aside from her golden voice. She smiled, and it didn¡¯t seem as enchanting. The colors on her dress lost their allure. Dogs set the fabric spinning, but the muddy edges were more obvious. Cassandra became an average woman, home alone on the weekend, out feeding her army of mutts.


    ¡°Excellent,¡± Cassandra said. Her words were closer to normal. I could still hear that silk in them, but it didn¡¯t tug at my ear and mind. ¡°You¡¯re doing well¡ªbetter than your friend.¡±


    I pulled myself away from the wall and straightened. The path back to town lay clear as day only a handful of steps away. Getting past the dogs would prove difficult.


    ¡°Don¡¯t run. You¡¯ve said your piece, and then some. Now I¡¯ll say mine. I¡¯ll do your inkin¡¯. I¡¯ll get you a mark like none you¡¯ve ever seen. One that¡¯ll let you beat your friend, and maybe other Rangers. But you¡¯ll owe me.¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t got much,¡± I said, risking opening my mouth. My head swam with the tug of her presence. The urge to simply agree and please her made me buckle.


    ¡°I can gauge how little you have by the holes in your clothes and your uneven hair. But you¡¯ll pay me in equal trade. That I promise.¡±


    ¡°What do you¡ª¡± I stopped talking and held myself tightly.


    The baying of a dozen excited dogs filled my ears. Cassandra said something that couldn¡¯t be heard. She whistled sharply then gestured with an arm to the distance. The dogs sped off, raising Cain at distant foes.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need a favor. Three of them, to be exact.¡±


    I shook at the pull of her voice. The desire to please her surged every time Cassandra spoke. Whatever ability she had must have been a vocal one. I¡¯d thought about it, but the truth felt more obvious now. Three fingers went up and I raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Three, yes. Who am I to break tradition? Three favors. One marking. And I promise it¡¯ll be something that no one has ever seen before.¡±


    Even the puppies had left, into the woods, scrambling toward danger unknown. They moved slower than the old dogs. Distant barking became snarls. I searched for signs of their foe. The afternoon sun blurred the direction they¡¯d gone with brightness.


    ¡°Do you agree?¡± Cassandra asked.


    Her charm couldn¡¯t make me spill my guts anymore. I kept my gaze level and attempted to stare her down. If only to prove to myself she held no sway over me. Only¡­ she did by way of offering to ink me a tattoo. The marking was what my entire future hinged on.


    I nodded.


    ¡°Then your first task, I¡¯ve a pup¡ª¡±


    ¡°The marking,¡± I interrupted quickly then cursed myself for speaking aloud again. ¡°I can¡¯t wait long.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no fool. I know the choosing is soon. What¡¯s more, I know you¡¯ll need time to adapt to the inkin¡¯. Longer if I do something special. Once you¡¯ve completed the first task, we¡¯ll start. And you¡¯ll owe me the other two.¡±


    I nodded again.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ve a pup who weren¡¯t hard enough to survive.¡±


    There were that damn word again. The same one Ranger Hardwood had used. Hard. As though they could measure a man by his ability to be unbreakable and no other trait mattered. Strength, intelligence, charm¡ªall meant nothing. It couldn¡¯t be a coincidence.


    Cassandra led me around the house to a line of small wooden dens that¡¯d been thoroughly chewed. Thick wire fences kept some separated. I raised an eyebrow as we walked by. The tattooist turned and caught my expression.


    She explained, ¡°The cages are for the bitches. When they go into heat, the males lose their minds. I¡¯d rather keep them alive than let them fight or risk one of the untested runts breeding a weaker strain.¡±


    I knew nothing about dogs other than they barked and begged for food. Not a lot of people kept them in Chandler¡¯s Field. Felines and dogs rarely got along, even if they¡¯d been friends before the change.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°That¡¯s the way of it. The stronger males are worth breeding. The weaker ones, they should be cut. But I lost a pup from the old alpha¡¯s bitch. He died real young, yesterday.¡±


    She talked a lot. It felt weird to hear her do all the conversing when I¡¯d been so chatty before. The pull of her voice had nearly vanished. Maybe it only worked on the front side of her house, or maybe the dens around me were too distracting. A few dogs were still in the area and hadn¡¯t run off with the others.


    Cassandra strolled toward one of the far pens. Inside the wiring, an old dog curled around a dead body.


    ¡°She¡¯s a stubborn girl¡ªbut not strong. The last pack leader bred her then died during a full moon some months ago. He was a tough bastard, but now he¡¯s gone and the others barely give her the time of day. Gave birth to two pups who are already running, but this third runt didn¡¯t survive.¡±


    All the information seemed important to her, but I didn¡¯t know why it mattered. She reached to grab the pup, but the bitch growled and whimpered in equal measure. Cassandra chided the female dog with click of her tongue then pointed at the pen¡¯s exit. The dog stayed guarding the unmoving pup.


    ¡°Dammit, girl. Move. You know it¡¯s past time,¡± Cassandra said.


    The dog cocked its head to get one pointed ear focused on Cassandra then tightened closer.


    ¡°No. You get out. This pup is beyond you now.¡±


    They argued while I wondered what this had to do with my life. Cassandra all but ignored me while chiding the dog. The dog whimpered, shuffled, and beat its tail in response like a¡ªwell, like a person I guess. I¡¯d met Flops with less expression. Cassandra eventually won, and the bitch stood. The mutt walked to me and put a paw on my stomach, surprising me.


    ¡°Hi,¡± I said, feeling oddly tender toward a critter I¡¯d never met.


    Her face had all sorts of gray hairs peeking through, and she moved stiffly compared to the other animals that had been bouncing. She licked my face once then dropped down and padded away.


    All right? I thought. That had been a strange action.


    ¡°I need you to carry the runt up to The Mountain and throw him in. Tonight, before morning¡¯s sun rises and the new moon vanishes.¡± She shook her head. ¡°It would have been better to start hiking this morning. There¡¯s hardly any time.¡±


    The request certainly were unusual. Animals could be sent to The Mountain, but rarely. They weren¡¯t like humans who¡¯d been touched by a tattoo or the mines. Completing the task before sunrise might be possible. It¡¯d just be increasingly dark the longer I took. I tightened my lips and thought about how to see in the dark. The time limit would be nearly impossible¡ªbut for a marking, I¡¯d try.


    While I pondered, Cassandra unhooked a satchel from the high fencing. The woman knelt and opened her bag. Cotton and unidentifiable plants inside gave off a powerful odor of herbs and leaves. Other scents were mixed in, such as roses like the ladies downtown used. I sneezed repeatedly.


    ¡°And you need to make sure no humans see you or else the deal¡¯s off,¡± she added.


    My heart skipped. Taking the main paths up would have taken long enough. A stagecoach were an four-hour trip. If she wanted me to get there on foot without another soul viewing me, then I¡¯d be sunk.


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked.


    She ignored my question and lowered the pup into the bag. It made a poor coffin for a man, but suited the dead dog almost like a king. I wondered if that female dog had been smart enough to know I was sending off her spawn to The Mountain. If she viewed it like I did, then maybe even she wouldn¡¯t be remotely happy about it.


    ¡°Best get going. Remember. Carry the pup up the mountain. Drop him as gentle as you can. Let no humans see you. If you get caught, I¡¯ll know. There¡¯s nothing alive that moves on the summit without my knowledge. Not even the priests.¡± She closed the satchel, knotted its cords tightly, then handed it over.


    I stared at the container and noticed it weren¡¯t much bigger than the pup¡¯s body. The idea that this small critter had been a formerly excited wiggler made me sick.


    Cassandra walked past me then stopped in her tracks. I turned; there outside the pen, in a place I hadn¡¯t been looking, lay the mother. She¡¯d fallen over and didn¡¯t move. The tattooist sighed heavily then knelt. She cupped a hand in front of the dog¡¯s mouth then pried open a closed eye. Her head shook.


    ¡°Dead. What a shame. She¡¯d bred some good pups, but I guess her heart finally gave out,¡± Cassandra said, staring at the dead mother. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, she¡¯s not part of the deal. Your job is the pup. Get up there and send him off. You should know the way. Same as your father. Same as his father.¡±


    I started feeling shaky. Ranger Hardwood¡¯s words came back to me. She¡¯d said ¡°They weren''t hard enough.¡± Seeing the now-dead momma dog¡ªwhich had moments ago been curled around her deceased puppy¡ªafter her mate had passed¡ªwell, there were parallels to my own life that didn¡¯t sit well with me. I cradled the small bag, ignored anything further the tattooist might say, and fled from her home into the woods. Barking filled my ears, but none of the dogs ranged far enough to hunt me down.


    There were two paths up The Mountain. One went to the southern side, where the miners ventured into the depths. Going through the mine itself would be an impossible task. The main entrance were heavily guarded, and all other ways directly into the mines were closed by Delvers. Humans would be sure to see me along that route.


    The second path went up the northern side, where the dead were paraded to their final resting place. I¡¯d traveled the northern path only once, but everyone in Chandler¡¯s Field knew where it started. The roadway could fit a horse and carriage fine. But going up on anything but a full moon could be considered sacrilege and I didn¡¯t dare.


    I¡¯d have to choose a middle path through the wooded mountainside then cover as much ground as possible.


    All told, with afternoon and night, I had maybe seven hours to make a long trip without any aid. But there were ways around the whole ¡°not being seen¡± problem. I figured her word choice had been deliberate. She must have been hinting that only humans were an issue. Delvers, Felines, and Flops weren¡¯t human anymore. Not once they¡¯d been completely changed by overexposure. That had to be why she¡¯d asked me if I found them disgusting.


    I couldn¡¯t figure out how to accomplish getting all the way up to The Mountain¡¯s top on the night of a new moon without someone seeing me. The mission felt more impossible the longer I mulled it over. Running up the hill would be impossible. I had endurance from months in the mine, but sprinting fell into another skill set. I could only march steadily. The normal carriage took too long. Running would be faster.


    A wooded trail got me to a crossroads. I saw Mister Jewel and his surly-looking daughter arguing on their hitched-up horse. They yelled loudly enough to scare away all the wild animals. They were useless, but I watched in case they decided to abruptly leave the horse alone.


    I waited in the bushes for too long without success, and I started getting really worried. Cassandra had handed me a golden chance to get what I needed, and my solutions were few. I turned away from my post to see a small Flop sniffing the air next to me. I fell back a few steps then onto my rear. Bushes poked my head and through holes in clothes.


    ¡°Jenn?¡± I asked. My heartbeat thudded. The bag in my hands slipped, but I managed to retain my grip.


    ¡°You¡¯re dense. Oblivious. Thick-headed,¡± the woman responded. Her clothes looked as though they¡¯d been patched recently. New colors that weren¡¯t there yesterday puffed out from under her top. The supplies must have helped. ¡°I¡¯m cute?¡±


    After a few breaths, I realized she¡¯d heard. My face warmed. Jenn must have been listening to me spill my guts. Where she¡¯d listened from, I couldn¡¯t say. My attention at the time had been purely on answering Tattooist Cassandra''s questions. Only the constant motion of dogs and swirling clothes distracted me.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said quickly.


    She shrugged. ¡°Charmed. Hard to fight. Seen men do worse. Far worse for a siren. But you did break free. I saw.¡± Then Jenn shuddered all the way down to her rabbit feet. The motion ended quickly as she sniffed again. She held out her hands and gestured for me to hand over supplies¡ªbut I had none left.


    Her eyes locked on the pup carrier in my hands. I shook my head then stood. Still, she gestured some more.


    ¡°I¡¯ll carry it. I can move quick,¡± she said.


    Cassandra¡¯s orders had been simple enough. I were to go up without getting caught by a human and deposit the pup. Jenn couldn¡¯t do that part for me. My fingers snapped a no sign while I said, ¡°My mission. She promised a marking.¡±


    Jenn whispered, ¡°You believed her? Foolish man. Waste of what your momma gave you. Air-headed dreamer.¡±


    The Delvers had also called me a dreamer. Every time that word came up, I felt stupid for having hopes. But I didn¡¯t intend to quit, and by whatever god sat in the sky laughing at our plays, I intended to see my obligations through.


    A sigh escaped as I gazed toward the hills. I saw the outline of a peak far in the distance. Near its crest lay a small dot of white that would be the priest¡¯s home. That location were the only one monsters didn¡¯t try to break into. The entire mountain had a flattened top that¡ªif memory served¡ªwere about two or three hundred feet across. From there, a person could see straight into The Mountain¡¯s heart. On a new moon, the ink would be lower than any other time. My cargo, the deceased pup, would have a long fall ahead.


    ¡°You¡¯re not disgusted by us?¡± Jenn asked.


    I shrugged while looking back at the roads. A man with two donkeys ambled through. I couldn¡¯t figure out a way to borrow them without making myself known.


    ¡°You said I¡¯m cute?¡± she asked again.


    My knees almost gave out. Trust Jenn not to let such a phrase pass. Sometimes I forgot she¡¯d been a young girl once¡ªlike Lily or Poss, only far more reclusive. Jenn made me look downright outgoing and sociable. I still didn¡¯t know why she associated with me, aside from our homes having been within shouting distance of each other¡ªbefore Jenn¡¯s house had burned down.


    We¡¯d been childhood friends. She¡¯d been human then. Then one day, she didn¡¯t come out, so I went inside looking for her. I found what no boy of ten needed to see¡ªmuch less any God-fearing soul. And it were being done to the freshly transformed girl. Sometimes when I looked at Jenn, I still saw that look of wide-eyed horror she¡¯d worn.


    I told my momma. Momma told Daddy that weekend, once he got home from the mines. Jenn¡¯s father died shortly after, and the house itself burned down after that. The townsfolk said Jenn had done it¡ªin their minds, there were no other reason for Jenn to hide in the woods. But I had my suspicions on the truth. Her father had violated her. I suspected my daddy had killed him. That question, along with a dozen others on how to be a man, would stay unresolved.


    Anyway, our muddled history was why I couldn¡¯t answer her question about ¡°you said I¡¯m cute¡± right¡ªbut simply shrugged again.


    Jenn clicked her tongue then charged past me out of the woods. She ran straight to the man escorting two donkeys. The Flop stopped a few feet away and talked to a man. I couldn¡¯t make out their words and worried about creeping closer. He might see me. I couldn¡¯t risk screwing up my mission this soon.


    I swiveled my head in every direction. No one else arrived out of the blue as Jenn had¡ªwhich made my shoulders loosen. She waved at the man, and he nodded then left his donkeys behind. My jaw dropped. Rarely could a man and his beasts be parted.


    Jenn waited until the other guy were out of sight then gestured in my direction. Her long, furry ears bounced. Their motion mesmerized me. I hadn¡¯t lied when calling the Flop cute. Her clothes were patchwork, and the young woman could use a solid bath to figure out what color lay under the dirt smudges. Despite those detractions, I saw the same girl I¡¯d played with during my childhood. Only we were now years older.


    She brought the donkeys over despite their protests. The creatures wanted to resist, but Flops were stronger than normal humans. Even the tiny Jenn could pull the weight of a grown man. Though Flops¡¯ real skills lay in working with plants and animals.


    I stepped out and glanced down the road both ways. No one else were in sight.


    ¡°Here. Stupid.¡±


    My eyebrow went up. A hand, which had been tightly clenching the strings on my cargo, let go and crooked repeatedly in question. Then I pointed at the donkeys.


    ¡°We made a deal. I¡¯ll work his fields. For a month,¡± she said.


    I glanced over Jenn¡¯s figure. She were slender, tiny, and notably endowed at the chest but mostly at her muscled legs. Years of running in the woods had built her in a way even Poss couldn¡¯t emulate. They were different girls, of different species. I worried that working his fields meant something else.


    The bag straps went over my shoulder. Both forefingers crooked with my question.


    ¡°Only his fields. Nothing more. He smells like asses,¡± Jenn said dully.


    I smiled then pointed at the donkeys.


    ¡°Nah. An unwashed butthole. These guys are tired. Come on. We¡¯re riding as far as they¡¯ll go.¡±


    My eyebrows lowered and I pointed at her.


    ¡°I¡¯m going. You¡¯re stupid. You¡¯d get lost.¡±


    I wouldn¡¯t get lost, but she¡¯d helped solve some problems. I looked back and forth down the roads, trying to debate which way would work best. The path went four ways. One direction went to town, the other to Wellbrook Mine. Bell Town in another direction. Along the fourth route, one would find the temple. Dead went along that road and didn¡¯t come back.


    I¡¯d traveled it once to escort my daddy¡¯s corpse. There might have been other branches off to Bell Town and the temple, but I¡¯d never gone down either. I understood why Lily and Greg wanted to leave the town. Standing here at the crossroads with a mount made me realize how big the world might be.


    All those thoughts and a dozen more flashed through. Eventually I picked the temple¡¯s path. People rarely went that way. They lived on the other side, closer to the cleared path up to Wellbrook Mine, especially the workers. I debated how to go down the road without being seen. The requirement felt as though it¡¯d been designed as an annoyance and nothing more.


    What possible use could this task serve aside from a measurement of sorts? I thought. Then it hit me¡ªthis weren¡¯t simply an inane goal for the purpose of getting my tattoo. Cassandra had probably designed it as a test for me as a potential Ranger. She¡¯d given me the label of potential and held enough sway to get me into the deep mines.


    ¡°Cover your face,¡± Jenn said.


    ¡°What?¡± I asked¡ªforgetting to sign the question.


    She kept her gaze steady. Jenn rarely smiled or showed any emotion besides dull, unfocused eyes. The Flop lifted her eyebrows then shrugged. To me, that meant she hadn¡¯t been serious. I shook my head, sighed, and moved on to other problems. The temperature would drop and my clothes were worn thin.


    Maybe Jenn could sew them, I thought then shook my head. Now weren¡¯t the time for such nonsense.


    We mounted the donkeys, which were more work for me than expected. Jenn hopped on as if it were second nature. I almost envied her Flop gifts for that fact alone. Then I tried to imagine myself with long ears and a tail and the envy vanished.


    The two of us made it unscathed down the path and to The Mountain¡¯s base. The donkeys we rode moved steadily and surprisingly fast, letting me reserve my strength for the incline to come. I¡¯d burned a lot of stamina traveling to the tattooist¡¯s home. I also couldn¡¯t say how much work walking to the top would take. Or running. Given the descending sun, moving quickly would be the only solution.


    A few minutes onto the actual hill and the donkeys started rearing back. They turned away and ignored the bridles¡¯ urging. One bucked wildly. I had a time getting them to move forward. My family had never been rich enough to afford mounts.


    ¡°They don¡¯t like it. I¡¯m letting them go,¡± Jenn said.


    My head dipped in agreement as I climbed down quickly. One creature turned toward me and threatened to kick. I backed up quickly to avoid the impending hoofprint. The donkeys turned away from the mountain¡¯s base and walked off.


    ¡°Will they¡­?¡± I asked half a question.


    ¡°Yes. They¡¯re smarter than you.¡±


    The mounts left, and I surveyed the mess of terrain. Trees were sparse this far down, but shrubs and every other random plant had grown to fill the gaps. There were few paths we could travel up. Our rides left, and I prayed they would return home. Donkeys were often smarter than horses¡ªor so Daddy had always said.


    Daddy said a lot of things, I thought dryly. All that supposed wisdom and none of it told me how to handle making it up The Mountain at midnight. I don¡¯t think anyone sane had advice along those lines.

 11 - Curse of the Wildling

    I sighed then looked past as many trees as possible. Miles of ever-steepening road lay ahead of me. When I looked at Jenn, she simply shrugged as if none of it mattered to her. Her dead expression of indifference worried me. Children¡¯s dolls had more emotion on their faces. On top of that, I worried about her intention to come along.


    Not that I could ever make Jenn do anything, I thought. Purchases from the general store worked, but only because she needed supplies.


    Signing every single question or thought were hard work. There were no perfect words or signs better than simple talking. I¡¯d heard that in big cities, a few folks who were deaf or truly mute had tried to get signing letters together¡ªbut this far west, no one cared. It didn¡¯t feel right trying to figure it out simply because actual talking bothered me.


    We climbed the hill slowly. As night approached, monsters would be more likely to crawl out and attack. They didn¡¯t like daytime for the same reason ink dried in sunlight. The rays purified and often destroyed anything unstable. I kept a steady pace and resigned myself to running if dawn¡¯s light poked over the east. We had hours to make it up, and that might be enough.


    ¡°Tired,¡± Jenn said as the sun dipped lower.


    I sighed. Flops weren¡¯t well-suited for nighttime work. They were creatures of sunlight, farmers, in the same way Delvers were creatures of the mine.


    The ground vibrated softly, and that bothered me. No obvious critters were charging around, but it felt like a herd of cows migrating. The constant patter of hundreds of feet slowly traveling put me on edge. I gazed up the hill, but the sky grew darker and the ground harder to see.


    ¡°You should go home,¡± I whispered to her.


    She hustled to catch up. I didn¡¯t argue. Few people were left in Chandler¡¯s Field that I cared to talk to, and I could do worse than being lost climbing The Mountain with her. In any other situation, it might be kind of fun. Home would never be more than a day or two away. We could live off the land and trap whatever provisions existed. Unlike Lily, Jenn would stay. Our lives were tied to The Mountain.


    Never mind, I thought. The idea of spending quality time up here were stupid. We were friends and would only ever be friends. Every other thought needed to be pushed straight out of my mind.


    Dull thudding grew louder as we trudged farther up the incline. My thumb unclicked the button on my blade¡¯s sheath before Jenn charged past me. I couldn¡¯t see much besides her butt wiggling in threadbare clothes. My face flushed and thoughts grew distracted.


    Damn her, I thought then silently cursed myself for not acting upon her father myself. Maybe if I¡¯d pushed harder or screamed, then Jenn could have been spared the troubles. Still, the past were the past and I couldn¡¯t let myself dwell on undoing it. One could only do better.


    Seeing more than a few feet in front of me grew harder as the sun dipped farther. Jenn stopped near trees and scanned for predators. When she turned far enough for me to see her face, it became obvious that her eyelids were barely open. The woman had to be half asleep. I couldn¡¯t tell if it were because of her Flop nature or simply not getting enough sleep.


    My worry for Jenn overrode the desire to keep quiet. ¡°You¡¯re getting tired. You should go,¡± I said while motioning to her.


    ¡°Shush. Loud boy.¡± She yawned then scratched a floppy ear.


    Her entire body vibrated, and I gulped. Here we were on a mountain, walking up to the pit above to dump in a dead dog¡ªand I kept getting distracted by a female. My hands burned with that weird emotional concoction mixed between upset anger and desire. The vision of Jenn¡¯s body rippling replayed once more in a slower a haze of purple and dark blue. I shook my head and curled my toes to keep the blood from rushing anywhere it shouldn¡¯t.


    She sniffed then moved up the hill. We still had hours to go and the sun had gone. I glanced about, thinking creatures were moving at the edges of the darkness. The knife in my right hand tingled as it moved with no rhyme or reason. It felt like a leg falling asleep, but only on my fingertips where I¡¯d touched the black ink.


    I loosened my grip then switched the weapon to my other hand. That one heated up but didn¡¯t tingle like the right side.


    My body quivered as realization set in. They were different types of marks, and both clearly were trying to do something. Refined tattoos could perform miracles¡ªand Ranger Hardwood had said two types of ink were required. I¡¯d touched the rainbow heart and that beast¡¯s core, and it¡¯d resulted in something. They were doing something. I didn¡¯t enjoy the idea of unprocessed inks creating unknown effects inside my hands. It sounded suspiciously like a process that would get me killed.


    I flexed and unflexed my right hand until the tingles stopped, then I walked straight into Jenn¡¯s tiny form. She stumbled forward a step then pushed me back with surprising firmness for her size.


    She yawned then pointed. ¡°Look there. Blind clumsy warm man. Learn to see in the dark.¡±


    I huffed. Jenn pointed toward a building covered by branches. Most of the deadwood looked deliberately placed around what seemed to be an abandoned shed. I could only see portions of it now that she showed me where to look.


    Jenn turned toward me and yawned without covering her face. I reached a hand out and covered it for her. She closed her eyes and drifted off, falling toward me. I swiftly bent and managed to catch her collapsing form. A soft snore started almost immediately. Her eyes rolled briefly then closed. Her breath steamed against the cooling night air into my face. I breathed back and her nose twitched.


    Pushing mine carts for months had given me a wiry form that held enough strength for a tiny Flop girl. I lifted her slowly and carefully stepped toward the building she¡¯d discovered. I awkwardly elbowed branches out of the way and the door flopped open¡ªit didn¡¯t have a lock or even a handle to keep it closed after the branch was moved.


    The inside of the tiny shack had a single chair and no one else in sight. A small candle sat on a shelf, matches to its side. I fumbled with the satchel and Jenn but managed to get her into a decent position upon the chair. Once she were positioned, I struck a match and lit the candle.


    She sniffed, shifted to the side, then thumped a foot against the floor twice before waking enough to talk. ¡°Chase?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± I said quietly from where I crouched in front of her.


    Her lips twitched then went slack. She snored. I were glad I¡¯d bathed and changed my clothes so she wouldn¡¯t wake up commenting about me having an unwashed butthole.


    I took a second look around the small building. It were no bigger than my bedroom, and half the roof sat exposed to the stars. Metal racks were under the exposed roof. Two barrels sat against a wall on the covered side. They looked like broken versions of the ones we used at Wellbrook Mines. Slats of wood had been replaced and were slathered in varnish.


    What is going on? I asked myself.


    A smaller shelf sat above Jenn. I peered inside a box on that shelf. Small carved bits of wood were cradling objects that looked exactly like the cores Ranger Hardwood had shown me¡ªbut far smaller. These balls were almost half the size of marbles the kids played with in town. Everything clicked.


    My face went cold. Someone were out here in the woods refining ink¡ªwho knew monster hearts were required to make the tattooing process work. I slowly circled the cramped space. There were pouches with more supplies inside. The only thing new in here happened to be a set of gloves like what we used in the mine. What I couldn¡¯t understand were how anyone had gotten these supplies got out of the mine without anyone¡¯s notice¡ªmuch less the broken supplies. Tattooist Cassandra had said nothing happened on The Mountain without her knowledge.


    I did laps in the small room while my breathing increased. Someone had an ink refinery to the north and farther down the hill from Wellbrook. Someone had smuggled supplies and enough ink for tattoos. The barrels were empty. Only three of the cores remained. No dried ink anywhere in the entire shack. Someone had already taken it out¡ªand who knew what uses they¡¯d put it to.


    The door banged open. A man came screaming in with a branch. I swung my knife, expecting a creature from the ink. Blade banged into wood, and I jerked the knife back to get it free from the branches.


    Ducky stood a foot away, between Jenn and me. His body heaved while his face reddened. ¡°Get out!¡±


    ¡°Nngh?¡± Jenn said.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Ducky turned as his face drooped in surprise. I dove then pushed us out the door. The last time we¡¯d fought, both of us had been damaged and tired. This time, I knew he¡¯d been siphoning off supplies from the mine and stolen enough for a tattoo. The only reason he¡¯d gotten ahead of me were because he cheated. No wonder he never brought up any actual barrels or hadn¡¯t been working his details. The teen had been sneaking ink through another entrance into the Wellbrook Mines that had to be nearby somewhere.


    I lost my goddamned mind and dove at him with the blade. Ducky backed away then swatted at my dipping head with the branch. My foot caught then pushed me back up with the blade point twisted around. His branch struck again, and my sharpened blade cut off leaves.


    The knife scorched in my left hand. Rage colored my vision. Ducky¡¯s body glowed with a red that beat like The Mountain¡¯s Blood. Rapid pulsing filled my head, furthering my anger. Ducky and his unwashed asshole had cheated. I hated a cheater more than a person who couldn''t honor his promises.


    Blue pulsed up his arm as a tattoo activated. He moved swifter than expected. I suspected speed or coordination¡ªneither of which I had.


    My own markings were wild, untested, and scared me if I thought about them. Only now I weren¡¯t thinking about their actions. I felt heat in one hand intensify while the other tingled more as I held it out, ready to grab his stupid branch. Those sensations from my hands collided with my red anger at Ducky.


    His eyes were focused on the knife. The blade glowed as its tip burned. I chopped my weapon at his branch and barely noted as flames ignited along the leaves. He dropped it and I stepped in quickly¡ªless afraid of him than any monster I¡¯d ever seen.


    ¡°Should have got a green,¡± I whispered and cut the man¡¯s arm viciously.


    He yelled then kicked me backward. I thrust at him again with the heated weapon, wanting to stab him again until his guts spilled upon the floor. A rush of thudding footsteps startled me, and I looked away in time to see a huge meaty arm swing at me. The blow collided with me, and my knife only scratched the monstrous limb. Wind rushed across my face and my stomach lurched as the world spun.


    Ducky stood thirty feet away, near the giant creature¡ªunafraid of its immense size. Another one appeared behind him. Not as large. Both were deformed caricatures of humans that looked closer to children¡¯s drawings. They were shaped differently and their faces were hard to make out, but they looked to be a male and female pair.


    Red slowly faded from around my enemy. I tried to understand what had happened but could only feel the inkling of leftover rage. My hand tingled as I struggled to get the blade between those beasts and me. The red heartbeat flickered and slowly died. Only light from the refining shack remained.


    That¡¯s no Flop, I thought.


    ¡°Wildling,¡± the man grunted with heavy breaths. ¡°Careful, wildling. Broken Gift should not¡ª¡± He stopped talking then labored to breathe. The misshapen arm hung heavily in front of him like a prop.


    ¡°Not wildling,¡± the female slurred like a drunk seven shots in. Her legs were deformed and neck crooked. She lifted an arm toward Ducky and he winced. The monstrous female withdrew then looked at the ground. ¡°He¡¯s a sap still. A dabbler.¡±


    ¡°No. He¡¯s more.¡± The man with the huge arm took a deep breath then grunted. He beckoned rapidly with his smaller, normal-looking arm. ¡°I sense it. The taint of a Heart Seeker. Remove those gloves. Now!¡±


    I shook my head then snapped the sign for no using my free hand. The formerly heated tip of my dagger dimmed greatly. My back bumped into the shed¡¯s wall as I struggled to stand. I wanted to be upright, but the giant creature were too big and loomed.


    ¡°Gloves! Now!¡± the man bellowed while stumbling closer. His face grew more defined in the pale light. He tilted to one side as the weight of his arm threw him off balance.


    My sight followed the arm muscles up and took note of the meaty fist which had slammed me. My heart beat loudly. Fingers tingled on one hand as the other burned hotly then shook as a dozen rapid-fire emotions tried to drown me. I looked back and saw Jenn¡¯s form in the broken doorway. She rubbed her face with a fur-backed hand. Her body shook off the sleepiness in a shiver that made my head grow hazy.


    ¡°Hands, sap!¡± the large one yelled, demanding my attention once more. His fist fell to the ground with a thud that vibrated the building walls.


    ¡°Chase?¡± She sniffed then squinted with tired eyes. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Stay inside!¡± I raised my voice while waving at Jenn. The sudden use of my lungs made me heave and cough. Sharp pain radiated up my side. One leg tingled from colliding with the ground.


    Ducky flinched while cradling his arm. The female¡¯s deformed face twisted on one side with worry while the other half looked dead.


    The large-armed man raised his fist again. ¡°Show me your hands! Or she gets hit next!¡± Spittle from his deformed face flaked toward me. He grabbed the roof then shook the small structure.


    Ducky shouted something then slammed a hand over his mouth. I looked between the mean mug looming above, Jenn¡¯s swaying form, and the other two standing in the shadows. The threat made me colder than any night air possibly could.


    I kept myself steady then removed both gloves. The blackened tips on one hand were hard to see. Enough discoloration were visible in the candlelight that spilled from inside. They nearly blended into the darkness.


    The deformed man¡¯s eyes bugged, then he stepped back and swallowed. ¡°Heart Seeker.¡±


    He took two more steps away when I turned up the palm of my other hand. There in the center was a spider web pattern in a swirl of colors that were lined with red. It kept changing.


    ¡°What happened to your hands?¡± Ducky¡¯s voice were loud.


    I didn¡¯t know how to answer¡ªand Ducky wouldn¡¯t be the one I¡¯d explain to even if I knew. My eyes narrowed as the larger man continued his retreat. He nodded in comical cordiality then spun away as though the sight of my hands had urged him to flee. His knees knocked.


    ¡°What is that?¡± Ducky whispered loudly.


    ¡°Not wildling business.¡± The man shuffled away quickly despite the laborious breaths he took.


    Ducky stumbled after him. ¡°But you made the mute¡ª¡± Ducky were silenced by the male monster cuffing the back of his head.


    ¡°If you become a Ranger, then ask again,¡± the woman said as she followed them.


    The trio disappeared quickly into the tree line. I thought there were other shadows moving in the darkness but couldn¡¯t see well enough to know for sure. Only the sound of leaves rustling and branches snapping gave me any hint other people were about.


    ¡°Who were?¡± Jenn whispered then slowly collapsed and fell onto me.


    She shook her head repeatedly then planted her face straight into my lap and snored again. The candle behind us flickered and sputtered. Cold air whistled through the trees. Jenn¡¯s body shivered and kicked, but her head stayed warm. I let her be and thought.


    I felt haggard. My head swam as the last of my anger drifted away. My ribs hurt and were probably cracked from the earlier blow. Inhaling hurt, but I remained clearheaded enough to be worried. The markings on my hands bothered me¡ªespecially given how those inhuman creatures had reacted. I wondered where they came from¡ªand how Ducky were related to them. He had his secrets, and I had precious few left to myself.


    Black fingertips tingled sharply anytime they pointed toward Jenn. I couldn¡¯t shake the term Heart Seeker. It felt like a tattoo name, but the ink on my fingers had come from a giant monster that ate other monsters. The cold bit me harder as a feeling of helpless, gut-shaking dread grew; I wanted to scream. I recalled the leather-faced Ranger holding the glob of ink as if it meant nothing. Its pitch-black body had small swirls inside the core.


    What made us different? I asked myself.


    I recalled Harold¡¯s words. ¡°A filth so strong it eats others of its kind,¡± the Delver had told me the night of the full moon.


    Heart Seeker, the crab-armed man had labeled it.


    My hand reacted to those changed by ink. I wondered briefly if that was how Delvers were given their gifts. Somehow, this twisted marking gained by fighting smaller monsters must be similar to their gifts of finding ink in the mines.


    What then of the rainbow drop? I asked myself while examining my other hand. I made sure not to touch Jenn with either uncovered marking, afraid of what they might do.


    She snored softly. Jenn¡¯s hands were tucked under her head, precariously close to my dangling bits. I worried she would wake up screaming about unwashed buttholes and other derogatory terms. I cast my gaze upward and tried not to think on either topic. The sky above were lit with stars and a pretty woman lay here with me. It were more romantic than the drunken studding I¡¯d spent with Lily.


    More creatures like those two probably roamed around in the night. I could feel the patter of hundreds of footsteps. The vibrations came from up the hill, closer to The Mountain¡¯s ridge. When I looked through the trees near the skyline, faint shadows danced. Other deformed mockeries of humans moved in the darkness¡ªa swarm of them that might have only been in my imagination. They didn¡¯t come close. It gave me the impression of people afraid to be seen. The soft sound of vocal-based droning increased. If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d say that up the hill, hundreds of those former people hummed the same song.


    I glanced at Jenn¡¯s face and once again tried not to take her comfort with me for granted. I only let a few get close to me, and the other way around were also true. Greg, Poss, and Lily had once been my friends. Lily had certainly set herself apart.


    No use dwelling on any of it. I haven¡¯t got the luxury of caring. I needed to finish this task, get my ink, then worry about relationships later.


    The candlelight inside flickered then dimmed. Gently, I shook Jenn¡¯s shoulder. She moaned, sounding dangerously aroused. The Flop¡¯s ears jerked as she rocked, then her hand struck my groin. I doubled over, completely dislodging Jenn, and groaned in pain. Being hit by the branch had been bad enough. Being punched a dozen times had probably cracked a rib. Now this¡ªand I didn¡¯t know which pain felt worse.


    The Flop bent over my prone form. ¡°No! Bad!¡± she repeated to my face while waving the tiny finger.


    My eyes watered as I nodded. I had no clue what had happened to get such a violent reaction. My face burned, and each breath made every ache on my body worsen. I weakly bent an arm and pointed toward the hilltop.


    ¡°Time,¡± I groaned.


    Jenn looked more alert than ever. Her head turned as she scanned the area. I rocked to the side and lay there trying not to whimper like one of Cassandra¡¯s puppies. She¡¯d been in my lap and all I¡¯d done were touch her shoulder to wake the girl. Obviously I¡¯d triggered something. I should have known better.


    Eventually I loosened enough to pull my hands away from my groin. They weakly grasped at air as pain lingered.


    ¡°Your hands. What¡¯s wrong with them?¡±


    I shook my head. Jenn looked away and slowly walked up the hill without me. I braced myself against the building before I managed to get upright. It hurt like hell, but six months of working Wellbrook Mines had taught me pain were a constant. My daddy had said men learn to suck it up and make do. I survived the pain long enough to recover my belongings then slowly walked after her.


    The gloves were back in place, which hurt. Each step came with a shiver of agony. The drone of low chanting or singing continued ahead of us and only grew stronger as we walked. Jenn strode on fearlessly and only stopped once in a while to check our surroundings. I trusted she¡¯d know the dangers of being up here at night better than I did¡ªand I were almost utterly useless.


    I fingered my dagger hilt and worried it might heat up in the sheath. The stitched leather felt cool in the night air. Neither marking made a lot of sense, and sitting down to dwell on them needed to wait. But for the moment, it distracted me from the pain.

 12 - Sins of the Fathers

    Near the top of The Mountain, it grew easier to see. Starlight and hours in darkness had helped us adapt. Or so Jenn muttered between name-calling. We were closer to the stars. Or maybe it were The Mountain itself which illuminated the darkness.


    Jenn froze a good fifty feet away from the ridge. I gasped then fell into a set of bushes¡ªin case one of the priests who watched The Mountain¡¯s top had found us. Jenn were quick to join me.


    ¡°Idiot. You almost walked into them,¡± she whispered then slowly stuck her head out to peek.


    I glanced through the bushes. Rows of deformed creatures stood at the ridge. They hummed a low dirge that reminded me of the Delvers but lacked words. Every few lines, they stomped their feet in unison, which made the ground rumble.


    ¡°What are they?¡± I asked.


    Jenn swallowed then fell to her knees. She rocked and faced away from the mass of people. I looked back at them, then at the woman, and couldn¡¯t figure out what were wrong.


    ¡°The wildlings. They think like a man. Look too inhuman. I could have been one. I could have been one¡­¡± Jenn sank into the bushes and trembled. Her small hand, covered lightly by fur, clenched mine.


    I was thankful the gloves were on, in case they were what had set her off last time.


    What do I say? I asked myself. Lily felt less complicated than Jenn¡ªby far. Lily wanted and were pretty enough to get what she wanted. Jenn had looks but had been broken by time.


    We waited. The army of almost humans continued their low chant. Dozens of voices merged to create a rumble that swung up then bent low. The noise dimmed as time passed. I looked over my shoulder to see the beings drifting away.


    Once they were gone, I¡¯d go up to the ridge myself and throw in the bag. Then Jenn and I could get off this cursed mountaintop before any beasts of ink spawned. At least now I knew why nothing had attacked us. There were too many of those strange, deformed humans around for even the most insane monster to try.


    ¡°What are they doing?¡± I whispered.


    ¡°Asking for forgiveness. Throwing themselves in out of grief. For what they¡¯ve become.¡±


    How do you know so much about this? I thought. After years under The Mountain¡¯s gaze, I¡¯d never heard of any such ritual. Though it sounded a lot like what happened on a full moon¡ªonly for deformed people who let out that downtrodden series of low notes.


    ¡°We could all go that way. When touched. I could have died. I could have fought the change.¡± Her breath quickened and spit out a few words at a time. ¡°Or not made a choice. Been like them. That happens. The man who marked me said. Once I got too many. That I¡¯d have to choose. Death. Or life. Or change. My dad used to call me his little bunny. I saw it. Me. Like a bunny. I chose this.¡± She gasped then quivered. ¡°Then he. Then he.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault,¡± I said while putting my other arm around her shoulders.


    In all these years, she still hadn¡¯t gotten over what happened. I didn¡¯t know if that were normal for what she went through. I didn¡¯t know how to handle or help her. All I could figure out were Jenn didn¡¯t want to be alone.


    If I had a little girl, I¡¯d never let her suffer this broken sense of self. I¡¯d sooner murder a man than let him scar someone dear to me like this.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. I know,¡± I said.


    The humming chant lowered in pitch. People walked by, giving us a wide area of space. Jenn¡¯s face held still as we watched. It were as though she tried to turn her insides senseless by not letting her face react.


    ¡°Your daddy. He killed mine. Like a demon from hell, he strode in. Then killed him. But I burned down the house. I burned it down. Stared at the wreckage. Felt dead. Wished I¡¯d never become what he made me.¡± Jenn¡¯s body were tightly wound.


    I held still, afraid to get punched for trying to help. She let me hold her, and that spoke miles more than anything else.


    ¡°And still I can¡¯t forget. Eight years and I can¡¯t forget.¡±


    My heart broke. She¡¯d shared bits of the story over our time together but never strung it all together like this. Even the hints had painted an ugly picture. I wished I could go back and kill the man again.


    ¡°I¡¯ll put this pup in. I¡¯ll get my mark. Then once Momma is safely away, you can use my home. And once I¡¯m a Ranger, no one will ever touch you wrong again.¡±


    She sniffed then shuddered in that Flop vibration that made my thoughts inappropriate. I tried to speak more. If I couldn¡¯t break my vow of silence for Jenn, then there¡¯d be no one else in the world worth talking to.


    ¡°And I do think you¡¯re cute. Even if you punched me in the balls.¡±


    Which still hurts, came a dry afterthought.


    She snorted then choked out a sob that almost sounded happy. ¡°Stupid boy.¡±


    I looked up the hill. All the creatures had left during our hushed conversation. Dawn couldn¡¯t be far away and the place was cold. Having Jenn with me had helped more than I ever suspected.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back,¡± I whispered.


    There weren¡¯t much distance between the top and me. Illumination around the top made the ledge easy to see. On a new moon, the ink should be at an all-time low, so the glow couldn¡¯t come from that. I knew because miners spoke of traveling to the deepest parts of Wellbrook Mines on new moons¡ªplaces filled with ink on normal days.


    I filed away the mystery and crept closer to the edge. The others were gone. Jenn and I had watched the procession of deformed humans walk into the tree line¡ªnot down our side but to the northern ridge by the temple grounds.


    ¡°It¡¯s past midnight on a new moon. Your kind should be leaving,¡± a soft-sounding male said. ¡°Are you still deciding?¡±


    The unexpected voice made me jump then gasp with pain. Where did you come from?


    The man wore a white robe that hung loose around the arms. His head tilted in my direction, but thick fabric was draped over his face. Whatever he wore faded in and out of sight as I watched.


    ¡°You must be newly deformed. Worry not. I can¡¯t see you. All priests wear blindfolds on the night of a new moon¡ªto not anger those who seek forgiveness for their faithlessness.¡±


    Faithlessness? The term got tucked away as another problem for another day.


    If they¡¯re blindfolded, then why did Cassandra warn me not to be seen? I asked myself. The idea made no sense. Unless she were testing something else entirely, such as my willingness to follow impossible conditions. I huffed while thinking sour thoughts at all those efforts. I¡¯d failed anyway because of Ducky.


    ¡°If you wish to give yourself to The Mountain, you may. None here will stop you.¡± The priest barely moved as his body faded from my sight.


    I hesitated and tried to make sense of the man. He¡¯d stood on a distinct path to the peak. I knew from my last visit that the ridge would be cleared all around and there was a walkway that went over the pools to lower bodies in. He reappeared like a ghost, waving an arm and gesturing to the last dozen yards between the edge and me. I slowly walked past him, got down on all fours, and crept toward the hole. The pool of ink that had been there last time were gone. Only a deep dark hole remained.


    I hated this place. I hated it with a kind of ire that made my heartbeat hammer loudly. Kneeling over the edge reminded me of the day my daddy had been sent into the pools. In truth, when my father had been lowered into the ink, I only saw one thing. Silver. That was how I knew it were real. It¡¯d been there around his body as he sank under the surface. I searched for it now but couldn¡¯t see a hint of ink. Not even rainbow drops from The Mountain¡¯s heart were visible tonight.


    I opened the pouch. The lingering scents of roses and herbs stung my nose and I sneezed. The deceased baby dog were still inside. The drawstring tightened, and I tossed the whole mess over the edge. The pup¡¯s bag descended, rolling off walls and making little noise. I hoped to see a hint of shining light appear as it had before. None showed up. I tilted my head back at the starry sky and wondered what it all meant.


    ¡°Drifty idiot! Stop dreaming! Come on!¡± Jenn whispered loudly from the bushes.


    The priest stood over my shoulder. His sudden appearance made me jump. Rocks tumbled down The Mountain¡¯s heart.


    He said, ¡°You¡¯re welcome to return, if you ever wish to make another sacrifice or ask for forgiveness.¡±


    I ignored the spooky priest¡¯s words then slipped back down the hill. Jenn and I moved quicker than my ribs liked¡ªbut with each step, I felt better. My shoulders loosened while the pain receded in a rush of euphoria. I¡¯d done the task.


    Neither of us spoke of what had transpired. Hours later, Jenn and I grew close to the road. A growing heat beamed down from the sun. Today would be hot. We continued down, on our way back to Cassandra¡¯s homestead.


    Four figures stood in a circle, chattering to each other. Hardwood¡¯s leathery face and her hat stood out first¡ªfollowed by Cassandra in her many-colored dress. Or maybe the Tattooist simply turned it around. I couldn¡¯t tell. The other two looked vaguely familiar. One of the guys stood closer to Hardwood, and his skeletal features and pale skin remained the same as ever.


    I cast a glance to find Jenn, but the Flop had vanished. My face tightened and my relief dissolved. I hoped she¡¯d be okay. Jenn could run like the wind if she wanted.


    ¡°Quiet now. Our potential returned from his mission,¡± Tattooist Cassandra said.


    ¡°Took long enough,¡± responded the Ranger I¡¯d only seen once before. He¡¯d been escorting Ducky after the full moon¡ªObsidian, I think were his name. The gruffness to his voice and bent posture set me on edge. He sounded like the asshole Ducky had called him.


    Their circle broke as all four spread slightly then glared at me like a room full of judges prepared to issue a verdict. I refused to let myself pause and kept moving forward. Ranger Obsidian scrunched his face and looked sour. Ranger Hardwood snorted then shook her head. Tawny tucked back a cheek, making him appear even more gaunt. Cassandra crooked a finger at me then turned to walk away.


    I followed. Working in the mine couldn¡¯t shake me and I went back week after week, even after being injured. A night among monsters kept me on edge. But being flanked by three Rangers made me shiver with unease. These four could decide the future of my plans.


    ¡°What did you see?¡± Cassandra asked.


    Her voice pulled at me and the pain drifted. Those behind me mattered a little less. I couldn¡¯t tell if their lessening importance made me feel better or worse.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    The desire to answer her silken words lingered. Dozens of pieces of information replayed as I blinked for a long time. My feet moved onward and I came to conclusions. The information of Ducky¡¯s shack shouldn¡¯t be shared for fear it might ruin my success. The other creatures were probably more important to her.


    Why else send me on a new moon? I asked myself as events clicked. The pup in a bag could be an excuse. Seeing those deformed people had been one of the main points. Avoiding humans had forced me to think on my own. I could see it coming together like one of my daddy¡¯s life lessons. He¡¯d been fond of the same strategy. Set me to a task that had multiple outcomes, each of which had value.


    ¡°I saw people that weren¡¯t human,¡± I said carefully.


    The Rangers made different noises. Hardwood¡¯s judgmental snort overwhelmed Obsidian¡¯s low growl. Only Tawny remained soundless. I checked behind me to make sure the pale Ranger still followed us. He did, and his buggy eyes in that thin skull had me worried.


    ¡°The wildlings. Did they disgust you?¡± Cassandra¡¯s voice made me face forward again.


    A memory of Jenn¡¯s rocking form came to mind. She¡¯d said those people were a deformed outcome from ink exposure that I hadn¡¯t known about. Their existence were another secret of The Mountain that little boys weren¡¯t told in stories. I¡¯d had time to think on them as we came down the hill.


    ¡°They made me sad,¡± I said.


    ¡°Why?¡± Cassandra asked.


    ¡°Because ink did that to them, twisted their bodies until they wanted to kill themselves. People want it because it gives them powers that ain¡¯t natural. All they get is poison to the soul. It makes people slaves, transforms them into bodies they don¡¯t want. Monsters spawn from it and kill innocents.¡±


    Her cheek lifted gently. ¡°Yet you came to me for a mark.¡±


    There were no good answers that didn¡¯t feel foolish to utter. I¡¯d already spoken more than I wanted. Her enthrallment made me want to answer until she smiled.


    ¡°I need what I need,¡± I said.


    She smiled as if someone had given her a freshly baked pie or meat from a bear. Her eyes and cheeks lifted. I looked away to shake off the urge to drown in Cassandra¡¯s happy expression. That gave me a chance to study the location¡ªa large clearing with a fire pit dug in its center. The smell of burned wood and ash lingered.


    Tattooist Cassandra pointed at a long piece of wood serving as a bench. I sat, and the Rangers took up other benches. They all wore different expressions, but I¡¯d swear they were nervous about something. I didn¡¯t know Rangers could be nervous about anything. Hardwood especially¡ªshe¡¯d chased down a monster bear through caverns of traps.


    ¡°Take off your gloves,¡± Cassandra said.


    Oh, my mind said as the reason for this gathering became obvious. The markings I¡¯d picked up had scared those wildings¡ªI guessed they were called¡ªon The Mountain. I inhaled deeply and shuddered as it released. Exhaustion made me swoon, and I wished Jenn were somewhere close to help me feel less alone. ¡°Idiot,¡± she¡¯d say.


    The gloves came off slowly. My hands clenched tightly to hide the marks for a few more seconds. Cassandra hadn¡¯t lost that sly smile. A pit grew in my stomach as I turned up both palms. Neither hand stayed steady and the trembling worsened the longer they stared without comment.


    ¡°It took. Told you,¡± Hardwood spoke first.


    I grasped my hands together around the gloves and waited until someone told me they could be put back on.


    Tawny shook his head.


    Obsidian¡¯s face scrunched in clear anger. ¡°How did he survive without enough markings? He should have been corrupted beyond belief. He should have been deformed like those others. Or died.¡±


    ¡°You know why,¡± Hardwood responded.


    ¡°Pah.¡±


    My neck hurt from whipping back and forth between them. They all sat in different spots and each one reacted differently. Only Tawny¡¯s tight skin stretched as he frowned and looked down. Obsidian¡¯s face puckered, making him look even older. Hardwood pulled back a cheek and grinned in happiness. Her hand took Tawny¡¯s and gave it a squeeze.


    ¡°Can¡ª ¡± Their heads whipped toward me in unison and I froze. Both hands tightened as I attempted to hide the blackened fingertips. They were worse than a bruise and darker than night and impossible to hide.


    Cassandra fiddled with a box.


    ¡°Can I get my marking? I need it so I can stand in the trials.¡±


    The three Rangers reacted much the same as they had to everything else. I blocked them from my mind as though they were passengers on the stagecoach home; they were just people talking about something that didn¡¯t matter to me. Whereas Cassandra stood above Foreman Kindle and could decide my fate.


    ¡°So you do. Shirt¡¯ll have to come off.¡±


    It hit the ground before I even registered the pain of lifting my arms. The damage from being knocked around caught up. My face tightened, then my eyes closed. I took slow breaths. Someone guided me to a flat spot on the ground while another person started the fire. I couldn¡¯t catch who were who. Once my eyes closed, I kept them that way and focused on breathing evenly. Lying down did not help the pain. The damage from before only felt worse when I lost things to focus on.


    Fabric brushed against my arms as someone positioned me better. Two others lifted me and lodged a pack of goods under my belly to prop me at an angle. Rough hands adjusted my head to one side and shoved my shirt underneath my face. I groaned in pain as they jostled me.


    ¡°You know you weren¡¯t wrong when you called the Wildlings sad.¡± Cassandra¡¯s voice soothed me. No questions pulled at me to answer, only a calming tone I wanted to listen to. ¡°They were faced with the burning choice and failed. The ink made their inner turmoil surface. Venturing too far down this path puts everyone at the trial of life, death, or transformation. It has more to do with the heart than we ever tell the untouched.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t need to know that,¡± Obsidian said.


    ¡°Stop being contrary,¡± Hardwood snapped.


    ¡°When you stop being an uptight bitch.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re talking to my wife,¡± Tawny¡¯s voice lowered.


    I opened my eyes to see the mess of them standing across the fire, talking without much civility for a supposedly unified group. The fact that even Rangers couldn¡¯t see eye-to-eye all the time shattered a sliver of my childhood dreams.


    ¡°He¡¯s been touched. He needs to know. A good tattooist woulda told him while he¡¯d been at a real table getting his ink,¡± Tawny said while glaring at the darker man.


    ¡°This ain¡¯t no table,¡± Obsidian responded.


    ¡°We¡¯re not doing this marking at a table. We do this one here¡ªat The Mountain¡¯s base. It¡¯d be better still up top, but the priests will insist on a ceremony one they know what¡¯s happening,¡± Cassandra¡¯s voice broke away from its normal velvety tone. She sounded annoyed with the lot of squabbling Rangers.


    Soft fingers ran down my back, poking at muscles and sore spots. I hadn¡¯t a mirror to check, but it felt as though Cassandra touched the edge of a massive bruise after my scuffle. She seemed to finally settle on a space between my shoulder blades as the others talked.


    The grumpy man said, ¡°So? Who cares what those prissy¡ª¡±


    Cassandra¡¯s words cut off Obsidian. ¡°It¡¯s already started. But for tonight, I don¡¯t want to be disturbed. By any of you. Go watch the woods until I¡¯m done.¡±


    I whimpered softly and struggled to keep the pain to myself.


    ¡°Hush, Chase.¡± Her words obscured everything else in the world. If the earlier pull had been normal, this were a dozen times worse. I couldn¡¯t help myself and did exactly as she asked.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with my hands?¡± One tingled maddeningly. The other felt hot. Being near Rangers, who were so mired in ink that they might as well be monsters themselves, had set off my blackened fingers.


    She said, ¡°All in due time. Now try to rest.¡±


    I drifted away almost immediately, the questions of my hands out the window.


    My back felt uneasy as time passed in spurts. Something I couldn¡¯t see tapped against it. With each touch, my skin crawled for an age. Cassandra shushed me throughout the process. Sometimes I¡¯d see one of the Rangers dropping by with unrecognizable objects. It looked like a table leg sat in front of my face. With each spurt of time, the table leg moved a little and the pinpricks on my back changed direction.


    The sky above was darkening again. I felt a bit more aware than before. My hand jerked as my senses noted the sudden changes. The needle poked my back. With each stab, a tingling sensation crawled across my skin and under it. Muscles twitched.


    ¡°Calm yourself, Chase. Disorientation is¡­¡±


    Her words faded away as time skipped once more. I woke colder than last night. Darkness overhead. My stomach twisted with distant hunger. How long have I been here? I asked myself. The fire that had only been sparks now roared in a blaze.


    Cassandra no longer sat above me. The warmth of her layers of fabric had vanished and my back felt incredibly cold. Even the flames did little to stop the night air.


    ¡°What did you give me?¡±


    ¡°Shush, child. It¡¯s not done yet.¡±


    I am not a child. I haven¡¯t been a child since Daddy died, I thought with distant anger at a world that accused me of being too young. Her task hadn¡¯t been easy, but with Jenn¡¯s help, I¡¯d managed. By my own reckoning to the storekeeper, The Mountain, and everyone in between, I should now be considered a man.


    ¡°What are you giving me?¡± My throat ached from rawness. Talking hurt worse the second time.


    She walked around the fire with one hand holding back the folds of her skirt. The tattooist bent onto her knees then pressed a finger into my back. ¡°The piece is called Eyes of a Man. There are three markings that make up one. First, The Watchful, which a man uses to see dangers before they reach his charge. So that he can stand in their way.¡± Cassandra moved her finger right slightly and pressed another spot that burned. ¡°Darkness Ward. One a man uses when it¡¯s his turn to stand against the hungering night. Shadows will not bar his sight, no matter how deep they grow.¡±


    I tapped the ground to get her attention then held up three fingers. Talking hurt. Lying here hurt. My chest and back hurt. I chose to keep quiet for fear of letting that pain out.


    Cassandra¡¯s hand moved right again. ¡°The third is Hidden Soul. It helps a man keep his secrets. You¡¯ll need that one most of all. Men don¡¯t like it when the world sees how weak they really are.¡±


    Footsteps crunched along cold ground. The smell of burnt meat hung in the air, and my stomach growled. Ranger Hardwood dropped off a stack of wood then sat. She went straight to work plucking feathers off a bird.


    ¡°Seems he didn¡¯t stay hidden the entire time,¡± Obsidian said. I¡¯d hoped he would stay in the woods, but apparently that wouldn¡¯t happen.


    The idea hit me. I got my markings. My body felt stiff and I wanted to move, but pressure on my back kept me still. At some point during the process, Cassandra had told me not to move until morning.


    ¡°He tried. You all saw that much. At least now we know how Derek achieved his marking.¡± Tawny¡¯s voice came from just out of my line of sight. A stick with meat hanging off the end entered my vision. My stomach heaved as the smell of food grew stronger.


    Hardwood plucked feathers from a dead fowl. ¡°Don¡¯t move anymore until it¡¯s done. There¡¯s no use being upset at the truth of your failure. Everyone screws up until life teaches them. And make no mistake, life only offers one lesson¡ªbe hard or die.¡±


    ¡°Derek had sense to find a better answer to an impossible task and he¡¯s half a wildling already. This boy, he couldn¡¯t have made it without that Flop girl. He¡¯s young, ignorant, and too reliant upon others,¡± Obsidian judged.


    ¡°You were no better during your trials,¡± Cassandra snapped.


    Her sudden anger startled me. I twitched then let out a faint whimper of pain.


    Ranger Hardwood set aside her fowl then grabbed a fresh piece of wood for the fire. Crackling filled the air and sparks arced off. One hit my face, but I only felt the cold. I would have given anything for a warm body against me to help fight off chill. My mouth barely moved, and that crawling sensation intensified. I shook slightly with the need for food and relief.


    ¡°Boy needs to be named with his first mark,¡± Hardwood said.


    ¡°He¡¯s not a Ranger. He may never be one.¡± Obsidian¡¯s clothes, attitude, and hair were black as his name.


    I foggily sent a prayer that The Mountain would claim Obsidian before it ever did me.


    ¡°He already has a name,¡± the tattooist said.


    ¡°Tell him then,¡± Hardwood said.


    Pressure pushed upon my shoulder¡ªI couldn¡¯t feel more than the weight past the niggling sensations. Cassandra¡¯s cowl hung loosely upon my face.


    She whispered in my ear, her tone begging me to heel and be a slave. ¡°I name you, Hound. Hound of the Mountain.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Ranger Obsidian said¡ªobviously having heard her words. ¡°Hounds never end well. They¡¯re worse than Sterlings!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like it. We don¡¯t need one,¡± Tawny said in agreement.


    Ranger Hardwood snorted. She looked around the fire at the others but lingered on Tawny. Her head shook slowly. My eyelids fluttered and vision lost focus.


    ¡°We had one before. And he was a hard man who paid the price. Now here¡¯s his pup, ignorant, worn, and already tainted in a way few others could even survive. If he completes the ceremony, you¡¯ll have something more useful than a Ranger.¡± Words echoed from earlier today. Potential to be useful, Cassandra had said. ¡°Too many are getting away with abuses that shouldn¡¯t be allowed. You know exactly who I¡¯m talking about.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t¡ª¡± Obsidian said.


    Cassandra put her hand up to shush the other man. ¡°It¡¯s not your job to do anything but expose him to the dangers like Hardwood had before. And on the full moon? He¡¯ll go below.¡±


    My eyelids fluttered. I focused on hearing everything the lot of them said. Secrets were being whispered. While they made little sense now, I¡¯d need to hear them to succeed. I just couldn¡¯t move to do anything about it. Their words went straight in my head, but by the time another person spoke, I¡¯d lost nearly all inkling of what the prior one said. A crawling sensation between my shoulder blades distracted me. The fire weren¡¯t hot enough. I heard dogs baying far in the distance¡ªor maybe wolves. Their howls made more sense.


    Obsidian¡¯s dark-soled boots were clear enough in the darkness. He stomped off between the trees and vanished. I struggled to get an arm pulled under me to relieve the pressure. My slight change gave me a better view of the remaining three people. Rocks and clumps of dirt dug unendingly into my feet. My stomach growled with hunger.


    ¡°Don¡¯t fidget. The ink needs to dry overnight,¡± Hardwood said while stirring the fire.


    Did Ducky do this too? For a moment, I almost respected the other man. I swallowed again and again until the strength to speak arrived. ¡°What were you all talking about?¡±


    Cassandra¡¯s eyes narrowed as she leaned toward the fire. Its heat did nothing to melt her pitiless gaze and sly smile. ¡°Once, your great-grandfather belonged to The Mountain. He¡¯d been one of the first in our region to give himself over. Then his son, and his son. Now, there¡¯s you.¡±


    I tried to follow the thoughts but couldn¡¯t. My parents had never mentioned anything about a family member who¡¯d done more than get a tattoo or two. Other than Momma¡¯s tales, they¡¯d never mentioned their parents. I struggled but could only hear daddy¡¯s words. Once The Mountain has you, there were no getting out alive.


    Maybe he¡¯d gotten those words from his father, and so on¡ªback to the person Cassandra talked about. My heartbeat sped and thoughts ran wild. What¡¯d they mean by ceremony?


    ¡°Get your rest. You¡¯re going to need it for the trials,¡± Ranger Hardwood said. Then she snorted in that damned mixture of judgment and amusement.


    That¡¯s right. All that fancy talk must have been some code about the upcoming Ranger trials. It all made a strange sort of sense that way.


    I closed my eyes and reminded myself that this were all for Momma.

 13 - Lessons of the Day

    Sound battered against my ears but made no sense. Cotton filled every part of me and turned the world into a nightmare. The middle of my back burned, itched, and the skin felt as if it¡¯d crawled off the bone, leaving my innards unprotected. Surely my heart sat there exposed to the midday sun.


    Strong pressure at my wrists kept me from digging at the irritation. I didn¡¯t like it. I didn¡¯t like any of it.


    Bugs, I thought. Bugs are under my skin. They keep biting. So many. Everywhere.


    The sensation felt exactly like those critters crawling over me down in the mines. They nipped at my remaining flesh that hadn¡¯t crawled away. The pressure on my wrists must belong to that beast. I were being hunted again. No, I had been hunted and this time the monster had caught me.


    Panic set me twisting. My face bashed against a hard object. The pain didn¡¯t slow me. Heavy breathing could be heard in the room as someone cried out in worry. Wild panic kept me writhing around violently.


    It has my arm! Both arms! It¡¯s pulling me in to eat me!


    A disgusting scent of feces and piss filled my nose. One leg shook uncontrollably. A tickling sensation ached right along my ass, along with numbness. My eyes opened and huge teeth snapped at me. A nose pressed against my face. Above the nose were wide white eyes. Fur framed a ring. Huge teeth formed lines for spittle to drop down.


    I took a deep breath to scream. My head jerked around and caught sight of a woman¡¯s chest. Her clothes torn to shreds. It must be another victim of the bear. She shouted incomprehensible words. Air around her writhed like God Hisself had reached through brown-colored clouds.


    Pressure bound my arms tightly, preventing me from scratching the ache between my shoulders. The beast had me trapped on my stomach. Both arms were bound behind me and its teeth dug into my muscle. The female captive yelled and stared wide-eyed at me. Her concerned face was unrecognizable as madness tore me. I struggled to flip over.


    ¡°Chase? Stupid Chase. Stupid,¡± a woman shouted over and over.


    I huffed rapidly. The bear sadistically played with me by keeping pressure on my spine. It refused to let me turn. Then a spike of pain radiated in my skull. My teeth slammed together as the world dimmed. My neck rolled and vision lingered long enough to see bunny ears. I only talked to one girl who had soft ears.


    ¡°Jenn?¡± I mumbled as the world dipped to black.


    When I awoke again, the feeling of bugs eating my innards through a hole along my spine had faded. Instead, three knots on my back ached as I struggled to sit. My arms burned. My vision stayed blurry and one eye couldn¡¯t see as well as the other.


    The bumps on my back twitched in an uneven cadence. Right, left, then the middle. The middle one hurt most, being placed right above my spine. I worked to put together what had happened.


    This were my bed. The sheets were a mess. Walls had streaks of blood on them, matching the red tips of my fingers. My blankets and every piece of fabric besides a single pair of britches were piled in a corner. It moved, and the rear end of a cotton-tailed Flop stuck out, along with bunny toe tips.


    Snores, or sobs, came from the pile. I groaned then turned over. My hands were uncovered, and the sour spots on my back twitched uncontrollably. The pile of clothes faded in and out, leaving me a vision of Jenn¡¯s form¡ªunobstructed by the clothing piles¡ªholding her body in a ball with her hands pressed over her ears. She cried, then my back twitched again and the sight faded.


    ¡°Whe¡ª¡± I breathed half a word then coughed violently. My body jerked, and each motion brought more minor hurts. There¡¯d been bugs and a large monster eating me, but the room were empty. ¡°Where¡¯s the filthy bear? I got¡­ to kill it. Free. Freedom.¡±


    No one answered. My head dipped and I lay slack as every muscle and bone reported pain. Thoughts came slowly as the situation became apparent.


    Were it a nightmare? I asked myself. The teeth had been real. The fuzzy face had looked like a bear¡¯s. Being locked in position had happened.


    How¡­ the thought trailed off. There were too many questions and none could be solved by staring at my bedroom walls.


    I worked to sit, but a muscle seized. My body flopped backward. It felt like blindfolds slammed over my eyes then tied tightly. Everything dimmed, and this time, both eyes were impacted. I rocked in the bed to build enough momentum to face the window. The sun had lowered. Earlier it¡¯d been bright out of one eye, like daylight.


    It must be the tattoo Cassandra had marked me with.


    There, on display for all the world, were my marked hands. Fainter than before, but maybe the haze of waking still clouded my eyes. I blinked repeatedly, and each time, the markings looking different. Black fingertips faded to gray then became almost flesh-colored. The spider web tainting from a rainbow drop also faded into my palm.


    Then I blinked, and they were back again. The room dimmed and brightened again. My vision wavered as different items magnified then vanished. I¡¯d been drunk before and never felt like this. Mushrooms from the forest floor had done something similar. My stomach twisted, and the urge to wretch hit me.


    My floor were covered in vomit and other unwholesome refuses. Signs of someone trying to mop were present, but they¡¯d only smeared the mess into foul piles. I followed the gunk across the room while swallowing back a sour-salty taste.


    Momma stood in the doorway. Her bottom lip quivered and arms shook. ¡°You okay, son? Those Rangers, they said you¡­¡±


    Whatever I were, okay did not seem an apt description. Okay felt like a dream some other man could live simply by not being me. But I were alive and my arms worked. Then I realized Momma still stood in the doorway. Her hands wrung a towel tightly.


    I lied by slowly nodding.


    ¡°You in control of your mind at last?¡± she asked.


    The question chilled me. My fingers curled into fists then clasped behind my back, but it reminded me of being pinned earlier. They jerked back out in front of me. I couldn¡¯t figure out where to keep the limbs to avoid bringing her attention to my markings and nothing felt right.


    ¡°If you¡¯re worried about your hands, there¡¯s no use hiding, boy. It¡¯s too late. I¡¯ve seen it all. Seen more than I thought I¡¯d ever see. Seen what I hoped never to see again. You¡¯ve done a dangerous thing. A fool¡¯s thing. Not sure how I raised such a dumb child. Your daddy¡ª¡±


    She braved the room then slapped towels onto the messy floor. Momma stomped them into a bunch and mopped with her foot. Cold air came in from the open window but didn¡¯t mute the smell. I suddenly realized the foulness came from me. Momma continued her halfhearted cleaning efforts while my attention shifted around the room to survey the mess.


    I¡¯d been out of my mind. Whatever marking Tattooist Cassandra had given me must have reacted poorly. Never before had anyone told me such an event might happen. Flashes of the recent situation came to mind. Sneaking up the mountain¡¯s side, dropping in the poor dead pup, then running down in the morning¡¯s chill. I might have been sick to boot.


    As for my vision, nothing stayed the right color. My two hand markings shifted like a fire that wouldn¡¯t quite go out. The lumps in my back twitched. As reason returned, I realized Tattooist Cassandra had spoken about the markings she¡¯d given me. The Eyes of a Man. Each one performed a different task.


    Can I see through clothes? I asked myself with a weak chuckle. Every boy¡¯s dream and it felt weird. The tense spots on my back bothering me so must be related to the tattoo.


    ¡°You tell that scrawny girl she can stop hiding then.¡± Momma pointed at the pile of clothes in the corner. ¡°Gave her a right fright, you did. She held you down during the worst and you nearly ripped her to shreds. Lost in the delirium of a marking. Madness. She gave you one that were too tough. That Cassandra. Warrior markings are more than anyone should ever try to handle at your age. Your daddy, he never had to bear so much so young. He were twenty-two before he got his first Ranger marking.¡±


    Momma abruptly went rigid and buttoned her lips. I couldn¡¯t focus enough to get past the constantly shifting colors and sight. By the time her words registered as suspicious, Momma were grabbing the towel with slop then rushing outside.


    She had explaining to do. Daddy had been marked by The Mountain, that much I knew. That was why he¡¯d gone back to the top after he died. All those touched by The Mountain¡¯s gifts were returned to its pool upon death.


    ¡°What?¡± I asked the empty doorway.


    I fell onto my face while trying to get out of the bed. My head banged against the floor with each attempt to stand and the tattoo on my back shifted. It felt like eyelids on my back, closing and opening repeatedly. My weak arms pushed me up and I managed to lean against the bedframe.


    The clothes in the corner shifted. Nails scraped against the wooden floor as Jenn¡¯s feet kicked, pushing her further into the pile.


    Dryness plagued me. The room were a mess. Smells on the floor worsened the longer I stayed conscious. Still, there were things that needed setting right.


    ¡°Jenn?¡± I huffed weakly. ¡°Jenn, are you okay?¡±


    Momma, known to the entire county as Widow Craig, swept through the room again like a force of nature. She mopped up more goo from the floor, pulled the curtain out of the way, fanned a bit of the smell outward, and plopped orange rinds onto my nightstand. Citrus canceled some of the stink.


    ¡°Can¡¯t believe the mess you made. When Tawny and Hardwood brought you in all burning up from fever¡­ well. Those two should have known better. Can¡¯t believe Rangers would be so foolish. You, I can forgive. Your daddy leaving us the way he did means no one told you what they ought to. Not at all.¡±


    ¡°What did you mean?¡± I croaked.


    But rather than answer my question, she fluttered back through the door with an armful of dirty linens. She¡¯d called my tattoo a battle marking. Not simply that, but she¡¯d said it in such a way that indicated my daddy had had his share.


    Dad were a miner though, weren¡¯t he? I asked myself.


    Momma didn¡¯t return. I heard her creaking around the rest of the house, and the rear door opened then slammed shut repeatedly. Water from a pump outside could be heard. No doubt Momma had set herself to cleaning the foul-smelling clothes before they stained.


    Jenn stayed huddled in the corner of my room. The pile of clothes in the corner faded in and out. The vision was coupled with a strange bunching sensation from one of the tattoos on my back. It tightened and I could see Jenn huddled under the blankets. Those same muscles loosened and the image of Jenn turned to simple clothing that moved.


    ¡°Jenn?¡± I asked again. ¡°It¡¯s okay. I¡¯m¡ª¡±


    I weren¡¯t okay. My fingertips stung, and bits of blood littered the space under my nails. Those markings on the wall had come from me. The mess on the floor, also from me. I couldn¡¯t tell how much time had passed since being marked in the clearing, but obviously the process hadn¡¯t been smooth.


    A Flop in Momma¡¯s presence and house violated everything I understood about her. But she hadn¡¯t even sounded nasty about it. I felt sure the snippy commentary would eventually come. My tribulations must have set everyone on edge. Jenn must be all out of sorts being in a house, much less my bedroom.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°Jenn, I¡¯m awake. It¡¯s me.¡±


    I need rest, I thought.


    The bed¡¯s legs were short, but getting back up on it felt like an insurmountable task. One fit for Hercules hisself. I tried anyway, but my limbs banged, crashing into wood and floor. One leg kicked into a pile of leftover grossness my momma hadn¡¯t got to yet. My body felt sticky from sweat. Once my breath and heartbeat calmed, I¡¯d find my way to the bath.


    ¡°Jenn. You¡ª¡± I took a breath. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    She¡¯d been the face in my nightmare state. The same face I¡¯d thought belonged to the bear. Flops were stronger than humans of the same size, but holding me in place while I thrashed would have taxed such a small woman. The dream about bugs and the bear clearly related to being tattooed.


    Based on Momma¡¯s commentary, I assumed the Rangers had dragged me home. Jenn must have come with them to help care for me. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. The whole point of becoming a Ranger were to help people¡ªand here I were, being forced to rely on others. It humbled me and served as a reminder that I had miles to go before I could call myself a real man.


    I spent the next hour trying to coax Jenn out of her hiding place. When she failed to respond, I worked to control the swimming images from my ink markings fading in and out, or the odd outline of Jenn¡¯s body inside the pile of clothing.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Jenn. Sorry if I scared you,¡± I said.


    That brief image of her with a torn top bothered me immensely. It matched, almost inch for inch, what I¡¯d seen her father doing all those years ago. The idea that I¡ªeven half mad with fresh markings¡ªwould dare do the same to a friend made me feel sick. I would have retched upon the floor were there anything in my stomach.


    It became clear to me the three eyes played different roles. One let me see through objects to ink-touched beings. The second tried to obscure my existing markings. The third lit dim areas so I could see easily as darkness set in. By full nightfall, I could almost control the one for brightness. My room lit enough for me to see the pile of clothes move, then it¡¯d fade once I stopped concentrating.


    Jenn never left the pile. Momma never returned to my room. The orange peels only muted the smells a little bit, then I passed out again. I woke briefly as people lifted me onto the bed. The scents in the room were kinder and a soft wet cloth pressed along my skin, removing the gross feeling. My eyelids fluttered and arms weakly pushed.


    By morning, I felt rested, clearer, and even more confused than ever. My head throbbed from lying too long in bed. A dozen different chores that needed doing ran through my mind. I sat up slowly, feeling the aches and pains from a rough few days telling me to sleep more. They were ignored, just like wounds from the mine. Someone had to take care of this house.


    Without much thought, I got up and proceeded to do the chores piling up. As I staggered around, it became obvious someone else had been working in my absence. The hens were already fed and acted pleasant. Our garden had been weeded and fresh plants sowed for the upcoming season. The pump worked smoothly and quickly filled a fresh bucket. Someone had even brushed rust from the piping I¡¯d never gotten around to cleaning.


    A woman¡¯s voice hummed from the back end of our house. I ambled toward the sound while trying to place who might make such a pleasant noise. The humming carried and nearly crooned as it went on. My legs were unsteady and mind in a daze.


    There, in a spot formerly covered by tall bits of grass, knelt Jenn. Purple flowers littered the area and wiggled as the Flop hummed. Her clothes were ragged but the tone familiar. Only the person it came from didn¡¯t fit my memories. Jenn hadn¡¯t been happy since childhood.


    Her large feet swayed from side to side as she twisted her ankles. The effect on the rest of her posture, namely her rear pressed up nicely against those feet, took a moment to sink in. When it did, my face flushed red.


    I woke up at that point and recent events registered fully. My filthy body and room, Jenn huddled in a pile whimpering, the raving inside my head, and who knew what other nonsense. By whatever twisted god had created The Mountain, I must have traumatized the girl. Yet she hung around. What¡¯s more, Momma hadn¡¯t chased her away.


    ¡°Jenn?¡±


    She jumped up, spun toward me, and stood ramrod straight. Her hands grabbed onto her worn pants, and one finger wormed into a hole.


    ¡°Stupid Chase. You smell. Go use the bucket. Go.¡± She waved me off; her other hand still wove into the hole in her trousers. ¡°Not ready to see you.¡±


    ¡°Did you¡­¡± I pointed randomly around the house. Finally, my confused hands pointed at the purple flowers. She must have been the one cleaning up the outside, because Momma never did.


    ¡°You¡¯ve slept three days. Too much not done. Your mom. She¡¯s tired all the time. Hides in her room. Now, go wash.¡± Jenn¡¯s toes dug into the dirt in a nervous twitch. Her eyes stayed level and ears perked briefly then lowered.


    My head felt dizzy, but I made a decision. Those clothes did not do her figure any justice. They were completely ruined, and the stains were probably my fault.


    ¡°You need new clothes,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll get some.¡±


    Talking to Jenn felt awkward. Normally she were one of the few people I bothered conversing with verbally. But she¡¯d seen me in a bad spot. I had to return the favor somehow and buying her stuff were the only method I knew.


    And since Tattooist Cassandra had done my marking without needing any of the funds I¡¯d saved, there were some cash to spare. Enough for a few swaths of fabric. Momma might be able to sew pieces into something that would look nice on Jenn. Momma went to town constantly, but she couldn¡¯t be trusted to keep money. She spent it on God knew what, assuming she even made it to a store.


    Jenn¡¯s nose wrinkled as her ear twitched. Signs of Flop agitation, so I caved then went to clean myself. The buckets of water were too heavy and my eyesight still hadn¡¯t adapted to the new tattoos. Shadows were brighter than normal. I could occasionally see Jenn through walls as she crept after me but always kept out of sight. Both marks on my hands kept fading in and out.


    I felt woozy but worked well enough through what had happened. The Rangers had been around for my inking. They¡¯d dumped me off at home. Jenn and Momma had taken care of me despite my apparently frantic raving madness.


    Four buckets of water went into the tub. I scrubbed myself as clean as could be with a thin piece of soap. It cracked in two during my abuses. My altered vision showed Jenn hanging outside the house, near the bathroom window.


    That meant I needed to be the one visiting town. My legs were steadier, but I still felt as though cotton filled my ears. I made it back to my room with both eyes narrowed to slits. The sunlight blurred everything and limiting my vision helped. The lumps on my back felt tight too.


    I bundled myself in cleaner clothes, ones untouched by the mess I¡¯d been or freshly cleaned. They smelled like Jenn. The mixture of light earth and rabbit musk lingered even as I put on my daddy¡¯s worn jacket then walked down the road.


    There were too many problems to figure out. Each step assaulted my vision in a new fashion. But I needed to push through to get Jenn something comfortable. New clothes would help her survive outdoors easier and serve as a thank you gift. I could pick up sweets then test my control over the new markings. Most of all, by being in town, I could avoid the urge to bang on Momma¡¯s door and demand answers.


    Behind me, the Flop trailed. I turned as my eyesight shifted and showed her hiding behind objects and in underbrush. Jenn could follow me, but she wouldn¡¯t be able to walk into a bank for my savings.


    I kept my gloves off and took longer to reach downtown than expected. With each step, I focused on activating the lump in my back that made the blackened fingertips fade to a normal color. A few hours later, by the time I made it to town, I¡¯d almost figured it out. The problem were any time my other two abilities kicked in, the tattoo hiding power stopped.


    Both gloves went back on to prevent slipups. If I added in the two I already had¡ªthe Heart Seeker mark which allowed me to feel inked monsters from a distance and the rainbow drop that heated up weapons¡ªthen I had three different powers given to me by The Mountain. Five, depending on how a body counted the eyes.


    It weren¡¯t a leg tattoo or something giving strength, but the eyes were enough for my Ranger qualifications. I simply needed to control the ability before another week passed.


    I slowly walked through town and into the bank. The manager frowned when I asked to withdraw funds. Looking at him gave me a headache. A spot on his neck brightened every time he spoke. His eyes would brighten too, and a space on his chest. While he pulled out enough money for me to afford clothes and a fruit tree sapling, I cupped my hands over my eyes and took deep breaths.


    He were polite and gave me a fake smile. The secretary up front nodded and said good-bye. I waved to both of them but said little. Numbers and questions flashed through my mind. The cash weren¡¯t a ton of money, but planting the tree now, while Jenn and my momma weren¡¯t at odds, was the best time. By next spring, we¡¯d have a few small apples and could plant more seedlings for the years following.


    If I made it as a Ranger, then trading goods to farmers would be far easier. They might even give me a set of saplings simply for helping to protect them. I¡¯d heard Rangers got gifts from grateful people all the time; plus they made money from monster hearts. Or at least that was what Hardwood had showed me.


    I had too many questions and no one to ask. With the Ranger trials so close, asking now would simply display my ignorance.


    The general store had a calendar on one wall. It showed shipments, events, and a few birthdays for town notables such as the mayor. I stared at the crossed off days and the Ranger testing. My deadline approached faster than I¡¯d thought.


    ¡°Well, young man,¡± the gray-dressed storekeeper said dryly, ¡°you buying or not?¡±


    I shook my head at the sign then turned around.


    ¡°Good. Ain¡¯t got time for window shoppers. Serious buyers only.¡± He sniffed, and his entire body shook with the action.


    People came into the store for weekly orders then left rapidly. I¡¯d spent ten minutes counting the days left until the trials. Placing numbers together in order took too much concentration and my body ached everywhere. A long walk into town hadn¡¯t helped.


    ¡°I need fabric. For new clothes,¡± I said.


    ¡°Nope. Fresh out of the small stuff. Not getting anything new until Wednesday.¡± He pointed at the calendar behind me.


    I couldn¡¯t rightly remember what the calendar said because a new sight had distracted me. The shopkeeper¡¯s arm had markings on it. I could see, under a long-sleeved shirt, markings that looked like a chain wrapping around his arm from shoulder to forearm.


    That made me pause. Normally I picked up supplies here because the general store had everything for our town. Jenn probably wouldn¡¯t need a ton of fabric. There were premade clothes, but most weren¡¯t sold directly in the store. I¡¯d have to find someone to talk to who made the materials.


    ¡°You could go to Shelly¡¯s. Shelly sells all sorts of clothes. Handmade, guaranteed to last. I¡¯d put my stamp of approval on it, except Shelly tried to put her signs up in my window. That ain¡¯t allowed.¡±


    I sighed then picked up more food than I¡¯d normally need. Eating well for the next few days should help with the Ranger¡¯s test. Scrimping no longer mattered.


    Then I went to Shelly¡¯s. She sold me two sets of women¡¯s clothes at a higher price than I wanted. Still, Jenn deserved reparations.


    Everything rode on me passing the tests. If I failed, then it¡¯d be back to the mines. Maybe there¡¯d be a spot on the deep crews and I could be a scout instead. Once I had better control, this eye might let me search for ink colors easier. A large amount of possibilities sat in front of me, but all of them paled compared to becoming an actual Ranger.


    For the moment, I had to make it home. Hours of walking, shopping, and learning to control my new tattoo had worn me out. In addition, my shopping spree had resulted in piles of baggage. I stared at the stack from the general store and wished for a horse or donkey. A good mule could help me plow a field for better planting. But the one we used to have had been sold.


    The world spun. My head dipped and chin dug into my neck. Despite closed eyes, bits of the world still lit up through my shut lids. I could see Flops of all different sizes. Felines hung inside one of the buildings. At least three, and two were upstairs, bent in odd positions. I kept seeing tattoo markings blurring in and out. Late evening stretched into shadows and illuminated The Mountain on its throne.


    I stared at the pile then up at the distant hill where I worked. The world blurred again, and when my eyes opened my ass was firmly on the ground. A tall man loomed in front of me. His body glowed like darkness incarnate. I struggled to regain control of the marking Tattooist Cassandra had given me. My blackened fingertips tingled as if the man in front of me were more beast than human. Like one of the Wildlings up on The Mountain.


    My eyes slowly closed. I pushed myself up, intent upon telling the store owner to hold onto some purchases overnight. It would have been smarter to get only a needed bag. But the shop had closed.


    ¡°You¡¯re a sad sack of flesh, ain¡¯t you?¡± the black-shrouded man said. His head shook. ¡°Detestable.¡±


    Get fornicated by a bull, I dully thought. His voice were familiar, even if the looks were not. Ranger Obsidian were the only inked man I¡¯d met who sounded like that big of an asshole¡ªmuch less be in a place to judge me.


    ¡°Ranger,¡± I said. That were the extent of my courtesy. My goal of being a Ranger didn¡¯t require getting along with everyone. I only needed to prove myself in the trials.


    ¡°Bought yourself too much, didn¡¯t you? Stupid and a lack of foresight. You¡¯ll never be a good Ranger. You¡¯ll never pass the tests if you can¡¯t learn. To think. Ahead.¡±


    I nodded then picked up two bags. They weighed more than anything rightly should. At least the store owner had packed everything nicely into drawstring containers. Bending to pick up the third bag sent me sprawling on my ass, and I heard something inside one of the bags crack.


    This was a piss-poor idea, I thought. Charging off to escape where I¡¯d made a mess of myself in front of those few who mattered to me had been more about cowardice than getting Jenn proper clothes.


    ¡°You¡¯ve days before the physical trials. Days, and you¡¯re recovering from a mark that should be beyond your soul¡¯s ability to handle. This ain¡¯t no way to make an impression.¡±


    My body swayed and eyes glared. The man didn¡¯t laugh or chuckle like Ranger Hardwood might have. He only glared back in equal measure.


    ¡°Can¡¯t abide stupid, boy. You¡¯d best go home. You need rest, or you¡¯ll fail the first night and we can¡¯t have that. You need to be going up on the full moon, fresh and ready.¡±


    Fail day one? That ran counter to my goal of earning money as a Ranger. Resting were my exact plan. Being called an idiot for venturing into town were like telling me rain got people wet after I¡¯d already been caught by a storm. Utterly useless and badgering a point that didn¡¯t need to be made. He reminded me of Momma. Constant chattering no one needed to hear.


    I stood again, wobblier the second time. My vision kept flipping around. Ranger Obsidian and his black shadow body distorted everything else in sight. Turning away didn¡¯t help. For flashes at a time, I saw the Felines upstairs in one of the inns. A male¡¯s back arched mid release. Another body clearly sat in the room with him. Their tattoo danced as they violently moved an arm.


    Seeing inked creatures and markings through walls irked me at the moment. At the same point, it would be useful during hunts. Blocking out different images would take a lot of work. Being in town made it worse. The mines or mountain on a full moon would be hell. With proper training and a good gun, maybe being able to see monsters as they approached could earn me money.


    Elation and my own weakness this late in the day sent me sprawling to the ground again. Food would have made a difference. I took a deep breath, ignored Obsidian, and concentrated on a pair of glowing feet around a corner.

 14 - Trials of the Rangers

    ¡°Jenn. Jenn?¡± My head hurt. One arm jerked in a habitual question mark.


    ¡°You delirious? A bad sign if you¡¯ve been marked and get sick in the head. But consider it a test. You¡¯re stranded. Overloaded. What do you do?¡±


    I shook my head, which made the pain spike. The knots in my shoulders kept up their damned aggravation. Clenching my eyes tightly drowned out the extra images. The Feline fornicating upstairs in a building faded. But there were still lit up areas that should have been filled with shadows.


    ¡°And now you¡¯re closing it all out. You think that¡¯ll help? Do you think you¡¯ll ever learn by ignoring the world around you? We can¡¯t expose a closed mind to this life even if Cassandra wanted us to.¡±


    Obsidian, asshole that he was, winked in and out of my sight. Having my eyes closed didn¡¯t help block his shadow. It pierced everything in waves.


    ¡°Why¡­¡± I drifted.


    ¡°Stupid boy,¡± a much more feminine voice said, with the exact same insulting tone as Obsidian.


    Jenn stood in the same spot as Ranger Obsidian and it were unfair. I looked at her face. Which meant that I¡¯d be glaring somewhere a touch more crass upon the haggard Ranger.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t they looking at you?¡± I asked the shadowy man.


    The shorter woman answered. ¡°No one cares. A tiny Flop like me gets passed over. Poor clothes. Somebody''s pleasure slave.¡± Jenn¡¯s lips tightened. She turned away, and the dark figure of Ranger Obsidian stepped forward.


    My eyes crossed, and I felt absolutely overloaded. He lit up like an ink-made creature. A swirl of darkness bubbled and reflected every color in the rainbow. Black overlaid and danced around reds and greens.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you come out here? By yourself? Shopping? What for? Nothing here any of us need.¡± Jenn fired rapid questions, and I couldn¡¯t figure out how to address her questions or the shadow man¡¯s.


    ¡°You¡¯re in over your head boy. What do you do?¡± Obsidian asked.


    The damn Feline upstairs kept up his pelvic thrusting. Closing my eyes weren¡¯t preventing me from seeing anymore.


    ¡°You ask for help,¡± the shadow answered his own question.


    ¡°Ask for help,¡± I dumbly repeated.


    ¡°Who¡¯d help you?¡± Jenn sniffed and her large foot tapped nervously. Small whirls of dust from a dry day fluttered. I sneezed.


    ¡°Independence is all well and good when it comes to taking a piss. But out there in the field, with them demons of ink against you? Stubbornness will get you killed. If you want to work with the Ranger, then you need to learn now, none of us are alone.¡± The midday shadow faded with a few parting words. ¡°Ain¡¯t none of us who can do our jobs without someone there for us. You¡¯d think a miner¡¯d know.¡±


    Quit your preaching, I thought. He¡¯d berated me for relying on Jenn to get to The Mountain¡¯s top; now he badgered about not asking for help. Nothing made the man happy.


    Still, much as I hated to admit it, the Ranger were right. A smarter man would have asked for help. Since Daddy died, I¡¯d simply gotten used to doing everything myself. Earning money, cleaning clothes, fixing the livestock, or anything else that needed doing. Maybe Momma were to blame for falling apart like she did. I couldn¡¯t rightly say if it were fair on either of us.


    Yet in a few days, that¡¯d changed. Jenn had worked the garden and animals. Momma had cleaned the house. I had money to spare and my marking. My world had flip-flopped onto its head.


    I shook myself slowly and cast my gaze toward the ground. Jenn¡¯s furry feet wiggled and flexed. Flop¡¯s toes were a strange mix of human and rabbit, which threw off their posture a bit, making them stick out their butts. I couldn¡¯t let myself take note of Jenn¡¯s form right now. Not when I were half broken.


    ¡°Can you help get me home?¡±


    Jenn sniffed. Her foot twisted at the heel as she ground a hole. The young woman could use a pair of shoes too. Flops had all sorts of accessories made for their body postures. Felines had even more, preferring jewels and dangling threads over actual clothes.


    ¡°Come on. Stupid man. Bullheaded as all get out,¡± Jenn said.


    I lifted my gaze and noticed she¡¯d already bundled all the items under each arm. My head shook at the unfairness of it all. Maybe in a few more tattoos, assuming the ones I had didn¡¯t kill me, I could match her strength or exceed it. My first few markings weren¡¯t useful for physical enhancements though. Better sight, weapons, and finding were useful, but not as good as pure brawn.


    Jenn moseyed on. I managed to get myself upright and staggered after her. We crossed the town square. Ahead, miners got off one of the evening stagecoaches. Most headed straight for the saloon. I eyed the crowd, seeing an assortment of tattoos buried under layers of clothing. Nearly everyone had at least one marking.


    So many, I thought. Far more than I¡¯d expected, especially among the mining crews.


    ¡°Slaves. Stupid men. Indentured to the mountain,¡± Jenn muttered. ¡°All of them thinking they¡¯re smarter than those who came before. None are. It¡¯s doom, letting the ink touch you. There¡¯s only one end to it all.¡±


    I shook my head again and turned to the Flop. She¡¯d been pacing along with me with more items packed under her left arm. It put her burden on one side.


    ¡°Stupid men,¡± I muttered. ¡°But what else is there?¡±


    There were no other ways to earn the kind of money needed to get Momma away. Being inked gave me an edge. Poss and her husband had piles of cash, but I couldn¡¯t simply be rich. For the poor, few options existed other than hard work and self-sacrifice. At least, there were no other ways I knew about.


    ¡°Just gonna die here. Like every other man. Dying a slave to another¡¯s power.¡± Jenn resituated the bags.


    The Flop and I continued, and I realized it didn¡¯t matter much. She¡¯d die here. I¡¯d go down into the shimmering pool of colors one day as well. In the end, we¡¯d all return to The Mountain.


    I sniffed then managed a slight smile. ¡°Don¡¯t matter. Either you or I go, but we¡¯ll end up the same. But momma? I promised daddy I¡¯d make sure she makes it out without being tainted. Free of this.¡±


    ¡°Stupid,¡± Jenn said. ¡°But good.¡±


    My arm lifted and weakly gestured a question mark.


    ¡°You can be stupid. And good.¡± She shrugged then moved ahead faster.


    I felt better without carrying the extra material. Keeping up was impossible, but I tried. It took hours to make it home. Jenn ran ahead with her burden then came back for me.


    Jenn had helped with both the purchased items and my own weary form. The assistance meant a lot to me. I resolved to make sure Momma didn¡¯t pitch a fit about having an ink-turned human in her house.


    That goal might be easier than expected because Momma and Jenn spoke at the door. What they said were beyond me, because at that time, I started to pass out.


    I spent the next four days in bed. I ate little and kept my eyes closed. The single day in town had overloaded me, wore out my body, and taxed strength I hadn¡¯t had to spare. The ladies even arranged for a ride back into town, barely in time for the Ranger trials.


    Proven Rangers lined us up and it were all I could do to follow orders. My weary body pushed along despite protests. They put us in a small field a mile outside the sheriff''s office. A pitiless midday sun baked the ground. I stood in a long line with two dozen other hopefuls. We were nowhere near the shade. Two Rangers with grumpy, flat expressions paced down the line. They had a box and were gathering hats.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got to give up our covers?¡± an applicant farther down asked.


    It were a valid concern. My daddy¡¯s hat currently protected me from a murderous sun.


    ¡°Or quit now and save me time,¡± the Ranger I hadn¡¯t met said. He wore red boots dusted by the road.


    No one intended to quit this early, especially not over a hat. From what little I¡¯d gathered over the years, there were worse requests in store for us. Ranger trials were long, intensive, and often broke those unprepared. I couldn¡¯t worry about them when I had my own tribulations to overcome. Surviving the testing while weary would be hard enough.


    Ranger Obsidian already hated me. Tawny disapproved, and Hardwood could go either way. I couldn¡¯t rock the wagon and risk being passed over. If I failed, it would be another year before they allowed an applicant to join their ranks.


    Unless war arrived with the Saracons over the hills. We owed our allegiance to this side of the mountain range, and the government would call for all the fighters in the country to save us. I hoped never to see such a war in my lifetime. Daddy had spoken poorly of the last battles.


    ¡°Hat!¡± the Ranger in front of me shouted.


    Belatedly, I realized he¡¯d been repeating himself for some time. I swayed then reached a hand up to my cover. He snatched it away and shook his head. Ranger Obsidian, complete with hat and heavy coat, walked behind the other man while shaking his head.


    ¡°Another loser for the pile,¡± he muttered while walking off.


    Well done, Chase, I told myself. Great first impression.


    The man traveled to the next hopeful. They weren¡¯t competition, not exactly. Based on my studies, the Rangers might choose a handful of people, or none at all. Most years they took only one, so that¡¯d been the rule. They played by their own rules and no one outside their group knew the reasoning. I suspected it had to do with being ¡°hard¡± enough.


    After my week with the new inking, which was supposedly a battle tattoo of some sort, I understood. It took a strong mind to make these markings work. That couldn¡¯t be the same for every single tattoo. One of the men in line, a dim-witted fellow by the name of Neb Lincoln, couldn¡¯t rub two brain cells together unless someone counted them out and did the actual rubbing for him.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    I weren¡¯t one to talk. Counting to four, maybe three, would be difficult. The sun served to turn my face into a pool of sweat. The clothes and gun I¡¯d inherited from Daddy were loose, and I wanted to fidget a bit to get a breeze along my back. The weight of a pistol made me feel off-kilter. My vision switched wildly, and I reassured myself the gloves were on properly.


    ¡°You will do exactly as you¡¯re told.¡± The Ranger had a closely trimmed beard and very little up top. He wore no hat. ¡°Now, some of you are new this year. I¡¯ll be clear¡ªthis goes on for as long as it takes. Everything you do will be measured, weighed, and judged by the Rangers administering the tests.¡± His voice grew closer. ¡°Your opinion does not matter in the slightest.¡±


    My only options were to suffer and do my damndest, or quit now and go back to the mine¡¯s depths. I told myself that over and over as the man marched down the line. He might have been military before becoming a Ranger. Army men had joined, but Rangers served one master before all others.


    ¡°Those are the only warnings you¡¯ll get.¡±


    The man with a balding head stopped in front of me. I swallowed, lifted my chin, and reminded myself not to lock my legs. He pulled back a cheek and shook his head at my entire form. His face kept growing fuzzy while my other vision tried to pick up what markings he had under the brown shirt. Two polearms along the insides of his arms glowed red and blue on the tips.


    I¡¯m too tired, I thought.


    Muscles on my leg were shaking. Standing took a lot of effort.


    The Ranger in front of me shook his head again then walked toward the line¡¯s end. He lifted an arm to his chest. ¡°My name is Ranger Ash. Everything you are asked to do, I will be doing. We are fair. Whining about unfairness will not be tolerated.¡±


    I could tell he¡¯d heard people argue about the tests before. There were a few failures in the Wellbrook Mines who liked to grumble.


    ¡°Now, follow me. Do not pass me. We¡¯re going to be running. Anyone who lets Ranger Wan pass them will be considered a failure.¡±


    I turned to see the other fellow. Ranger Wan was a sickly looking man who shivered despite being under the hot sun. Beads of sweat formed on his head. He looked to be in worse shape than me, but he also had a full array of tattoos under his clothes.


    My eyes closed briefly to blot out the extra images. The markings across his chest weren¡¯t for strength. They probably tied into his lungs or endurance. Tattoos normally impacted the area they were close to. That remembrance made me wonder why eyes on my back had anything to do with the images I saw.


    ¡°Come on. We¡¯re going until enough of you drop, or I do.¡±


    Two dozen people would end up being ten, if we were lucky. I shuffled forward and reminded myself this were the route to freedom. From needing to take care of Momma, from needing to honor my promise to Daddy. The best answer was to pace myself. This test should focus on endurance, not being too eager.


    As a mine worker, I didn¡¯t have much extra flab. Only lean muscle from hours of running the trolleys back and forth. But miners weren¡¯t the only sort to work tough hours. Field hands, army members, and the tumbling boys of the Bell Town docks were all rough.


    Three people surged ahead of me. Ducky passed me quickly. For a few days, I¡¯d forgotten about his existence. Ranger Ash pulled farther ahead. His path went straight down the road, and I wondered if we were going to jog all the way to the next town. The first mile weren¡¯t too hard, but after that, my body started to flag.


    A chunk of daylight later, Ranger Wan passed the first person. I heard their complaint behind me but couldn¡¯t spare them the attention. They were too close. Immediately after, a few hundred yards ahead, Ranger Ash turned into a wooded area. My own body limped forward.


    Ducky¡¯s ability to hustle bothered me the most. He was up there somewhere but had become obscured by distance. It were likely the blue inking, or maybe he¡¯d gotten a green somehow. That could have helped me heal faster, which would translate to endurance.


    ¡°Hustle, come on,¡± our leader shouted. ¡°Just two million more miles to go!¡±


    Surely you¡¯re kidding? I asked silently. My lungs heaved for a real dose of air. The ground became uneven and harder to travel.


    ¡°Yes, sir, Ranger Ash!¡± Ranger Wan answered.


    I turned to see Ranger Wan keeping a leisurely pace behind us. I squinted as we passed through the woods. There were no monsters out, but it were possible some might pounce on us at any moment. We kept on moving. Thankfully, our speed lowered in a shaded area.


    ¡°You¡¯re out,¡± Ranger Wan shouted.


    ¡°Bullshit!¡±


    ¡°Ranger Ash, I believe we have a dissenter!¡±


    ¡°Everybody, halt!¡± Ranger Ash¡¯s voice carried through the trees.


    We¡¯d been running for hours in the hot sun. Any demand to stop moving was welcome. The others slowed, and our spread group gathered in a clump. I¡¯d lost track of those being passed by Ranger Wan but there were still a lot of people remaining.


    I bent at the waist and sucked in deep breaths. Ranger Wan kept moving slowly. His arms and legs rolled as he cooled down. I struggled to emulate the motions but wanted to pass out. Being inked with a major tattoo had me worn for days and this weren¡¯t helping.


    Jogging made aches spring up. Everything hurt. It weren¡¯t right to suffer this kind of abuse. But no one¡¯d ever said being a Ranger was a luxurious life. Money they had in piles. Trials and tribulations they had in spades. Ease they had none.


    Ranger Ash strode toward Ranger Wan and the man he¡¯d declared a dissenter. ¡°Nibbles, right? Nibbles the Third.¡±


    The man Ranger Wan had called out tightened his face and frowned. He wore lighter clothes bleached by hours under the sun. Rivers of sweat trickled down his face, and a hint of a tattoo sat on his neck. I concentrated for a moment and felt my other sight kick in. Colors and ink-drawn markings showed, but his looked wrong somehow. As if it had a smell that could be conveyed through sight.


    ¡°What¡¯s my name got to do with this?¡± Nibbles asked.


    ¡°Well, Nibbles,¡± Ranger Ash said, ¡°a name is important. You become a Ranger, and your old name goes away. It gets buried under the duty of your new one.¡±


    ¡°I heard. All you Rangers call each other after a color.¡±


    ¡°That we do. Where you from, Nibbles?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t rightly say how Ranger Ash knew the man¡¯s name was Nibbles the Third, yet didn¡¯t know where he¡¯d come from. New recruits filled out paperwork, but I couldn¡¯t remember none of that. It were possible Momma or Jenn had done it for me.


    ¡°We got two choices. You can either shut the hell up and walk away.¡± Ranger Ash thumbed over his shoulder toward the rest of us. ¡°Or you can fight one of the other possibles to get a spot back.¡±


    ¡°What if I want to fight you?¡± he said.


    ¡°Try it. Because if you beat me, you¡¯re in. You fail and I suspect your legs will never work¡ª¡± Ranger Ash¡¯s words were cut off as the angry failure leapt at him.


    The man moved weird. Dark blue trailed after him and the tattoo under his clothes lit up. He weren¡¯t fast, not exactly, but he felt wrong. His body were in a few places at once, which confused my noggin.


    Ranger Ash snorted and put one foot behind him. His polearm marking, the one tipped in blue, flashed.


    I closed both eyes and shut off my extra sense granted by the Eyes of a Man tattoo. My mind wandered. Thinking of anything but my tired legs helped me move forward. These markings might not be useful for fighting monsters that Rangers were famous for hunting. I had to figure out what my strengths were.


    Ranger Ash and Nibbles fought. I wanted to concentrate on watching how inked men battled each other, but I could barely focus on my own well-being. Each breath took more effort than the last. It weren¡¯t fair to be enduring the Ranger¡¯s trials after being done in by Cassandra.


    I spent the first few seconds of their scuffle catching my breath. I sincerely believed Ranger Ash wouldn¡¯t kill the man, since the entire point of these trials were to be a test. My mind wandered, because one of these tests would be fighting ink born beasts. Some of those monsters got downright crazy. Though the bear and messed-up mice were straightforward enough.


    A thunderous crack made us all jerk our heads in surprise. Ranger Ash had skid marks under his feet from where he¡¯d been pushed back. The blue-tipped staff in his hand dimmed briefly before resuming a normal glow. He wiped his jaw.


    ¡°Nibbles, my ass,¡± Ranger Ash said then laughed. ¡°You can nibble my ass, Nibbles! Might have been more effective than that pathetic punch. Come on, I ain¡¯t on the ground yet, and your legs are still working.¡±


    Nibbles stooped and grabbed rocks from the ground. He flung them, which made Ranger Wan nod. Ash swung his staff, turned his face slightly, and braced for impact. A trail of ice formed like a smear behind the blue stick¡¯s tip.


    I wondered what a trail of fire would look like. Such an item would be dangerous here in the woods. Ranger Ash must have known. I wondered if he¡¯d decided to fight in the woods as some sort of handicap. It were also possible the ice would have melted under the hot sun, because even in these woods, it still faded quickly.


    Such thoughts entertained me while rocks pelted into Ranger Ash¡¯s thin shields. The rest went through and hit him in the face. Streaks of blackened mud lined his features. A smell of rot washed over the area.


    ¡°Rot?¡± Ranger Ash said. ¡°Fighting dirty, okay. I can do that.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s what it takes,¡± Nibbles responded.


    I couldn¡¯t understand the markings under Nibbles¡¯s clothes. They didn¡¯t fit normal ones around town. Wrong were the kindest word for them.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be all right, Chase. Now¡¯s the time to get used to this,¡± Ranger Wan said.


    I blanched. He¡¯d stood right next to me the entire time. I wiggled my fingers in a question, and Ranger Wan¡¯s face tightened. He didn¡¯t understand my signing.


    Being silent couldn¡¯t help me during these trials, so I swallowed and asked, ¡°You mean fights between inked?¡±


    Ranger Wan¡¯s voice lowered. ¡°Worse still. Fights between inks.¡±


    Like there¡¯s more than one kind? I thought. My blood ran cold as the realization hit me. It felt wrong because it weren¡¯t from our mountain. That ink had come from somewhere outside of Wellbrook Mines.


    Do all Rangers fight other types of ink? It made me wonder a whole host of questions.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have all day, Ranger Ash,¡± Wan said. ¡°Remind him we¡¯re elite for a reason.¡±


    Some of the others looked surprised. I figured them for out-of-town folks who¡¯d never seen a Rangers¡¯ fight. I had seen ¡¯em battle monsters. I¡¯d bet a few would drop out after seeing the creatures roaming tonight. Didn¡¯t matter how many got cleared out, some always survived.


    Life near The Mountain weren¡¯t easy. Momma herself had lots of practice setting traps and killing the weaker monsters that made it as far as the homesteads. When she woke up enough to do her duties around the house. But woes over my family issues were for another day.


    Ranger Ash¡¯s ice-formed trails blocked most of the projectiles tossed by Nibbles. Those that made it through left dirty streaks that crumbled his clothes. The smell worsened. Ranger Wan shook his head.


    They exchanged more blows. Ash pushed back Nibbles. Every pass made Nibbles¡¯s face uglier. His face were a poster board of emotions. Anger, unhappiness, and worry. Nibbles kept attacking, but Ash didn¡¯t care.


    Nothing Nibbles did left a lasting mark. Even the rot spots faded. I didn¡¯t have my other sight on to check for a green, but he must have it somewhere. Green healed. Ash simply endured. It were as though the attacks were useless.


    What on God¡¯s green earth would be the point of a non-lethal attack? I couldn¡¯t figure out what Nibbles intended to do with his strikes. The rocks, his fists, even feet, they left a filthy smear.


    Then it hit me. Those weren¡¯t from Nibbles¡ªthey were from Ranger Ash. His body were literally ashing somehow when he got struck, then it simply reformed. I¡¯d seen some strange effects with markings, but that were utterly new.


    What sort of marking lets a body turn to ash?


    I closed my eyes to bring up the markings again. His red stick still sat under a sleeve, not activated, and only visible when his body twisted toward me. Nibbles¡¯s few markings were doing something as well, giving him a weird, janky shadow movement and streaks that collided harder than any normal fist should.


    They connected again. Nibbles had slowed down, worn by the prolonged fight. This time, Ranger Ash jabbed his stick right into Nibbles¡¯s gut. The man doubled over, and Ash¡¯s stick struck him on the back of the head. Down Nibbles went, face first into the ground. Ash grabbed Nibbles¡¯s hair and pulled a clump. The failure¡¯s back bent, and his face twisted in pain. I leaned in as Ash spoke.


    ¡°I know where you¡¯re from,¡± Ranger Ash said with his lips pulled upward like a growling dog. ¡°You still fight like one of them. Sloppy. You¡¯d think you hadn¡¯t been properly trained.¡±


    Ash stood quickly then struck with his foot. Nibbles cried out as his leg snapped. I struggled to understand what the Ranger had meant by all his accusations. Nibbles attempted to get away, but his leg didn¡¯t work anymore. The limb flopped as the man struggled to escape. Instead he ended up in a half ball shape, whimpering.


    ¡°I think that¡¯s a clear enough message.¡± Ash dropped the blue-tipped short staff and it vanished into the air before even hitting the ground. I checked my other sight quickly and noted it¡¯d returned to the original tattoo location.


    So he can summon weapons. Must be how Ranger Hardwood pulled that gun out of nowhere, I thought.


    Nibbles shook and kept his body in a ball to ward off further attacks that never arrived. Ash stepped away and turned toward the lot of us. His eyes flashed to the ground, and he wrinkled his nose.


    ¡°Sleeping on the job. His parents weren¡¯t much better.¡± He rolled his eyes and shouted, ¡°You got him, Wan? Or do you need me to do that for you too?¡±


    I blanched and looked toward the quieter, less assuming Ranger. He had someone in a choke hold. The other person struggled to get an arm up and pat markings on his neck. Wan¡¯s body jerked to one side, sending them both sprawling. There was a crunch as the man in a headlock yelled. His arm stopped moving and bent all wrong. Wan twisted again, finishing the job.


    ¡°Done,¡± Wan said.


    As for the fellow sleeping on the job, Ash must have meant Derek. There Ducky lay on the ground, snoring. My other sight flickered on long enough to see he¡¯d been swallowed up by a yellow haze of sorts.

 15 - Ambush of the Unwary

    I didn¡¯t know what¡¯d happened, but one man were unconscious or dead and another beaten senseless. Nibbles¡¯s leg hung at an odd angle that I hadn¡¯t seen on a man outside the medic tents. He might be able to recover, but the cost of a green tattoo were higher than any average marking.


    ¡°Get going. I¡¯ll take care of these two,¡± a third person said.


    I turned, and Ranger Obsidian stood near a tree, frowning. He went to Ducky and shook him awake before turning to watch Wan drag the dead body toward Nibbles.


    Ranger Ash turned to us and wrinkled his nose. He looked meaner than an angry cat. Blood trickled down his face, and one eye glowed bright yellow.


    ¡°Now,¡± he barked then fought back a snarl. ¡°The rest of us are going to keep running. I¡¯ve decided we¡¯re going to run until there¡¯re only seven of you all left. Anyone else want to make a fight of it? Save us all a trip?¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡± Ducky mumbled as he scrambled to get off the ground. The haze around him had faded. I assumed it to be a sleeping magic of sorts cast by the person Wan had put down.


    I almost spoke, if only to get a fight with Ducky. Then I¡¯d give him a proper beating. Still, it weren¡¯t my place to cast people out of the running. Living in a town where they held the trials allowed me to get lots of information. All of the townspeople gave the same tips. Follow orders, plan ahead, conserve my strength, and survive.


    No one volunteered. They were either too afraid or knew those guidelines as well as I did. The real fights would be later. Trials for Rangers involved holding back monsters during a full moon. We¡¯d be go up with the dead and hold off the monsters. That¡¯d be a few nights away yet.


    We marched. The Rangers proved to have high stamina, but they too switched to a walk. We ended up with a slow, steady pace until nightfall.


    During the remaining run, I asked myself a ton of questions, none of which had an easy answer. What made Obsidian follow us? How long had he been trailing us? Those two who were taken down, were they simply failures who couldn¡¯t cut it, or were it something else?


    As a collective whole, none of us had prepared to camp. I¡¯d had enough forethought to pack a few bits of food, but only because of hearing how prior trials had gone. They were about the same every year. Run, exercise, fight each other, but no outright killing.


    I suspected the Rangers would have made us leave behind any true camping gear. We were being tested on our ability to survive. Obsidian may have preached about thinking ahead, but over planning were as dangerous as under preparation.


    I¡¯d imagined, in the past, some overly eager applicant had showed up with days¡¯ worth of tents, food, and water. Then he¡¯d failed the run. We had to come with light gear. All the inkings in the world couldn¡¯t keep a body up for days, unless maybe we were marked to the gills with battle quality stuff.


    Then what¡¯d be the point? People with that kind of strength were already Rangers, or the governor''s bodyguards, or even the president¡¯s. They got positions where money were tossed around like raindrops in a monsoon. I couldn¡¯t rightly see how anyone pushed that far without transforming into one of the other races.


    All those idle thoughts helped me from utterly freaking out as rain clouds billowed across the night sky. They were low enough to block the stars and waxing moon. I wore my jacket with thin sleeves that¡¯d let in every bit of breeze. It were that, or melt away to nothing under the hot sun.


    Our trek continued on the next night. Ranger Ash stopped and made us set up a camp again. We weren¡¯t venturing too far from town. If something went wrong, then they¡¯d carry the failure off to be put back together by a doctor or nurse who knew a touch of greens.


    Ranger Ash wandered through the small camp. He passed among our three tiny fires and noted each of us, even ones like me, sitting on the group¡¯s edge, away from the smoke and fire.


    ¡°You all decide your shifts. If someone attacks tonight, we won¡¯t save you. I¡¯d suggest you take that to heart and be ready,¡± he said.


    Ranger Wan lay next to the biggest pit and threw on some bits of timber. He had a small stack nearby and propped up large leaves on either side to funnel the smoke. They¡¯d probably catch fire at some point then fall into the blaze.


    ¡°You¡¯re up first, mute,¡± Ducky shouted.


    I rolled my eyes and gave him the finger. Ducky could go to hell. Him and those Wildlings that had hovered over him. They might be his parents, but I¡¯d heard they were gone like my daddy. I knew I¡¯d be surly if my parents were twisted creatures. Though I couldn¡¯t rightly say how it¡¯d be if Momma were a Flop.


    Damn them all anyway. Them being twisted didn¡¯t give him a right to call me names.


    ¡°I¡¯ll stay up with you. Being alone at night in the woods is dangerous,¡± another person said. Neb Lincoln had a sideways mouth, or at least it seemed that way from the right angle. It¡¯d tilt on one end in a grin that made him look mentally disabled. Given his ability to think, maybe he were.


    Disability aside, he had a good point. I nodded. It¡¯d be best if we stayed up in shifts of two. One to watch each side. Though with my markings, it should be easy enough to see any beasts coming upon us.


    ¡°You got a mark?¡± he asked me, his voice slow and childish.


    Course I got a mark, I thought. My head bobbed.


    ¡°I got a mark. My daddy, Bennett Lincoln, he¡¯s a fisherman. ¡¯Cept my momma, Lizzy Lincoln, says he don¡¯t do nothing but drink all day and scream at the river.¡±


    Shoot me now.


    ¡°My daddy, Bennett Lincoln,¡± he repeated, and I managed to keep my lips buttoned, ¡°he says my mark will make me stronger than two ox fighting over a sow. On account of I could already wrestle one ox. With my hands. Though they got teeth and I told Daddy that ain¡¯t fair. Which it ain¡¯t, but Momma says God¡­¡±


    There were no creatures moving that I could see. I bundled my jacket tightly then paced, taking in a bit of the fires and throwing logs on the low ones. They were like beacons in the night, but leaving a soul defenseless against the biting cold wouldn¡¯t be right either.


    ¡°So my momma tells him to knock it off. Says only idiots and queers stare at another man¡¯s ass for so long. Momma don¡¯t like queers. Says they¡¯re a rude lot and she can¡¯t abide by anyone being able to stick a cock up an asshole like that. She says it ain¡¯t natural, but my aunt disagrees.¡±


    I almost retched in my mouth. Instead, I prayed that God would send us monsters to fight. Or that Neb¡¯s prattling would somehow alienate him from the Rangers. Maybe they had a code against being too talkative at night.


    ¡°But Pappy¡ªthat¡¯s Lincoln, Lincoln the Third¡ªhe don¡¯t like how my aunt¡¯s always fawning on them boys at the dock. Says they¡¯re a gang who take good girls and turn them into whores and Jezebels. Says that¡¯s not God-fearin¡¯. Though Momma¡ªthat¡¯s Lizzy, I told you Lizzy, right?¡±


    I felt his big goofy face beaming in my direction. It were as if his smile stayed glued on as he wobbled unevenly, praying the two of us would make eye contact. The best part was Neb managed to keep his mouth shut the entire time he waited. He¡¯d been gabbing more than Momma, Widow Craig, in a church on Sunday.


    After fixing up a fire and checking the area with my Eyes of a Man marking, I felt calm enough to nod. It were a sure bet Neb would have moved through at least half a dozen different subjects in a single breath if anyone let him.


    ¡°So Pappy, my daddy¡¯s daddy, says if my aunt, Melissa Lincoln, had her way, we¡¯d live closer to Wellbrook Mines on account of the ink coming from an angel and all that. But that doesn¡¯t make any sense since the monsters come out and kill people who ain¡¯t sound asleep in their beds like good little boys and girls.¡±


    Halfway through my shift, Neb, his two brain cells, and his mismatched stories nodded off. I found the silence odd after listening to him ramble for the better part of an hour. He¡¯d happily told me about every single family member he had. Most of the Lincolns were nice enough folks. His pappy¡ªthat were Lincoln Lincoln¡ªran the barber shop in Bell Town.


    Neb simply didn¡¯t have a mental filter to stop his mouth from running the thoughts in his brain. It beat Derek Lake¡¯s, that¡¯s Ducky. His mouth and mind had been set on jerk since minute one. Though my own momma would have said that¡¯s just my own sour view on the world.


    I wanted to stop thinking for the night, but without Neb awake to drive me insane, there were nothing but darkness. I should be scouting, not just tending fires.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    The two Rangers may be asleep, but sure money was on them having a way to keep an eye on me. Either there were other Rangers in the woods, or they were pretending to sleep. Or they expected us to die.


    I hated not knowing. That were the crux of my problem. I¡¯d heard all about the trials and known people who washed out. I¡¯d heard tell one in twenty died.


    Can¡¯t let it be me, or Daddy will find me in Hell and let me have it, I thought.


    I shivered all night, worried about the darker possibilities of my chosen enslavement. There were no monsters on the first night. I couldn¡¯t rest anyway and struggled to wake up another possible. They ignored me or outright refused to take a turn. Ducky were the only one who got up, near dawn, and took over.


    By then, I were weary beyond belief. The day had been grueling. The night more so, because of Ned and Ducky and everything else under the sun. I wanted to go home and return to my normal week of work. But I steeled myself against such weakness. Failing on the first night wouldn¡¯t be proper. There could be only one new Ranger, and I aimed to be the sole survivor this round.


    We hauled along the paths around town. I couldn¡¯t tell for sure, but we were probably within two miles of the river. Thoughts kept spinning in my head during the next day¡¯s run.


    The last few months had been a nonstop cycle of working myself to empty, and it¡¯d be over soon, either way. I reminded myself of that over and over as the miles disappeared during our run. My mind spun tall tales made of other people¡¯s rumors.


    Word at the bar had it that not everyone who failed lost out on becoming a Ranger. It sounded closer to a drunken story, along with the two-headed snake eyes being pure rainbow drops. There were tales of a hidden pool of ink to the north a ways, along the border of Slaughter Hills, that sent up worse monsters than anyone had ever seen. Even that were more believable than the belief that one correct merger of markings could transform a person into a secret race, an Angel, like them cast down.


    But secretive orders of Hunters? I scoffed. Those were secrets no one had made me privy to, despite a lot of not-too-subtle questions. Might as well believe it were possible to escape The Mountain.


    Ranger Ash shouted ahead, ¡°Let¡¯s keep up the pace!¡±


    But none ran with the speed of yesterday.


    ¡°You¡¯re out!¡± Ranger Wan¡¯s voice came from behind.


    I jumped and spun. Wan stared at a girl who couldn¡¯t have been more than fifteen. She fell to her knees and cried.


    ¡°No! I tried. I got the stupid ink.¡± She sniffed.


    ¡°Better luck next year.¡±


    ¡°How am I going to survive until then?¡±


    Ranger Wan¡¯s face tightened. He closed his eyes and shook his head. The man muttered something I couldn¡¯t hear, but the young girl sobbed.


    ¡°I can¡¯t fail!¡± she shouted.


    The girl ran straight toward The Mountain. I didn¡¯t know what she expected to gain by going in such a foolish direction. Maybe she believed town lay that way, but it didn¡¯t. My voice cracked with the effort to speak after our second day of traveling. My rations of water weren¡¯t large. We¡¯d passed by a few wells, and I¡¯d put on bursts of speed so I¡¯d have enough leeway to fill up ahead of Ranger Wan.


    If I¡¯d thought ahead of time that we were doing circles around the town, I might have set up pockets of food. Doing so would have required knowing exactly what route we were taking though. My thoughts were hardly on straight.


    Hours after the crying girl had run away, we ground to a halt. Even Ranger Ash looked exhausted.


    ¡°Find your spots. I¡¯d suggest better camps than the first night!¡± Ash shouted then coughed twice. He shook his head as if he saw spots then slowly kept his legs and arms moving.


    I were quiet but studied them. The Rangers weren¡¯t absolute monsters. They showed signs of wear after two days of solid movement under the sun. The light sprinkle last night had simply made it worse.


    Neb found me. ¡°You staying up again tonight, Mister Chase?¡±


    ¡°Just Chase.¡±


    ¡°You staying up again tonight, Mister Chase?¡± he repeated.


    I sighed and glanced around. First watch was as good as any, even during the second night. It gave me enough setting sun to test my vision by and let me keep moving a bit to keep from stiffening.


    Tomorrow would likely be hell on earth. My legs burned, and an ache in my back threatened to send me sprawling. I felt the three eyes shutting and opening on their own. There were no perfect way to explain how I knew they were the eyes, other than my eyesight flickering with different films.


    Wan and Ash glowed with a deeper type of marking than any of the others. The ink crawled under their skin and connected like rivers running to the ocean. I suspected the depth of their tattoos related to the nature of battle markings.


    ¡°You staring at another man? My momma, Lizzy Lincoln, she wouldn¡¯t like that, no, sir.¡±


    I ain¡¯t even made eye contact! I swore internally and shut my eyes tightly. The second night wouldn¡¯t be any easier than the first. We¡¯d closed in on The Mountain¡¯s base. In another few miles, I might be able to jaunt to Wellbrook. If I flunked, then going to work tomorrow would be easy enough.


    ¡°Momma can¡¯t stand the gays. Which is strange, because she says her best friend is queer. Back in the city, before she moved here. Daddy said he sure wished she¡¯d visit once or twice, but then Pappy told me it weren¡¯t none of my business.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± I said. It bugged me how the dumbest people assumed their opinion mattered one whit because I chose not to scream in their faces. Maybe that would have been a better solution, to tell Neb he were a giant idiot.


    ¡°You should. Bet your momma cares about all sorts of things. You ever ask her? Mine tells me, every night I¡¯m at home. Lord knows I could do with living somewhere else. Pappy told me Rangers get to live in mansions and are treated like kings when they¡¯re out of town.¡±


    He probably wouldn¡¯t get a clue fast. Neb wouldn¡¯t understand a hint if the finest ladies of Bell Town whispered it in his ear as a secret password to their pearled gate. I weren¡¯t one to talk. This whole stupid mission to become a Ranger couldn¡¯t be the only way to earn Momma a ticket out of The Mountain¡¯s shadow.


    ¡°How many more nights of this running do you think we¡¯ve got? One? Two? Daddy, that¡¯s Bennett, remember?¡± I didn¡¯t nod, but he continued anyway. ¡°He says the first test is always for endurance. Says he once made it through all the way until the end. The second one is normally a fight. Against someone else. Then they make us stand watch. Up the hill for the full moon. Then they send us down into the mines to survive the nights following the worst of it.¡±


    Oh God. If I spoke out loud, I¡¯d sound just like Neb, I thought. All them words without space to breathe, much less let another soul get a word in edgewise.


    ¡°Reckon I could make it through the first phase. Daddy says I hit like a bull gone feral. Should be able to do the second one. But I ain¡¯t going down into The Mountain. I could never abide by the darkness down there. All shadows moving wrongly and stuff. Did a day up at Wellbrook once.¡±


    Midnight couldn¡¯t come fast enough. I¡¯d wake one of the others, and this time not take no for an answer. Failing that, maybe it¡¯d be possible to direct Neb¡¯s unfiltered thoughts.


    Eventually he petered out, though I made sure Neb sat with me near a fire as he drifted off. Despite not wanting to hear him talk, the man shouldn¡¯t die in the cold. He had the soul of an idiot and needed the helping hand. Part of it boiled down to me repaying all those who¡¯d assisted me over the years.


    I stayed warm by doing laps around the fires, but that weren''t enough. The second night¡¯s cold cut through me. My bones were freezing and face numb. Concentrating on using my ink-detecting markings took more work than ever.


    Once the moon rose above the clouds, we¡¯d have a new shift for the watch. I¡¯d probably stay awake until the sun rose over the fields toward home. Two nights, and we would likely end up here a third. Neb showed no signs of failing to keep up with Ranger Ash.


    If anything, I¡¯d be the next one out. Wan had nearly caught up to me dozens of times. He played games with us throughout the day, and not the kind ones where a boy might toss a ball with their dead father. No, Wan wanted to see who faltered or stopped paying attention as he sneaked by.


    God, I hate all this running. It¡¯s boring. It hurts. The complaints went on. They did no good. Still, thinking about them kept my mind alert, and I needed that.


    Ash plopped down next to me. His sudden weight shifted the log I sat on. I swallowed back sickness from running on a nearly empty stomach.


    ¡°Surprised you¡¯re still in the running,¡± he said by way of greeting.


    I grunted. We were both surprised about that. Having Ducky here served as a souring reminder of what might happen if I failed. Lord knew if he succeeded and I failed¡­ well, I might as well shoot myself with Daddy¡¯s gun. There¡¯d be no living down the shit he¡¯d fling my way.


    Quack quack.


    Insulting Ducky did no good. The last time we¡¯d tussled, I¡¯d lost a day¡¯s pay. That boded ill for me, Momma, and even Ducky.


    ¡°How¡¯re your legs? Still good? Should rub them a bit, do stretches. Your pop show you any methods for relaxing?¡±


    He had not. I shook my head but stayed mute.


    ¡°Gonna be a rough day tomorrow if you don¡¯t stretch. We¡¯ve been pretty kind so far. But Rangers are expected to be tough. Going to run until the final two are knocked out. Don¡¯t let it be you. I¡¯d hate to have to explain that to Cassandra.¡±


    The fact he sat by me to explain a bunch of useless information were annoying. I couldn¡¯t figure out why a Ranger would bother to inform me of such an obvious outcome. They weren¡¯t on my side, I knew.


    ¡°You hear those songs the Delvers sing? They use the same general tone every time. You can tell which group you¡¯re coming up on based on their music,¡± he said.


    Way down we go, go, go, go, go, I thought. And how deep we¡¯ll go, ain''t nobody know.


    I nodded.


    ¡°They sing to ward off the demons of the deeps. Say the songs, if they echo or repeat certain noises, will confuse the monsters. Not true. At least not for the rest of us. But Delvers? They¡¯ve their own magic. ¡°


    Harold had told me as much. That their music would carry me to safety. Ash apparently was grasping around a subject he couldn¡¯t seem to leap right into. I stared at the man and waved him on with a hand.


    Ash shook his head ruefully and said, ¡°They named you Hound.¡±


    I stared at the man. He¡¯d been out in the sun too long. Signs of baldness were obvious along his nearly shaved head. Freckles poked from under his sleeves, along with thicker arm hair.


    ¡°You know your dad was almost a Hound?¡±


    ¡°Wha¡ª¡± My brain flickered off like one of Poss¡¯s fancy electric lights overloading. The thought continued to stutter and I couldn¡¯t rightly say if Ash¡¯d been yanking my chain as a test or spoke the truth.


    Daddy were a miner, I told myself. That fit everything I¡¯d heard and remembered until recently. Momma implied he¡¯d been more, but nothing like a Ranger.


    ¡°Ah. Here it is. Another test,¡± Ash whispered. He stood and patted my shoulder.


    I turned, and his body had become dust, or he¡¯d faded away. I couldn¡¯t rightly say, but Ranger Ash were gone.


    I looked around. A dozen or so creatures wove through the trees a few hundred yards out. Their forms were wiry skeleton framings that reminded me of a dead dog, but binding the bones together were long threads of ink. The very same material we cleaned up and tattooed into our skin.


    There were rules in the mines. If a lookout saw enemies, then they woke the others with a hard pinch. Anything else took too long. In a dire emergency, dirt to someone¡¯s face might work well. It had to be a soft sound though, or the animals might notice and go for the person being alerted.


    I shuffled over then pinched Neb. He woke then slapped himself repeatedly while groaning. That made no sense, but I¡¯d done my duty. I stepped over to one of the others, who¡¯d huddled under their jacket.


    ¡°What¡¯s it, mutie?¡± the girl asked.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t mute. I value silence,¡± I whispered. ¡°Like now. Monsters coming.¡±

 16 - Monsters of the Woods

    She, whoever the girl were, sat up and grabbed a gun¡¯s handle. She fumbled for bullets. I appreciated the action but wished she¡¯d been smoother in the effort to load a weapon.


    One hand went for my gun and the other a small hatchet that we¡¯d used to chop kindling. Those weapons might work, but our enemies looked to be undead and made of bone. It¡¯d be better to rely on turning a bladed weapon into a flame dagger like I¡¯d done before. We should have rigged traps.


    Ducky had already woken himself before I reached him. He gave me a dirty glare then waved toward the monsters. ¡°Go somewhere else, Chase.¡±


    At least he said my name this time, I thought then nodded. Ducky may be a horse¡¯s ass, but the creatures of ink would eat us all either way. We should be able to put aside our differences for a single skirmish. I hoped.


    A quick glance revealed the canines were even closer. They¡¯d spread out in a circle. I wondered if they were the bodies of all those hounds that had once lived at Tattooist Cassandra¡¯s. If she threw them all into The Mountain, they might be.


    I kept up the Eyes and watched as they wove through trees. Using my alternate sight proved difficult. The landscape was lit by our fires. I could use another eye to illuminate the trees, but then I¡¯d lose sight of the dogs.


    The others got ready in their own ways. Most were able to pick out which way the enemy approached. Three of our companions gathered near the fire. One took a stick and lit it.


    As if more fire will scare beasts of ink. The only thing they feared were the sun. Monsters would burrow at night, hide in caves or holes in the ground. Knowing what I did of the refining process, it was more likely the ink dried out in daylight. None of that knowledge helped me now.


    ¡°Four left,¡± the woman called.


    ¡°I see two,¡± Ducky shouted.


    ¡°Almost twelve,¡± I said. My voice cracked at the sudden burst in volume.


    Ducky glanced at me for only a moment before facing two dogs tearing through.


    My words must have stirred them. They bunched together. Even Ducky backed up. Each of us remaining applicants would have to fight a dog or two.


    Ducky touched a spot on his leg where vines circled rocks in a mixture of light green and brown ink. I didn¡¯t know he¡¯d gotten two markings. He had an entire house filled with drying materials so anything might have been possible. The vines flared under his clothes but stayed visible to my other sight. I blinked and switched back to normal for only a second.


    The girl pulled the trigger on her gun and hit one dog square in the shoulder. The dog¡¯s body vanished then reappeared to the side. It staggered from where it¡¯d been shot and took a second bullet between the eyes. She were a wicked shot.


    I readied my gun in one hand and my blade in another. I felt the cold of the metal creep through the gloves and merge with the black spider web of ink. My rainbow drop on the other hand burned and the blade glowed. But it weren¡¯t red with flame. This time it shone blue and was equally cold.


    A wave of emotions hit me then buried under the urgency of battle. I swung in time to catch a lunging dog in the face. Two quick shots with my daddy¡¯s old handgun made the beast whimper. Its paw shriveled and twisted as the creature tried to escape with its last breath. Then it lay still.


    ¡°Blink hounds!¡± Ducky yelled.


    As if I didn¡¯t notice.


    I¡¯d forgotten one of the simple rules of dealing with creatures from the ink. It gave us powers, sure, but it¡¯d give them abilities too. Some enhanced a person¡¯s nature. Others were downright strange. The blink hounds could shift from one spot to another, only short distances but enough to lunge at someone from behind.


    I hadn¡¯t survived in the mines all this time without being able to handle myself against a single beast. That¡¯d been before getting my own marks.


    Now, I could follow them. My left eye closed, which helped activate the tattoo. I¡¯d gotten better with them during our two-day run. It¡¯d be weird to walk around with an eye shut for the rest of my life, but if it helped during battle, I¡¯d roam around in the deeps with both eyes closed.


    Two more disappeared. I watched as their ink-laden skeletons wiggled through the air to appear in a new location. The sudden change made my heart race. Those two, along with the others, were attacking other would-be Rangers.


    One blinked to me, but I was prepared for an attack. The blue edge of my hatchet sank into its suddenly-appearing chest. I¡¯d gotten lucky and refused to let the dog slip away again. The beast wiggled away before I could level my daddy¡¯s revolver. Another person finished the dog off seconds later, using a nasty-looking two-handed ax.


    The oncoming monsters were numerous. More approached from behind. I couldn¡¯t tell if anyone else had seen those ones. Ducky had said he had a sight tattoo of sorts, but he looked lost, tussling with a beast boring down on him.


    ¡°A second wave comes,¡± I growled.


    Ducky pushed the animal off him and glanced my way with his jaw dropped in surprise.


    Even if we took down two a piece, it would leave us all damaged. Wounds only healed quickly for those with green. I¡¯d been lucky to avoid bites by simply seeing them ahead of time. Ducky and the other girl¡¯s wounds bled a nasty black color.


    Neb screamed while swinging his ax into another creature¡¯s skull. It split with a solid thunk and a garbled whimper. He grinned at me with his sideways smile. Mixed ink splatters marred the expression.


    I pointed behind him. Two more of the beasts were coming and aimed directly at the big man. My skills were limited and I hadn¡¯t had enough time or money for bullets to practice with Daddy¡¯s gun. Given my choice, I¡¯d wait until the beasts were closer, then pull the trigger when they couldn¡¯t dodge.


    Using a beefy deformed arm that reminded me of those Wildlings, Ducky hit a dog. I hadn¡¯t seen the twist that had brought on the change, but the sight made me sick because the arm was somehow warped indigo and blacks in a nauseating spiral.


    A girl hung on by using a freezing tattoo shimmering with yellow, light blue, and a thread of pink. Three others huddled together and gibbered. One blink hound broke through toward me while two went for the useless trio. I took a deep breath and made a split-second decision between being a good Ranger who did his duty, letting another contender die, and risking my own well-being, which might mean I could fail Daddy.


    Somewhere between those possibilities, my body had already made the choice to run for the trio. The dog after me wetly barked and gave chase. My eyesight swam between semi night vision and following the squiggles of color representing ink. The dog chasing me, or another, shifted in front of me. I raised Daddy¡¯s gun and pulled the trigger as it materialized. My bullet caught it square in the skull, and the dog¡¯s body spun away.


    I ran with the weapon and attempted to intercept the other two dogs. My gun should have two bullets left in the chambers. I¡¯d afforded enough supplies for two reloads, but the spare bullets were tightly pressed against my back right hip. Running and reloading were not a skill I¡¯d learned. If I did become a Ranger, I¡¯d invest my time in learning to shoot without needing to be point blank.


    Regrets came and went quickly. The two dogs moved faster. One latched onto a man¡¯s forearm and ripped into his flesh. He screamed. The two people with him seemed to wake up and pulled away in time. Neither bore inkings I recognized, so I couldn¡¯t tell if they¡¯d be useful.


    ¡°While I have it!¡± the one on the ground screamed. He flopped with his free arm around the dog¡¯s neck.


    ¡°What?¡± a girl screamed.


    ¡°Lay back!¡± Neb shouted. His words were a funny burst of noise that threw me off. The large goof charged past my recent kill and aimed his ax at the one latched onto the man¡¯s arm.


    ¡°Fool,¡± Ducky shouted.


    Our small squad had devolved into absolute chaos. I weren¡¯t a leader of men, but someone needed to take charge for the next fight. If we had another one before running out of contestants.


    But how could anyone take charge when we were all against each other? I wondered. In a normal situation, it would have been the Rangers¡¯ job to give orders. That¡¯s what they did.


    Taking charge, speaking aloud, commanding, those traits were all beyond me. Firing a bullet into the blink dog¡¯s brainpan was within reason. For me, The Mountain¡¯s gift took the form of seeing trouble before it got to others. That¡¯d be my role.


    I ran for the other dog. This one moved faster and hopped through the air in short bursts. Each one would have been disorienting save for one fact¡ªI could see where it¡¯d end up.


    Neb swung the flat of his ax into the blink dog. It went flying, taking a chunk of the man¡¯s arm with it. He screamed. Neb¡¯s face changed from ferocious to bashful with a quick twist. The man writhed. I saw green on his chest brighten then break apart into tendrils that swam through his body. All that ink squiggled inside the man¡¯s body, setting about the task of healing, no doubt. The vision made me sick to see.


    I fought back nausea and swung my blue-edged blade at the next dog. The burning hand, which lit with the rainbow drop, hung onto the blade as it slammed into the dog''s midsection. This one refused to slice as easily. Bullets would have been preferred. My weapon did something though, as the dog¡¯s body stiffened then turned blue. Azure from the blade¡¯s edge dripped into the dog. Then the dog shattered around the weapon¡¯s edge like ice shards.


    Daddy¡¯s gun came up. Bits of blue and green ink zapped through the air. I steadied my aim to shoot. One of the would-be Rangers swung a stick of fire in defense. Its sudden flare of light blinded me.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    The dog¡¯s path got lost in the shuffle. I fumbled, striving to overcome the sudden flare in lighting. Using the darkness-piercing eye and the ink-seeing one, plus trying to keep my normal vision active, hurt my head and made my back ache.


    I felt paws push me over.


    ¡°Mister Chase!¡± Ned shouted.


    There were more barking in the distance. I got only snippets of the action. The man on the ground clutching his shredded arm. Neb¡¯s giant ax dangerously close to my face. Ducky¡¯s deformed arm pounding the same animal over and over in a rhythmic coil of red inks.


    That makes no sense, I thought, staring at his arm. It¡¯d been different colors before, but so had my own rainbow drop palm.


    There were lots of issues with inkings that didn¡¯t make sense. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d ever seen so many abilities activated in one place. The suddenness of it made me feel like a stranger in my own head. Even the pressure at my back somehow muddled into the mix.


    But those musings only lasted a second. I spun around. A blink hound¡¯s claws slid and tore through my clothes. Its deformed maw snapped at me and dripped black spittle. My gun pressed into the beast''s neck. All the ink in its body formed and wove to make a false sort of flesh.


    Then I pulled the trigger and watched as colors, weaving into the common black ink, sprayed. I got a foot into its side then pushed the mongrel away.


    Noise about us died off. Neb huffed. Ducky still blindly fought one long-dead creature with a disturbing rage. I found a tree to lean against and scanned for more monsters. Using my sight ached after the abrupt overload. There were lots of places where ink illuminated the ground, but the only things moving were human.


    The fellow who¡¯d played bait chattered and clutched his arm. Both legs jerked as he rocked in place. His words were garbled, but he kept mumbling, ¡°Go green they said.¡±


    His arm knotted and twisted as his flesh sewed itself together. Sweat dripped down his face. Neb lumbered over with his ax. I hadn¡¯t even known he carried the weapon, or where. He didn¡¯t have a tattoo for it like Ash¡¯s staffs.


    Three or four of the blink dogs had been killed by my hands. I shook and felt near to puking. My stomach muscles were worn and head heavy. There were no time to rest though. I scanned the area for more monsters while fumbling for more bullets.


    There were none. I waited, tense and confused. The Rangers hadn¡¯t shown themselves. Wan and Ash had bunked down for the night but were nowhere to be seen. No one showed to offer us guidance.


    ¡°What do we do?¡± the sole remaining girl asked.


    There were six of us now. I searched for signs of other people and saw a dead woman over by a tree. Her stomach had been torn to shreds. I swallowed a sour taste and turned away. One hand crossed my chest in a quick prayer. Momma would be upset I¡¯d let someone die, but I hadn¡¯t even seen her. The sight of another dead human reminded me of that tender moment where Daddy had come back in pieces.


    ¡°Gather them,¡± I mumbled while bunching my hands together. ¡°They¡¯ll have to go back.¡±


    ¡°Goddammit, mute,¡± Ducky said.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t mute,¡± I answered quietly.


    Wish I could keep my mouth shut lately, I thought. Dealing with them made me long for quieter days. Once this nonsense ended, I¡¯d probably be saddled with a Ranger for guidance, or back in the mines.


    ¡°This ain¡¯t the deeps. There¡¯s no munchkins to order us about. We don¡¯t have to put them back.¡±


    Ducky¡¯s quacks of protest had no place in this fight.


    ¡°Rules,¡± I whispered.


    Things were that way for a reason. Everything about The Mountain said one simple fact. What came out had to go back in. If it didn¡¯t have to go back in, then why did Daddy need to be sent down below? Why else would he want Momma out of the area? He¡¯d feared the longer she lived here, the sooner she might give in.


    I scanned again and caught sight of Ranger Wan walking back. His markings were more obvious. The distinctive chest tattoo lit like a grinning face. I¡¯d only really taken note of it while we camped, and even then it¡¯d been with weary eyes. The running hadn¡¯t left me much room to ponder more than putting my feet in front of each other.


    I held the gun and let my shaking die down. I checked myself over for any spots where the ink might have tainted me. There were no signs of issues. One benefit to fighting above ground was that the monsters rarely came with the ability to poison. Their bodies were too long out of the pools.


    By then, Ducky and the others had gathered the dead. Despite his protests, Ducky knew the rules. I fumbled for one of the beasts, but the man who¡¯d picked green waved me off.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a green?¡± he spoke a question that felt more like a statement. The man pointed at my side where the dog had torn into me.


    It ached, but I¡¯d been hurt worse. I shook my head. Delilah, one of the head nurses up at Wellbrook, would want me to get stitches. She¡¯d be upset by the state of affairs for all of us.


    ¡°You and that ox killed the most.¡± The man thumbed toward Neb.


    Neb sat on a log with his ax and stared off into the trees. He seemed like a lost soul, wondering about his purpose in life. I¡¯d bet Lincoln Lincoln, his pappy, would have a thing to say about all this.


    ¡°Hold still. I¡¯ll fix you up.¡±


    I rubbed my thumb and fingers together. The man raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Price?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Twelve hundred dollars for this inking. Allows me to heal myself or someone else. Three times a day. Makes me hungrier than a room full of teenage boys,¡± he finished with a weak laugh.


    That hadn¡¯t been my question. It did tell me his one marking cost about twice what I¡¯d originally been saving. We could have bought a house for that price.


    My stomach heaved in a dry cough. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°In case more show up. You can¡¯t be bleeding.¡±


    He pressed a hand into my back, and I swallowed. His skill sent green tendrils flowing through my skin. I could see them, and dry revulsion crept up my stomach. It would have been better if Cassandra had given me any other marking.


    Our failed companion got a bit more reverence than the dead blink dogs. She were pulled from the tree and laid flat. A jacket was placed over her.


    ¡°Almost done. Hurts a bit. Feels weird. Never thought I¡¯d get a mark on me,¡± the man behind me muttered.


    I wondered why Neb wasn¡¯t over here babbling up a storm, but it seemed we each felt differently about the fight.


    Wan nodded at the pile. He walked over to the deceased woman and closed her eyes. I watched their interaction instead of focusing on the man in overalls who was sacrificing his ink¡¯s power to patch me together. It should recharge by tomorrow.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to run. Then once all is said and done, those left will be headed up The Mountain to take her back to her final rest,¡± Wan said.


    ¡°Who¡¯s going to watch over her?¡± the sole remaining female asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be watching over them,¡± a voice in the shadows responded.


    My head jerked to the side. Obsidian stood over the dead woman. He shook his head slowly. I tucked away the revolver, sure it wouldn¡¯t be needed again tonight.


    The man healing me pulled away. There were a sudden sucking sensation as the mark he¡¯d been using on me stopped. I glanced down at my torso to see if there were any lingering effects. Bits of the green faded as they were absorbed by my body. Their vanishing didn¡¯t comfort me any.


    My healer had one more use left today. The others didn¡¯t appear wounded. He wandered around to the rest of our small group and searched for someone to help.


    By sunrise, we were running again, with much less urgency. The two Rangers kept a slower pace. Their mission had been accomplished. We were down to the few people required.


    Night four went quietly. Neb had stayed in the running, as had Ducky. There were three others, bringing us to a total of six. They weren¡¯t eliminating us anymore. They were testing endurance. The two Rangers were going to work us to death, then set us on the next level of Hell.


    I stared at the forest floor. Exhaustion surely, or the dead of night and lack of other sights, or delirium, made me see things no man should rightly see. Down there, far away in the distance, glowed a river of ink. No, it weren¡¯t like a river running downstream. It resembled veins flowing outward and breaking apart to take over the landscape.


    ¡°What you starin¡¯ at, mute?¡± Ducky¡¯s abrupt words made my body flush with a chill.


    ¡°Nothin¡¯,¡± I said.


    ¡°And there. He speaks again. You¡¯re on a roll. I count almost twenty words out of you in two nights. Yet two months at the mines and you barely speak ten.¡±


    That couldn¡¯t have been a river of ink below our feet. Not so close to town, surely. It were more likely to be me mistaking my own veins in my foot for that fat mountain king¡¯s influence.


    That conclusion amounted to an even worse idea. Should I be afeared of The Mountain reaching so far toward home? Or should I be more scared that the very ink which had enslaved us ran through my blood?


    ¡°How far are we?¡± Ducky¡¯s voice sounded heavy and tired.


    Ranger Ash¡¯s arm moved out of the corner of my eyesight. He stirred the fire with a stick.


    ¡°How long does the rest take?¡± Ducky responded.


    ¡°As long as it takes. It always takes as long as it takes,¡± Ranger Ash responded.


    Range Wan snored loudly.


    Ash walked laps around the few of us remaining. We had two different fires. I knew myself and the night heat well enough to know fires were pointless. The flickering flames would stir any monsters still in their holes.


    Four nights. That was how long we¡¯d been out here, running laps during the day until people were sick or gave up. Three hellish cycles of the sun while under The Mountain¡¯s gaze. When we sat at night, I struggled to ignore the veins of ink flowing all around us. The Rangers¡¯ markings stood out under their clothes.


    Knowing their nature wouldn¡¯t do any good unless we needed to fight. I stayed sane by contemplating the effects I¡¯d seen against the colors they bore. Greens were nature-related, with enhancements to plants, healing, and the physical senses. Blues were sky and water but stayed element focused. Occasionally a marking could cast illusions, but those were rare outside of the Rangers¡¯ battle markings.


    Red meant fire and incited emotions. It were basic and brutal, often sweeping an unaware person aside in seconds. Yellows were soft magics. The colors went on, all across the rainbow¡¯s spectrum. Nearly all had blacks mixed in, more so than any other hue.


    I stared at my own markings and attempted to understand how they fit in. The rainbow drop had left a spider web of all colors, which meant it¡¯d go any which way apparently. A wild card maybe, but it¡¯d lit a knife aflame then made it cold. The Heart Seeker on my other hand let me track inked monsters.


    Then there were the eyes on my back. I didn¡¯t know what color they were. I¡¯d bet blue or yellow. Once I found private time with a mirror, I could inspect them more. That¡¯d help me identify what inks they were based on and might help me figure out the side effects. God knew there were always a cost.


    We were paying our own prices now. Neb stayed quiet during our remaining runs and bedded down at night. He curled up under a thin covering and ignored all attempts to rouse him for watch. I wondered if it was a side effect of his strength.


    ¡°Just handle it, Chase. I¡¯ll take the morning watch. Don¡¯t mind them not helping out. It simply proves we¡¯re more useful,¡± Ducky shouted across the single fire kicking off enough heat for us all.


    I nodded. He did have a point. If we were pulling more than our own weight and still going, it had to count for something. What, I didn¡¯t know. Ducky poked the fire, set kindling aside, and nodded to himself. His stomach growled, but we were all in need of food.


    There might be a link between his arm, which had showed multiple colors, and my own rainbow drop. I worked my way over and whispered quietly, ¡°Your arm¡­¡± I couldn¡¯t figure out how to politely finish. ¡°Changed.¡±


    ¡°So it did, mute.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Where¡¯d you get your gun?¡± he responded.


    Having a question answered with another question from Ducky made my stomach knot.


    ¡°My daddy.¡± The words hurt to say. Daddy¡¯s passing had been when my desire to talk had dwindled to nothing.


    ¡°There you go,¡± he said. ¡°Your dad gave you a gun. Mine gave me an arm. Hand-me-downs. Like everything around here.¡±


    He rolled over in a clear dismissal. I took the hint and walked back to my post, where I kept lookout with only thoughts to keep me company. Maybe Ducky and I were somewhat alike, as Delilah had said. We were both boys raised in The Mountain¡¯s shadow. His daddy might be that big twisted Wildling from nights before. Of course, Delilah had said Ducky¡¯s parents were taken. My daddy might have been more than a worker in the mines, as hinted at by Cassandra, Ranger Ash, and Momma.


    I took the first watch and thought about what a future with the Rangers might really mean. Hardwood had said most would-be Rangers didn¡¯t even realize what they were getting into.


    Hardwood, Ash, Wan, Obsidian, and Tawny were all the same in a respect. Well, alike enough to notice one thing. They were hard people. Though a better label might have been firm, or tough buggers. Even Cassandra, who somehow held a position of respect and leadership, were a tough lady. They weren¡¯t like miners or the rough boys from the docks of Bell Town. This hardness meant more.


    Could I ever be that tough? I asked.


    I¡¯d survived the first stages of the testing. Our next test would be far more taxing. Heading back up The Mountain to drop in a body wouldn¡¯t be too difficult, at least not if we got a day¡¯s rest before then.


    My legs hurt. I rubbed them and worked on knots. A waxing moon crept along the sky. The dead were somewhere behind us, watched over by the grumpy curmudgeon known as Obsidian.


    It¡¯d be hours before I could truly rest. Hound, Cassandra had called me. It fit more now than I¡¯d ever suspected. There were monsters in the hills, and I had to keep a lookout.

 17 - Priest of the Faithful

    Home bothered me.


    They¡¯d sent us on our merry ways with the promise to show up next Saturday. That meant three days of rest and recovery after a seven-day hellish run. Our dozens had become five people. Me, Ducky, the girl I still hadn¡¯t learned the name of, Neb, and the healer with green ink.


    But as I¡¯d thought many times, home bothered me. I had to avoid Momma and her constant badgering. She yammered up a storm and followed me about the house. She ventured outside after me into the chicken coop. Even the bathroom had no privacy.


    ¡°Can¡¯t believe they ran you boys for days. Why, if your daddy had been told to run for that long, I¡¯d sure as hell raise a cane at them.¡± Pots banged as Momma shuffled.


    I took small pleasure in seeing the cabinet doors swing without squealing. The grease had done good.


    ¡°Seven days? Seven days of hard labor? Might as well have been back in the mines. And don¡¯t tell me they didn¡¯t get beasts on you boys. There¡¯s always beasts on those trials. Every year.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t told my mother a damned thing with regards to the trials. She simply knew. Be it from failures who¡¯d already washed out, active Rangers, or experience with Daddy, I couldn¡¯t say. We¡¯d reached a point in our relationship where none of those options surprised me.


    Yet, coward me, couldn¡¯t ask the questions that really mattered. I feared doing so might drive momma back into hiding.


    ¡°Then you were out there with poor Lincoln''s idiot grandson. That boy is all brawn and no brain. Not like my son. My boy is a hard worker. Lord knows he is.¡± She whipped a hand towel through the air, proceeded to dust, and kept rambling.


    I struggled to straighten my thoughts. Momma¡¯s voice faded as she bustled around the house. Jenn hadn¡¯t been home at all during my brief recuperation. I wanted to sleep more, but no position felt comfortable for long. My legs ached. Bite marks littered my body. Healing from the green only did so much.


    Hard work is going to get me killed, I thought.


    ¡°That girl of yours is out caring for one of our neighbors¡¯ yards. Said she¡¯d made a deal to help you out. Been visiting them all week. Comes back with a few goods. Which went right into the stew you ate last night.¡±


    I¡¯d forgotten Jenn had made a deal to borrow a pair of donkeys. Having a Flop help around the property were easily worth more than a pair of asses for a night. I wondered how good Jenn had gotten with her gifts over the years. With a few hours, a single Flop could plant seeds in a garden and have them budding.


    In truth, each race altered by The Mountain¡¯s ¡°gifts¡± had perks and drawbacks. Delvers worked the dirt. They became stonemasons, worked construction, but mostly miners. Flops worked nature. Their kind took care of livestock or fields. Felines were downright predatory and became bodyguards or courtesans. In a way, they formed a weird circle that covered humanity by taking care of the land, animals, and people.


    I avoided deep thinking, but three days of bed rest had given me plenty of time to wonder how such a situation could have come about. The fat devil ruling The Mountain might have made sure only certain beasts were spawned. It might have given Rangers power in order to keep humans close.


    Then there were the Rangers themselves. If The Mountain had created a self-sustaining ecosystem, what did Rangers do? Army folks said Rangers were scouts and shock troops. That was what I¡¯d heard at the saloon. Everyone speculated.


    I spent the days wondering what I¡¯d gotten myself into. With the Eyes of a Man Cassandra had given me, it were too late to get out. The Watchful, Darkness Ward, and Hidden Soul. Each had a role in my eyesight. Running for days had broken down the barriers between that marking and me. I could switch them around with ease, though the cost was my regular eyesight.


    Using the Darkness Ward meant bright lights would be like flares, burning my eyeballs. Seeing ink made the world weird, as though there were lines throughout it. Those three Eyes of a Man markings were tied to switches in my head that turned them off or on. The third eye didn¡¯t take over my normal vision though, it simply hid the markings.


    Our last test might be worse than the ones prior. I needed to get more comfortable using the long dagger and gun. The combination served me well, but switching weapons took a lot of work. Firing at dogs more than a few feet away were nearly impossible and relied on luck. If I made it as a Ranger, I¡¯d ask for time to practice.


    If I didn¡¯t, well, it might not matter what I got good at. The mine would eat me alive.


    I sat at the house, fidgeting with my daddy¡¯s gun and wondering about the reason behind all this madness. People questioned how to make money, but there weren¡¯t many who ever questioned the mines. Places like it, according to the churches, had always existed.


    Maybe that¡¯s where I should seek my answers, I thought.


    There were two types of churches. The temple up top were more about the circle of dependence upon The Mountain than any sort of worship to a God. My goal had nothing to do with the temple.


    I couldn¡¯t sit at home doing nothing. My legs and body worked well enough to go to town. There I searched for flyers from the pastor a few months ago. There were a few, and they gave me directions to another location. That was how I found myself standing outside the Church of Fallen Angels.


    The building itself were a small postage-stamp-sized home in the woods, almost exactly opposite Cassandra¡¯s homestead. There were a clear view of Chandler¡¯s Field and Butcher Hills. It were as though someone had chosen this plot of land to show how The Mountain owned everything from the hills on down to the town.


    Shadows twisted in front of me then formed a man. The marvel set me back on my heels and I put a hand on my gun.


    ¡°You lost, boy?¡± Obsidian asked.


    I nodded briefly then lifted my eyebrows.


    The small church door slammed open. A man stepped down the two steps while roaring as if God Hisself were spitting thunder behind him. ¡°Listen, you misguided heathen, don¡¯t you stand in the way!¡±


    Obsidian¡¯s shadow form turned, and for a moment, I suspected he¡¯d been surprised. It were hard to tell with the shade and darkness that clung to him closer than wet on a dog.


    The man waved wildly while holding up a book. ¡°You¡¯re on God¡¯s door, Ranger! No use trying to hide yourself from his sight or those in his service.¡±


    ¡°If you say so, Padre,¡± Obsidian responded.


    I wanted to know which tattoo let Obsidian follow me around like an overly critical grandfather waiting to swoop in and decry his failure kin. He should have been bothering Ducky. He should have been bothering Neb. Any of them being shackled together would have made me smile.


    ¡°Padre, this boy¡¯s¡ª¡± Obsidian said, but the church leader stepped right into his shadow body while shaking the book. Obsidian¡¯s form fell apart then vanished.


    I found myself staring at where Obsidian had been, then at the leader¡¯s pants, which were now in my line of sight. It made no sense. I closed my eyes and sought out an inking that might explain it, but found nothing. Only a dull, unformed haze that looked nothing like the raw material we pulled from mines.


    ¡°Cat got your tongue?¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°You¡¯re Widow Craig¡¯s boy, ain¡¯t you? Heard tell you don¡¯t like speaking much since your daddy done passed away.¡±


    There I stood, gloves over my fingers, Daddy¡¯s hat on my head, and holding a piss-poor combination of hand-me-down weapons. My entire life consisted of living the path of another man, and the thought bothered me. It bothered me like Obsidian¡¯s interest in my actions, even while roaming the town. It bothered me knowing my daddy had somehow been tied to The Mountain.


    ¡°Now, son,¡± the man said while shaking his book at me, ¡°what brings a young man like yourself to our doorstep? A crisis of faith? You seeking answers? I can¡¯t rightly claim to have any, but I¡¯ve been known to lend my good ear to a troubled soul. Wicked souls get the bad ear.¡±


    My mouth hung open then clamped shut. There were no sane way to voice any of the thoughts in my head. What I had might be called a crisis of direction.


    ¡°Well. Least you can do after coming all this way is to step inside for a spell and get out of this terrible heat,¡± the man said with a wave. His hands were more agitated than Momma¡¯s, as if they found staying still to be a crime against God. ¡°Come on. What kind of leader of the faith would I be if I didn¡¯t offer you some small comforts in your hour of need?¡±


    How does he know I¡¯m in need? I asked myself.


    He¡¯d already walked up the steps and opened the door. I followed slowly and worried. I hadn¡¯t set foot in a church since Daddy¡¯s passing, though the Temple up on The Mountain¡¯s ridge didn¡¯t exactly function the same. They guarded the sanctity of the dead and the heart of The Mountain.


    Inside, tables were set haphazardly along a narrow hallway. Two turns later, we opened into a wide room with a few people sipping from teacups. The pastor smiled and bobbed his head in greeting to the other folks. They waved and eyed me for a spell before resuming their conversations.


    He grabbed a plate with his free hand, stacked it on top of the book he refused to let go of, and gathered food from one of the tables. ¡°Help yourself, son.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    I wondered if taking food somehow served as a social obligation. My body still ached from the days of running and being healed by the fellow¡¯s green ink. Any flab I¡¯d had left had mostly vanished as the green used fat for fuel.


    Some of the folks were familiar. Chandler¡¯s Field only had so many bodies in it, despite Wellbrook Mines constantly hiring people from all over the country to come work in its hellish depths. I recognized one of them, though where I knew her from didn¡¯t register right away. The girl were younger than me by a few years. A tiny waif with a hint of darkness to her skin. Not black like immigrants brought from overseas, but well-tanned from working outdoors. I struggled to place her while the pastor talked.


    ¡°Now, I¡¯d heard tell about you around town. A hard-working lad they say. Though there¡¯s folks who also think your interests lay in a far less morally upright path.¡±


    I glanced back to see he had an eyebrow raised and his head slowly shaking.


    ¡°The young Miss Jewel is one of our faithful. Her daddy brought her to be cared for and watched over, away from the wrong sort of folks who might seek to take advantage.¡± He nodded at the young woman I¡¯d been trying to place.


    Suddenly the conversation took on a new light. I understood how the pastor had learned so much about me. He¡¯d been talking with Mister Jewel, Opal¡¯s father. Or perhaps Opal, who knew me in the same way any young child knew about another in Chandler¡¯s Field.


    I didn¡¯t know what to think of Mister Jewel needing to protect his daughter. It made sense to have someone looking out for the girl. He¡¯d implied his other daughter had gone on to a ¡°less righteous¡± job. That reminded me of Lily and our brief time together.


    I hope she¡¯s doing okay, I thought.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, son. You¡¯re only one man, and no matter what Mister Jewel says, it takes a village to raise a child.¡± He plopped an item onto my plate, then another. ¡°Try some of these pastries. My wife, Annabel, made them just last night. Delicious.¡± He grabbed a small flaky piece for himself and pinched the crumbs to make them into a ball. That too went into his mouth.


    ¡°Honey, I told you not to have too many of those!¡± the woman sitting with Opal chided. She shook her head.


    ¡°Divine, dear, too divine!¡± He held up his hand and grabbed another pastry for his plate. ¡°Come on, before she gets me into trouble. We¡¯ll sit on the porch. Sunset¡¯s lovely this time of year. Yes, it is.¡±


    He nodded to himself and dodged around two seated ladies, through a doorway, across a small linen room, and used a shoulder to push open the back door.


    ¡°Kenneth, I don¡¯t want you back in here gorging on those pastries! And don¡¯t think that circling around from the front with¡ª¡± Annabel said from behind us. The door closed and cut off the rest of her words.


    ¡°Sorry about the missus. She rules the house with an iron fist. As well she should. I get me pulpit from time to time to spread God¡¯s word while she minds my waistline.¡± Kenneth smiled at me.


    I gave back a tired smile. He nodded and sat down, then patted the porch for me to join him.


    ¡°So where were we? Ah, Mister Jewel says you¡¯re a quiet boy. Says you have been since the day your daddy passed. Awfully sorry to hear about that, and I wouldn¡¯t speak of it to a soul except you know how the ladies can be. All gossip all the time.¡± Kenneth grabbed food from his plate. ¡°And while it ain¡¯t right for a boy to become a man without his daddy, the world ain¡¯t kind.¡±


    My food lost its appeal. The pastries seemed dry and the small bits of bacon I¡¯d fished out were undercooked.


    ¡°But as a good neighbor, and I know I ain¡¯t your daddy, I¡¯ll help if I can. It¡¯s not only my job as pastor, but it¡¯s what any god-fearing soul should do. But if you¡¯re not the talking sort, then it¡¯ll be hard for me to listen.¡±


    He ate another bite. I had dozens of thoughts in response but said none of them. Sitting there would be just as good as being at home. Momma chattered up a storm as well.


    He slammed his knee with a hand and started up again in that thundering hellfire of a voice. ¡°Tell you what, I¡¯ll take a few shots in the dark, and you nod when we¡¯re on to something. Sound good?¡± By the end, he seemed to remember he weren¡¯t at the pulpit, spouting at a congregation. His tones regained civility.


    I nodded.


    ¡°Now given the size of this town, and the way gossip spreads, it¡¯d be a fool¡¯s bet to guess at anything but them Ranger trials. You¡¯re aiming to become one, right?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Keeping folks safe from the sins of The Mountain, that¡¯s good work. Wanting to join their ranks is a righteous thing. But I can see how a soul might be divided. Fighting the monsters ain¡¯t their only job. Rangers have to fight men too.¡±


    I did not nod to that statement. The righteousness of the task struck me as irrelevant. Fighting monsters or humans didn¡¯t bother me. Not yet anyway. I¡¯d face those trials when the time came.


    The bigger worry was ending up another dead soul and leaving Momma behind. During our run, there¡¯d been monsters, a girl had died, and I¡¯d watched the disturbing sight of green ink swimming through my body and others. The thought of failing in my own task set by Daddy knotted my insides.


    ¡°You doubt if you¡¯re on the right path?¡±


    Yes, I thought. If it weren¡¯t for needing to get Momma away from town and needing large sums of money to do so, I¡¯d never venture to become a Ranger. There were tons of folks content to simply work about town in their daily jobs. Maybe I could have been a dock worker in Bell Town.


    Risking my life and putting those inks on my body were all for Momma, but that reality plagued me too. Each marking felt like selling part of my soul. I¡¯d parcel away my skin one inch at a time while telling myself it were to honor the promise I¡¯d made.


    ¡°You¡¯re young. There¡¯s a mile or two of experiences between us. Get older and you¡¯ll see. Children is young.¡±


    My eyebrow raised and I wiggled one finger in a question mark. Too late, I realized he probably hadn¡¯t heard of my hand gestures from any gossip circle.


    ¡°You doubt me? I¡¯ll tell you a story.¡±


    My eyes rolled.


    Kenneth laughed around crumbs from his pasty, which he wiped off. ¡°Now don¡¯t mistake me, I¡¯m not preaching. I¡¯ll save that for the sermons. But I will tell you a story from when I was your age.¡±


    He had my interest.


    ¡°Years ago, ages before I settled in Chandler¡¯s Field, I wandered the eastern coast. Town to town. Did odd jobs here and there. Saw more than I¡¯d ever expected of man¡¯s darker nature. And truth be told, I ventured down a wrong turn or two myself during those days.¡±


    While the preacher had a voice that could call down fire and brimstone on the godless, he didn¡¯t seem to be the weak-willed sort. His admission that he¡¯d taken a wrong turn or two made my face run cold and back itch.


    ¡°Now during those days, we were at war with the Empire, which sits back across the ocean. Over tariffs, and taxes, and demands for resources that we¡¯d broken our backs to gather. People didn¡¯t want to pay someone thousands of miles away in exchange for nothing.¡±


    I nodded. History lessons had stopped once I started work at the mine, but we¡¯d learned some of this at the town¡¯s schoolhouse. That war had started almost thirty years ago and ended just before I was born.


    ¡°So we went to war. A long war. They sent soldiers over. And I mean young kids. Hardly a day older than you or that girl Opal in there.¡±


    His words set me on edge. I¡¯d worked hard to consider myself a man. Kenneth didn¡¯t care. He wore his years like the word of God and kept right on preaching.


    ¡°The war was a bloody thing that ended with us being an independent nation. But that prize¡±¡ªhe said the word as if it disgusted him¡ª¡°well, it was built by the deaths of idealistic kids who barely knew what they were dying for.¡±


    I pointed at him and wiggled my finger in a question again.


    ¡°Was I in the army?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°No. Not me. My brothers. One fought for king. One fought for country. I suppose it was fitting since they¡¯d never gotten along a day in their lives.¡± Kenneth chewed his food slowly for a time. ¡°As for me, I worked on the docks of an Empire town on the coast. There I helped load the dead soldiers, those touched by the Lake of Galahad, back onto ships to venture across the ocean.¡± He waved in a pantomime of a ship sailing off, then laughed weakly.


    The food in front of me tasted dry and lifeless. I worked on a few more bites while considering Kenneth¡¯s words.


    ¡°Eventually the war ended. Bodies still came, slower but steady. Then I got a letter by post. I ventured home to find my parents weeping over empty graves. Both brothers dead. Didn¡¯t matter which side they¡¯d been on. Some folks think living in the shadow of the angel¡¯s mine is kind of like hell, but they don¡¯t know what war does to folks. Kin against kin? Ain¡¯t right. War is the true hell.¡±


    Kenneth might be right. I hadn¡¯t seen a war, not really. I¡¯d seen monsters and lived in the mines for days on end, only coming up for a small dose of shelter and rest. I¡¯d survived, taken care of my momma, and been out well after sundown. Those were all nerve-racking enough.


    ¡°You might ask what this story¡¯s got to do with being a Ranger. Rangers, soldiers, they¡¯re cut from the same cloth but sewn differently. I¡¯ve seen my share of Rangers, and more than my share of dead soldiers. I sat by and did nothing while families were torn apart. I often wonder if I¡¯d chosen to fight, would my brothers still be alive?¡± He stared at me as if I might have an answer.


    I shrugged and cast my eyes downward in shame. It weren¡¯t a sensible feeling, but it still made me flush red. By the time I looked back up, he¡¯d already resumed staring at The Mountain.


    ¡°That question drove me thousands of miles across the land. Got away from the coast and came here to the source of all this power. Closest thing we have to God is a fallen angel.¡±


    His words confused me. There were no angels at The Mountain. None I¡¯d ever seen anyway. All that lay in the depths were traps and monsters seeking to eat each other¡¯s hearts.


    Kenneth continued. ¡°One day, if I hold the faith, God or The Mountain might see fit to offer me an answer. Did I serve the greater good by simply helping those bodies return home? Or did I fail by not fighting for king or country?¡± He yawned then smacked his hand on the book he had set down.


    I stared at my plate of half-eaten food and poked bits.


    ¡°Listen to me spinning a yarn. My manners aren¡¯t what they should be. What about you, son? Feel like talking yet?¡±


    I shook my head. The story hadn¡¯t provided any guidance. It only told me that even in my later years, I might never have an answer to what path to take.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what. When you do feel up to a chat, come see me. Like I said, I¡¯ve got two ears and you¡¯ll get the good one for a spell. Answers, I ain¡¯t got many of those, but I¡¯ll listen as well as you listened to me.¡±


    His words had set my mind afire with confusion and concern. The extra worry only added to my growing problems. But a man like Kenneth, who¡¯d clearly pondered the ways of the world more than any other soul I¡¯d spoken to, might have at least one answer I could use.


    Some months ago, I¡¯d gotten drunk and tossed rocks toward The Mountain. I¡¯d cursed it for being a fat devil on the throne. The mine itself was a doorway to hell. For months, I¡¯d ventured into its depths and pulled out strands of ink. We laid it into our flesh in pretty pictures and called it art that gave us power. While he couldn¡¯t tell me if I¡¯d been doing the right thing, he could tell me if my soul were at risk.


    ¡°Are we cursed?¡± I asked, then jumped at the sound of my own voice.


    Kenneth waited for me to settle down, but I didn¡¯t. Goose bumps prickled my arms. The evening sun reminded me how late it¡¯d become. I had only tonight to ready myself for the next trial and I¡¯d spent the day navel-gazing with a preacher.


    ¡°Cursed? That¡¯s not something any of us have a right to say. It¡¯s between every soul, God, and those fallen seeking redemption.¡± Pastor Kenneth nodded at The Mountain, looming over the town and backlit by sunset. ¡°But you¡¯re not the first to ask.¡±


    He glanced down and set his plate to one side.


    ¡°When I helped ship those bodies back across the waters, I wondered if they were sinners. They¡¯d come over to our shores to kill our soldiers. We¡¯d killed them instead. But did their markings make them evil? Their power came from the Lake of Galahad. Stories say he was a knight renowned for his gallantry and purity. Such a place can¡¯t be evil, can it? I like to think not.¡± He shook his head again and smiled at me.


    ¡°Were I to guess, I¡¯d say that what choices you make mark the soul. Not the ink itself.¡± He gazed across the clearing, over the town, and seemed to be staring eye to eye with The Mountain. ¡°Think about it. When your daddy died, his body and the ink he wore would have been taken back to The Mountain. But his soul? That went to God for judgment.¡±


    His words sounded reasonable but not agreeable. I didn¡¯t believe that The Mountain didn¡¯t have claws in our very souls. But the idea that Daddy¡¯s spirit lay at rest somewhere outside those hellish depths made me happy.


    Kenneth hadn¡¯t exactly answered any of my urgent concerns. Honestly, I still hadn¡¯t figured out what my real concerns were. His story had provided me some comfort. There were hope that no matter what I subjected myself to¡ªfighting beasts from The Mountain, getting marked with dangerous tattoos¡ªif I did my damnedest to be a righteous man, then I¡¯d die at peace.


    I wondered if the poor gutted girl in the woods had had any peace when she died. The look of resigned exhaustion on her face spoke otherwise. It were as though she¡¯d given up.


    I nodded to him, swallowed a lump, then said, ¡°Thank you for the meal.¡±


    That had been the most I¡¯d spoken since completing the seven-day run.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, young man.¡±


    Home I went.

 18 - King of the Commoners

    The quietness and crickets set my teeth on edge. There were a heavy dampness to the night, along with a spark of something that lit up my nose with zinging energy. The still air felt like the calm before a storm.


    Ranger Obsidian chose to leave me be. Perhaps his shadow couldn¡¯t form in any distinct manner. I saw no signs of ink-spawned magic with any of my eyes. Jenn¡¯s long Flop ears were equally absent. For a moment, I missed being called stupid. It would have meant life were normal, that I didn¡¯t sit at the crossroads of change. Tomorrow, Saturday, would mark the final stage of everything I¡¯d worked toward in this last year.


    I sneaked into the house, slipped past Momma sleeping in her armchair, and took off my shirt. Daddy¡¯s hand-me-down clothes were folded into a neat pile then put on a chair by the door. I tucked myself into bed. My hand rested on the warm, soft fur of a blanket I couldn¡¯t rightly recall, then sleep sucked me under.


    I woke to a scream followed by a heavy thud of noise. Neither sound fully registered as the room shifted through gray-scale, then a strange overlay where a ball of fuzz rocked in a corner, and back to normal vision. Days on edge in the woods made my brain slow to register anything.


    Sunrise poked through a window. Pain at my side kicked in, and I reached down to find my calf had thick scratches oozing an angry red. My stomach felt itchy but warmer than it should this early.


    I followed the wake of disturbed blankets and a knocked-over chair to the bundle huddled in one corner. Jenn rocked, naked as the day God made her except furrier. She pulled at my folded shirt and attempted to keep her face covered.


    ¡°Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl,¡± she muttered quietly. Her arm jerked into the sleeve. ¡°Not Saturday. Saturday.¡±


    My vision frizzed briefly, mixing overlays of the room. Dark spots brightened, and the sunbeam coming through the window turned into a font of fire. Those blurred apart and the markings on my hand faded out of view.


    ¡°Jenn?¡± I mumbled while rubbing one eye. ¡°Were you in bed?¡±


    My chest and body felt weak. I needed more rest, but part of me figured that¡¯d be a useless goal. Today, the other four and I would report back at town. There we would join the escort of dead bodies being returned to The Mountain.


    The bedroom door banged open. I rocked from the force and struggled to open my drooping eyes. Momma stood in the doorway, head whipping around, searching for intruders. She had a cooking apron on and a grease-covered frying pan at the ready.


    She lowered it slowly while honing in on the two of us. Jenn slowly kicked her legs to get farther into a corner. I took note of the way her muscled thighs rippled and the cute short tail. Then it dawned on me what my momma might be seeing.


    I didn¡¯t have a stitch on. Jenn had my shirt on, and the room were an outright mess of hastily knocked over items.


    Momma chose to shout at me. ¡°Chase!¡±


    My eyes had no trouble staying open now. Jenn scrambled for the window and quickly pulled herself through. The sound of her thick nails catching the hardwood floor and Momma¡¯s stomping feet filled my room. A heartbeat later, the woman who¡¯d given birth to me loomed over me, red, angry, and shaking a frying pan. In that moment, she scared me more than any being to crawl out of The Mountain¡¯s depths. She would have cowed the devil hisself with a fiery anger Kenneth knew nothing about.


    ¡°What have you done, son? Tell me you weren¡¯t taking advantage of that poor girl! Don¡¯t you know what she¡¯s been through? After all I¡¯ve taught you, I expected a damn sight better than¡ª¡± Her voice went so high, I wondered if it might snap in two like a guitar string being over tuned.


    My mouth hung open. Ringing in my ears like vibrating tin drowned her out for a moment. I shook my head to clear the sound.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you be dumb with me, boy! I know you¡¯ve got words in you. Don¡¯t think I¡¯ll buy that act now. Lord almighty, walking in here, you naked as the day you came out and her crying on the ground without a stitch on. What have you done to poor Jenny?¡±


    I pulled the blanket over my exposed groin and felt my control over the markings slip. One hand burned hot. The other cold. The Rainbow spot and Heart Seeker blotches faded into view.


    Momma huffed. Her hand brought up the frying pan repeatedly before lowering it back down.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t! She was¡­¡± I started.


    My half-formed sentence died, and Momma¡¯s eyes widened with anger. ¡°That¡¯s what it is? Did you think you have the right to hold a good home over her head? The first place she¡¯s felt comfortable enough to stay in years and you¡¯ve chased her out. I should have known. You¡¯re a stain on the family name. Why, your daddy would have shot you himself for even thinking to force that poor girl to be a bed warmer.¡±


    Kenneth had said something the day before that stuck with me. It ain¡¯t right for a boy to become a man without his daddy.


    But that thought, and a dozen others, mangled together in my head. They were so loud, even Momma and the ringing in my ears couldn¡¯t stop them from bursting out. The biggest problem was all those nasty retorts and lingering hurts used my mouth to escape.


    ¡°I¡¯ve busted my ass for months. Working myself to death up in that mine. Monsters every day. Handling liquid poison. To earn a pittance. And almost all of that goes to the taxes that you let slip before I could get a job. Because someone has to pay for food and materials when you couldn¡¯t even keep the hens. Daddy died and left us with nothing but a mountain of troubles,¡± I shouted.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you¡ª¡± she butted in.


    I stepped over to her and once again realized I¡¯d grown taller than her. Not that height gave me any power, but it served to remind me I¡¯d long ago stopped being a little boy. The idea that I¡¯d snapped at her hurt me, but I didn¡¯t know how to take it back.


    The world ain¡¯t kind, Kenneth had said. It rattled through and joined the tangled rage using my mouth to escape.


    ¡°And I¡¯m trying!¡± My voice turned scratchy. ¡°I¡¯m trying to do right. To make sure you¡¯re taken care of like Daddy wanted. I¡¯m trying¡ª¡± I hiccupped and the words died. That had been the biggest speech out of my mouth since Daddy died, and nothing sounded right.


    I shook my head, stepped away, and refused to let myself be seen like this. All this time, I¡¯d been struggling to be strong enough, and I¡¯d fallen apart before even becoming a Ranger. If I had simply lasted a few more days, then everything could have been right.


    Realizing my failure doused my rage like a bucket of water over a campfire. My chest heaved for air. I had a million more words to speak and no strength to utter a single one.


    ¡°Son¡­¡± Momma¡¯s words trailed off. The fire died out of her as quickly as it had from me. I could hear in her voice the sound of a soul crumpling in doubt.


    I refused to look and kept my eyes closed. The eyes I¡¯d been given still saw through my meager eyelids. Jenn stood right outside, huddled against the wall¡ªprobably listening.


    ¡°It¡¯s not your job to take care of me,¡± she said at last.


    I sucked in a breath and clamped my jaw shut. Then whose is it? Because until recently, you sure as hell couldn¡¯t take care of yourself. I screamed inside my head. Biting back those words made my face ache and throat dry. I kept my eyes firmly fixed on the wall.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to lie down. I expect to see you when you get back from this fool¡¯s dream of yours. Right and proper Monday morning, with an apology for yelling at me, and a double one for taking advantage of that poor girl.¡±


    Before I could find the words to rebut her insane expectation, Momma stomped out. Seconds later, her door slammed. The house creaked from Momma pacing inside her small room while I struggled to find breath.


    The situation felt familiar. She¡¯d done this before, when the clerics of the temple up top asked us who¡¯d go with Daddy¡¯s body. Momma had bottled herself up in anger, stormed inside the bedroom, and left me to be the one to send him off.


    I didn¡¯t want to venture up that trail again while knowing Momma sat at home, full of spite and hate. Not when she¡¯d misunderstood everything. But I couldn¡¯t find the right words to say.


    I can face The Mountain, but I can¡¯t face Momma.


    She stayed in her room while I gathered my hand-me-downs and made ready to leave. Every time I walked by her door, I struggled to find the right words to make her understand, but nothing came to mind. It were a hard thing to know my only family in the world thought I¡¯d taken advantage of Jenn.


    The reality seemed to be I¡¯d fallen asleep and not known Jenn was also in my bed. I vaguely recalled the sensation of her furry leg under my hand, but Flops were notoriously hard to rouse during the night.


    I grabbed my hat, sure they wouldn¡¯t deny us a simple cover. Daddy¡¯s jacket might not stop the rain on the horizon, but there were no alternatives. I fumbled through a secret alcove in my room and pulled out a few dollar bills Momma hadn¡¯t found.


    A short time later, before the morning sun had made it completely over the eastern horizon, I started out of the house. The pastor, Obsidian, Momma, and all others had their points of view on The Mountain. I had mine.


    None of it mattered until I survived these trials and became the last man standing, failed, or died trying.


    A mile along the path, a bit of rusty red and white jutted out from behind one of the trees. I knew the height and coloring well enough to figure out who¡¯d tried to hide as I passed. Behind that bit of oak stood Jenn.


    ¡°Jenn.¡± I sounded calmer than I felt. My heartbeat thudded loudly enough to drown out birds chirping. The bout of fire I¡¯d felt at Momma threatened to resurface.


    She jumped and slowly poked her head out from behind the tree. I gave a tired smile then pointed at her and turned up both hands as if grasping at something. Jenn pulled back behind the tree and refused to come out. I waded past brush on the roadside and toward her hiding spot.


    ¡°You got in trouble. Because I did something wrong,¡± she said quietly.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    I nodded twice.


    ¡°Your momma is too kind to me. Too kind for a stupid girl like me.¡± Jenn¡¯s face poked out. She locked eyes with me as her bottom lip trembled.


    ¡°You¡¯re not stupid,¡± I said reflexively.


    Jenn stepped out from behind the tree and shivered. I frowned. She still wore the older clothes, worn at the joints.


    ¡°I am. I am, Chase. I should have slept on the floor. Stupid. Smells on the bed. Like unwashed man.¡± She snorted.


    That didn¡¯t seem fair. I¡¯d taken to washing before coming in the house or even my room. Having Jenn closer to the house meant I¡¯d needed to keep myself cleaner. It hadn¡¯t been easy. My clothes smelled of the mines and sweat.


    I¡¯d have to scrub out the tub once I returned home.


    Momma had insisted I apologize to Jenn. Despite her attitude, she was right. Jenn probably hadn¡¯t intended to be anywhere near me. She didn¡¯t like men.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I said.


    ¡°Okay.¡± Her head wiggled and nose twitched but hands stayed clasped tightly. Jenn¡¯s long toes wiggled and flexed.


    I wondered if I might end up a Flop one day. If my future were not as a Ranger, then I could find myself transforming into a Feline, Delver, or even a Wildling. Tattooist Cassandra had warned me I¡¯d find myself at the crossroads eventually.


    Then there were that damn scent of wet and static in the air, tickling my nose.


    ¡°Is Chase ready?¡± Jenn asked me.


    I paused to let her odd way of addressing me slip by. It beat being called a stupid man. I nodded, so we both ventured back to the road. Jenn walked with me toward town.


    ¡°Listened around. Heard rumors. They say this is bad. Different. Dangerous.¡±


    At this rate, we¡¯d arrive at town far too late for Ash and Wan. We needed to make up lost time. Dealing with Momma and coaxing Jenn out had delayed me more than sleeping in. I picked up the pace while gesturing for Jenn to continue.


    ¡°The priests talk. They have a new man up there. They go down to a basement.¡± Jenn¡¯s ear perked and she glanced around. I too looked, but there were no other people on the road besides us. ¡°They tell him there¡¯s three tests for you. Of dedication. Of body. Of soul.¡±


    That sounds like priestly nonsense, I thought.


    Jenn didn¡¯t have much else to say. We stopped at the edge of town. She dug her long toes into the dirt and refused to go any farther. I believed her to still be beating herself up over this morning.


    My companions for the final trials were standing near a building. I glanced over and saw Ranger Wan and Ash waiting. A wagon with a sheet covering the contents loomed behind the Rangers.


    ¡°Be safe. Don¡¯t be stupid. For once.¡± Jenn sniffed and wiggled her nose, which set the whiskers twitching.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t worry about me.¡± I used my momma¡¯s words and felt cold all at once.


    ¡°I have to. Chase worried about me after everyone else thought I¡¯d died. They wished me gone. You and your dad. You cared. Idiots, stupid idiots. I have to worry about you.¡±


    I nodded to her, then I walked away to join the others standing outside the sheriff¡¯s building. By the time I reached them and turned to check on Jenn, she¡¯d vanished from sight.


    Three tests for me? Or for us? I wondered. They must be tests for the lot of us, but part of me weren¡¯t so sure anymore. Even a dense block of wood like myself could put the pieces together enough to know something were afoot.


    Two of my fellow trial takers were arguing. Ranger Ash and Wan weren¡¯t babysitting, instead working to ready another few carriages I hadn¡¯t noticed. If memory served, those carriages would be housing people and the dead. The gutted girl I hadn¡¯t learned the name of would be among them.


    ¡°I finally figured out where I know you from. You work at Madam Crawford¡¯s off Little Foot. Spreading your legs for ten bucks a tumble.¡±


    My ears perked at the green user¡¯s statement. He leered at the smaller girl with his arms crossed. Mister Green, or whatever his name were, had a shit-eating smile.


    ¡°So tell me, what¡¯s one of the painted flowers of Bell Town doing up here, trying to be a Ranger?¡±


    Her nose wrinkled. ¡°I suspect I¡¯m doing the same as one of Corso¡¯s thugs.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a whore?¡± Ducky asked as his head whipped around. ¡°You work for Corso?¡±


    Lord, I thought. The man had no sense. It didn¡¯t matter who or where a body came from. We were all here to try our hand at being this year¡¯s selected Ranger trainee.


    The woman, whose name I still hadn¡¯t overheard, gave Ducky a once-over. ¡°Don¡¯t call me a whore. As if you don¡¯t pay for all your company.¡± She practically spit the words. ¡°I know exactly who you are. You¡¯re no better than your father, and I pity the poor girl who sets her sights on being married to you.¡±


    ¡°Whore,¡± Ducky replied as his face flushed red.


    I almost felt bad for Derek Lake, but he¡¯d spoken without thinking. Derek¡¯s dad, from what little I inferred, had been turned into a Wildling, one of the twisted and deformed humans who roamed the hills. That were only a guess but it wouldn¡¯t surprise me none.


    She snapped her fingers. ¡°At least I worked for my marking. I¡¯m not some puppet trying to get in for his boss, or the son of a man who strayed more than a herd of alley cats.¡±


    Their verbal spat continued as I walked up. Neb leaned against a cart while wearing his stupid smile. He scratched his head and clearly wanted to join the conversation but couldn¡¯t figure out how. Ash shook his head and frowned.


    Our green healer chuckled dryly. ¡°Oh, please. For a man, it¡¯s any port in a storm, honey. But a port that takes all the boats in the sea is downright filthy.¡±


    She raised a hand to slap the larger male. I smiled briefly in admiration. Any woman who stood up for herself won my respect, not that she¡¯d care about my approval. It meant little to anyone but me. Ranger Ash stepped down from the cart he¡¯d been sitting on. He shook his head and caught the girl¡¯s arm mid swing. Our former healer, with his green marking, chuckled as if he¡¯d won.


    ¡°While you¡¯re applying to be Rangers, it is expected you show a modicum of decency and awareness of your situation. As such, we¡¯re going to play the quiet game,¡± Ash announced loudly. ¡°Today¡¯s proceeds actually matter to some folks, so try acting like you respect the job you¡¯re applying for, at least a little.¡±


    Bell Town might be worse than Chandler¡¯s Field in terms of gossip. I¡¯d been able to overhear enough details on the situation. Ducky¡¯s father¡ªand apparently Ducky¡ªwere well known to the paid ladies of Bell Town. Our female companion somehow tied into those dock-working females. The green healer had ties to one of the gangs that worked the docks. I¡¯d heard the name Corso some years back but couldn¡¯t remember much beyond his people charging protection fees for ships that came in.


    I decided to avoid letting their relationship problems pull me under. It had been bad enough that every word out of Ducky¡¯s mouth made my teeth grind in anger. Neb¡¯s constant chatter had nearly driven me to tears, and he seemed back to normal.


    Tonight would be difficult at best. The hike up The Mountain for the procession would take all day. I figured we¡¯d timed the Ranger trials and spent all those days running and resting in order to meet the next full moon.


    I slowly walked closer to the gathering. Wan shuffled around the corner and yawned. Belatedly, I realized that while I¡¯d rested at home, real Rangers had kept working, getting the carts ready and working with grieving family members.


    ¡°Chase,¡± Wan said with a nod.


    I dipped my head in greeting. My lips curled in a slight frown at the sight of two filled carts with linens gingerly lain over the deceased.


    Ducky¡¯s eyes rolled. He twisted his lips, turned away, and wisely said nothing. The other two parted.


    ¡°Well, we¡¯re all here,¡± Ash said. ¡°That means it¡¯s time to explain what¡¯s going to happen.¡±


    Wan fell in near Ranger Ash and clasped his arms behind his back. Ash huffed and paced down the much shorter line.


    ¡°As we are approaching a full moon, two events will happen. First, every Ranger in the area is to report to the mountain to fight back the monster spawns. We¡±¡ªRanger Ash emphasized the word¡ª¡°will be traveling as a group and escorting this month¡¯s returnees.¡± He stopped and sighed heavily then swallowed. ¡°And each one of these bodies comes with one person to serve as their witness bearer.¡±


    I zoned out as Ranger Ash spoke. Not out of disrespect, but because I knew what he was talking about. Near every full moon, bodies went up to the temple. The temple proper had bricked walls and served as one of the few safe places during a full moon. The refinery served as another spot, and there were a few homesteads that farmers barricaded inside as night closed in.


    Still, the wet scent hung in the air. I sniffed and dreaded how tonight would play out. Clouds bubbled on the horizon, stuck upon Butcher Hills.


    ¡°We¡¯ll leave when the bell tolls eleven. Bring your snacks. Bring your weapons. You will be ready or you will die.¡± Ranger Ash glared at each of us in turn. ¡°And no matter what happens, today you will act as Rangers.¡±


    Ranger Wan scanned us. Ducky and the man with the green exchanged a glance. The girl tightened her lips. Neb nodded happily.


    Ash continued. ¡°For the confused among you, it means your first priority is keeping the civilians alive. Second priority, you keep each other alive.¡± He emphasized each word slowly, as if we were all hard of hearing. ¡°Worrying about becoming an official Ranger is way down at the bottom of the list.¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Did you all hear Ranger Ash?¡± Wan shouted.


    Hard to believe he were yawning a moment ago, I thought.


    I nodded again. The others bobbed with me. Ranger Ash dismissed us. The others avoided each other, and I went to find some umbrellas.


    Years ago, when I¡¯d made this trek myself, I hadn¡¯t thought to bring anything to protect myself against the elements. Momma hadn¡¯t helped me and stayed bottled in her room. That night had been cold and lonely.


    During my moments of weakness, I could still feel my daddy¡¯s lifeless hand from when I¡¯d sneaked mine under the covering. I¡¯d still had a faint hope he might suddenly move and all would be right with the world. I believed, at the time, tattoos could do anything.


    ¡°That¡¯ll be fourteen fifty,¡± the store clerk said.


    My head shook with the sudden disconnect. I¡¯d wandered into the general store to find the same stone-faced man who¡¯d sold me liquor some weeks ago. He glared without a care at two people dressed in expensive finery. The stitching on the man¡¯s suit would have cost a pretty penny. He had shiny cufflinks that caught light from the one bulb the general store owner lit. The buzzing light flickered in a mirror over the counter.


    I could see the faces of both people. Poss and her notably older husband stood still at the counter. In front of them was a paper list. I searched for any sign of what she intended to purchase that cost so much. A small paper bag on the other side of the list might hold a clue.


    Not my business, I thought. Poss had made her opinion of me clear during our last confrontation. I were worth nothing and would never be able to offer a woman what she really needed. In Poss¡¯s eyes, I still wore diapers and clothes that were too big. A wiser man would have taken all that money and gotten a proper education.


    Well, higher schooling had never been in my future.


    They hashed out the prices and I searched the store for an umbrella. The store clerk grumped, and the dry sound of paper being counted filled the air. I picked up a few preserved foods and a package of crackers. I needed a few snacks to keep me from being hungry on the road.


    The Proctors were still dithering at the counter. Stone-face merely blinked every few seconds and quoted a new price. I reviewed my own items and counted the money in my pocket.


    The clerk broke away and looked at both of my piles. ¡°You¡¯ll need to put some of that back.¡±


    I took a deep breath then let out the air slowly. One day I¡¯d have money and be able to make larger purchases, like the Proctors. I¡¯d heard them quoted over two hundred dollars for extra purchases. By the time I¡¯d returned the small bits of candy and one piece of dried meat, the Proctors had reached an agreement.


    They both turned around and nearly ran me over in their hurry to move on.


    ¡°Mister Craig,¡± Poss said politely.


    I coughed then worked on using my semi-functional voice. ¡°Missus Proctor. Mister Proctor.¡±


    Addressing Poss¡¯s husband made his nose twitch, which set a recently grown mustache swishing comically. He reminded me of a Flop or Feline with long whiskers.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met,¡± Mister Proctor responded.


    Poss patted her husband¡¯s arm softly. ¡°Yes, you did dear. This is Widow Craig¡¯s son. Chase. He was at the farewell ball for Greg Chandler a few months ago.¡±


    Mister Proctor¡¯s nose wiggled as if looking at me made him itch. I took my hat off in an attempt at manners.


    ¡°Yes. Well. You have a nice day, Mister Craig. Do drop by again.¡±


    Just like that, I¡¯d been dismissed. Mister Proctor turned to walk away, but Poss hung onto his arm. They shared a glance I didn¡¯t understand. Poss¡¯s head jerked toward me as she whispered. Mister Proctor¡¯s eyes widened for a moment. He nodded then patted his wife on the hand. The couple turned toward me with their mirthless expressions.


    ¡°My wife will be headed up tonight as witness to the return of our former serving girl. One of many.¡± He stared at me as if this knowledge meant something important.


    It didn¡¯t. Everyone went up The Mountain eventually. I stayed mum and waited.


    ¡°I expect you to do your duty,¡± he said.


    I¡¯d already gotten the speech from Ranger Ash. Somehow, Mister Proctor¡¯s stern face and special way of glancing down his nose at me despite our height difference made me want to punch him. I glanced at Poss, who wore the same expression.


    She only had a few years on me and acted as though she were a lady born to the high class. I still remembered what Poss looked like with missing teeth and muddy dresses. She¡¯d found her place.


    ¡°I¡¯m saying that you are seeking to be a Ranger, correct, Mister Craig?¡± He glared at me as if expecting an answer to bubble forth automatically.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I said.


    ¡°Well. As owner of the town¡¯s more prosperous law firm, my word carries a lot of weight in this community. You make sure my wife is well looked after, and I¡¯ll do my part to vouch for you.¡±


    I nodded slowly and struggled to understand what a posh man like Mister Proctor wanted with a poor nobody like me. As far as I knew, he owned the town¡¯s only law firm, and it was his second office. His main one sat in Bell Town. If my momma¡¯s gossip could be believed, the Proctors also owned part of the mine, along with the Chandler family.


    Even if I did become a Ranger, rich families could safely ignore my opinion. Belonging to an order of monster hunters did not make me socially elite.


    ¡°All right,¡± I said.

 19 - Mysteries of the Magic

    The idea of receiving his goodwill for doing a task I¡¯d already set myself upon bothered me. I turned to stare Poss in the eye. She straightened, which made Mister Proctor pat her arm, which were looped around his elbow.


    ¡°I¡¯m told there are any number of dangers on a full moon,¡± Poss said with an insincere smile. ¡°It would mean a great deal to know an old friend stood between me and the monsters which might be prowling. For as my husband said, tonight I¡¯ll be joining the procession.¡±


    I nodded again. Mister Proctor smiled then clapped me on the shoulder with his other hand. In his mind, I¡¯d done as asked and, for the moment, we were good friends.


    ¡°Excellent! You see my wife safely up and back down. And that will settle that.¡± He turned and nodded to Poss. ¡°I told you a little bit of last minute shopping would lighten your burden. And while your friend may not be one of our fine guards, he¡¯s half a Ranger already. Why, look at him.¡±


    Poss smiled at her husband, who turned back to me with a wide grin. Poss¡¯s expression darkened for only a moment before she righted herself. Her free hand fumbled behind her back on the countertop. The clerk slid the filled paper bag into her wandering hand. Mister Proctor remained none the wiser regarding their quiet exchange.


    I stared at Poss then heard the town¡¯s bells ringing. The store clerk smacked his lips as if tasting something dry, while the couple in front of me grew alert.


    ¡°Well. We¡¯re out of time, dear. Come on. I¡¯ll see you off and follow along until the edge of town.¡±


    I saddled up with my few purchases.


    ¡°Four fifty,¡± the clerk said.


    Buying straight from a farmer would have been cheaper. I contemplated the need for an umbrella but purchased it anyway. Being damp would make a rough ride aggravating.


    Better poor and prepared than sorry, I thought. Obsidian had mentioned the same. Thinking ahead were a valued skill to the Rangers.


    I put the bills on the counter. The clerk shook his head, unwrinkled the dollars, and counted them. He handed back two quarters. I bit them to make sure they weren¡¯t wooden.


    The clerk gave me a tight smirk then a short farewell nod. I put the goods into pockets and attempted to figure out where to put the umbrella. The two-foot long casing would be too big for tucking into my belt or in a pocket.


    I made it outside the store seconds after the bells tolled.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± Ash shouted. ¡°Time¡¯s burning and those clouds are getting darker!¡±


    A dozen people were loading into two wagons. Horses, larger and angrier than the mules I¡¯d used, stood at the front of each cart. Magic tattoos had been worked into the horses¡¯ flesh, making their legs thick, veiny bulges. Unlike regular horses, these ones had burning red eyes and didn¡¯t wear blinders.


    These beasts had been reshaped to fight monsters.


    Hardwood hadn¡¯t used a battle horse like these during her escorts of the Wellbrook Mine¡¯s carriage. There were a few reasons. Ink-touched creatures were wild, rare, and hated humans. They were expensive. Most didn¡¯t do well in daylight. These horses were special made to work in the sun but the first targets when monsters swelled out of a mine. Or so I had been told.


    Harold had said, ¡°Every tide has an evil with it. A filth so strong it eats others of its kind.¡±


    We were riding along with the dead. Up to The Mountain. With horses like monster magnets.


    I didn¡¯t remember being in danger during my trip up. There¡¯d been growls in the dark and eyes glaring at us, but none came close. Running up to The Mountain¡¯s top during the new moon had been even easier because nearly all the monsters were dead after only half a week. Both those facts spoke to the skill and effectiveness of our Rangers, Wildlings, and various traps.


    The procession started forward before I found my spot. Other Rangers sat at the outskirts of town, waiting on lesser steeds, but many walked. There were at least three dozen souls, Rangers and witnesses, most of whom I¡¯d never seen before.


    Ash strode over with anger in his step. He shook his head and spat on the ground in front of me before coming to a stop. ¡°Well. You¡¯ve somehow caught the eye of Mister Proctor, and he¡¯s of the mind that I must obey the whims of my social betters and I¡¯ll be granting you permission to watch over his fine-figured wife and keep her safe.¡± Ranger Ash¡¯s tone turned nastier the more he spoke. ¡°And since there¡¯s no room on most of the path for two carts or a horse, you can walk. It shouldn¡¯t be hard, on account of your majestic levels of endurance.¡±


    That didn¡¯t seem like the right word, but Ash¡¯s attitude toward me had been clear. He didn¡¯t enjoy Poss¡¯s husband barging in and giving orders. Since that had been my fault, in Ash¡¯s mind, I caught the flack.


    ¡°Or you can tell her to shove off and go out to fight with the rest,¡± Ash said.


    Wan stood next to his comrade with folded arms and simply gazed at me.


    ¡°Great. Since you¡¯re so amicable to your prestigious honor, take Derek with you. That way you¡¯re out of the way and us less socially progressive souls can do all the menial labor.¡± Ash waved at Ducky then shouted, ¡°You¡¯re with Chase. Work together and prove you¡¯ve both got what it takes to think about more than yourselves.¡±


    Ash turned and stomped off while shaking his head.


    What? I thought as my eyebrows bunched.


    Wan frowned before following Ash. I couldn¡¯t even figure out what to think about the whole situation. The carriages were still rolling off. I saw Poss sitting on the finest seat at the front. She had the paper bag in her hand, which narrowed around the top like a bottle. It dawned on me that she planned to drink the entire trip up.


    My momma had said Poss spent her Sundays performing sordid acts. I suspected traveling with a dead servant up to The Mountain¡¯s top had not been on Mrs. Proctor¡¯s list of preferred weekend activities.


    ¡°You got assigned to escort the rich woman in a tight dress? How do you¡­¡± Ducky said to me.


    I pulled back, annoyed by his sudden closeness. He frowned then shook his head. The rest of his thought went unspoken as Ducky stomped past me and hopped into the only remaining seat in the first wagon.


    That left me walking as Ranger Ash had suggested. I counted myself lucky Derek had failed the silent game first, but I¡¯d always been better at keeping my mouth shut. The two Rangers overseeing our trials were far ahead of us.


    Shouldn¡¯t we all be together? I questioned while frowning. It probably meant nothing but I spent the first hour worrying Mister Proctor¡¯s supposed favor meant I¡¯d failed already.


    We continued on. Mister Proctor might have been in sight, but he didn¡¯t venture close enough to say good-bye to his wife. Poss clearly didn¡¯t care and took a sip from her paper bag. When I walked close, the smell of wine became obvious. It stained her teeth red but didn¡¯t stop Ducky from leering.


    At the crossroads, we took the path toward the temple. A thin set of trees greeted us, along with a man wearing a cloth over his eyes and a robe. The Rangers fanned out ahead spoke to the man. I craned my head to one side to get a better view.


    Their exchange didn¡¯t reach me, but the man stopped and lifted his hood. The sound of raindrops pattered ahead then grew. I sighed and eyed the wagon. There were boards and covers that could be added to the posts. We¡¯d need to set everything up while on the move.


    I got two posts up while Ducky worked to unravel the tightly packed cloth covering. The large horse ignored us and stomped forward. I turned to get a third post up as we passed the now-hooded priest.


    ¡°Hound,¡± he whispered by way of greeting.


    The sudden word were clear even with the rain. I turned toward the man and lifted an eyebrow. There were few who had heard me called that. Cassandra and her small trio of Rangers had been the only ones present.


    ¡°What¡¯d he say?¡± Ducky asked loudly. ¡°Pound? What¡¯s that mean?¡±


    The cleric didn¡¯t respond and tilted his head slightly until we could no longer see his eyes. He hummed a low steady note that hung in the air even as we moved on. A small fire next to him danced as raindrops made it sizzle.


    I trudged by for the third post and grabbed one of the cords. It didn¡¯t matter what a cleric knew about me. I simply had to perform my best and become an official Ranger. That meant taking care of the people and respecting the dead being brought to their final rest.


    ¡°Hey. Why¡¯d that guy talk to you? You heard it right?¡± Ducky¡¯s voice dimmed under the rain.


    I shook my head and grabbed one of the strings. He stood and helped roll the fabric down the framing¡¯s side. In seconds, we had a cheap but mildly effective canopy.


    Poss hadn¡¯t moved. She sat in the front seat, ignoring the rain and everything else. The bottle in her hand came up every few seconds for a fresh sip. The woman shivered and pulled her thin jacket tighter.


    Neither one of the Proctors had planned for the rain, and we had hours to go before reaching the temple. The horses didn¡¯t help us move faster. They simply let us take more in a single procession. Cutting through the trees took less work.


    I sighed, wished I¡¯d had the money for two umbrellas, and extended mine to Poss. She stared at it through nearly closed eyes then sniffed. Unlike everyone else on this trail, Poss had absolutely no markings that any of my forms of sight could find. She¡¯d be utterly defenseless against rain, while I¡¯d probably simply suffer through. Walking in damp weather weren¡¯t new. A few hours in the rain would be like walking home after a long week at the mines.


    ¡°Poss,¡± I said while motioning with the umbrella.


    She lifted her gaze past the umbrella and stared at me. The bumps in the road made her head sway. I pulled myself up by the thick post and loomed over Poss. She barely moved as I unfolded the umbrella and propped it over her head. She sat on the edge of the covering we¡¯d set up and it wouldn¡¯t be enough protection. Her clothes were practically see-through already and Ducky¡¯s eyes had drifted more than once.


    ¡°Mister Craig!¡± a man barked.


    I turned to find Ranger Ash standing off the wagon¡¯s side, glaring at me. Wan, predictably, were nearby, checking out our erected canopy.


    ¡°You are expected to walk,¡± Ash shouted at me. ¡°With some dignity. I doubt the poor Mrs. Proctor can find any comfort in knowing a Ranger too weak to stand on his own feet is meant to be her guard.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t tell if Ranger Ash had suddenly decided to be a bigger asshole than during our run, or if he¡¯d always been this way. He glared. I got down.


    ¡°Good job with the wagon,¡± Wan said. ¡°It shows initiative.¡±


    Ash¡¯s face tightened in a near scowl. He spun and went back to the wagon in front of us, where the forms of the other two from Bell Town could be seen. They were a few steps behind us in setting up the covers. Originally Poss¡¯s wagon had been in the lead, but they¡¯d been convinced that a rich lady might not want to sit up front.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    ¡°Good job, Chase,¡± Poss said in a mocking tone. Her lips puckered as though she were pretending to be someone else. ¡°You have a fine future as a tradesmen. Two parts stick up your ass, one part idiot, shaken, not stirred.¡±


    I had hoped she¡¯d stay quiet the entire trip. With one hand, she pulled on the umbrella. It didn¡¯t come loose from where I¡¯d anchored it.


    ¡°Fucking Rangers,¡± she grumbled.


    Ducky raised an eyebrow and looked at me. I flattened my lips and shrugged. Silence, apparently, served as a cue for Poss to unleash a torrent of words.


    ¡°Greg may have idolized you fucks as heroes from some children¡¯s tale, but I know better.¡± Poss took another sip and glanced at the body in the carriage behind her. She utterly ignored Ducky, which made me smile. ¡°Desperate sad souls who can¡¯t find a way through life that doesn¡¯t involve throwing themselves at death. Or thrill seekers who might as well jump off the roof.¡±


    ¡°Someone¡¯s got to do it,¡± Ducky said.


    I kept walking.


    Poss cast her arm at me and shook the bottle. ¡°What good has being a Ranger ever done anyone? What good does The Mountain do? We should stick dynamite into every crevice and light the whole place aflame.¡±


    Dozens of other people were within earshot of her proclamation. They ignored Poss or couldn¡¯t hear her over the rain. The trees were heavy with rain, and the thudding sound kept me glancing around in worry.


    We passed another cleric, so quiet and still that I almost missed him, until he too said, ¡°Hound.¡±


    A second hum joined the first. It hung in the air and drifted with us.


    Ducky came off the wagon and did a lap around it. His eyes squinted into beady slits as he peered through the trees. After apparently finding nothing, he turned to me. ¡°Hey, mute, you hear that, right?¡±


    I debated shaking my head and hoping Ducky went insane. I nodded then tapped my ear.


    ¡°Weird. Have you been up this way before?¡±


    I nodded again.


    ¡°You remember humming?¡±


    This time I shook my head. I remembered a lot of tiny facts about that night. The way Rangers walked by me and glanced only once. They were like giants judging me, a fatherless boy clinging desperately to a dead man¡¯s hand. I remember seeing Daddy lowered into the pool of ink. There had been a small bridge that stretched out a dozen feet. Between the slats, traces of rolling ink, all colors of the rainbow, boiled like a hungry thing.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s new. Maybe it¡¯s a trainee thing,¡± Ducky said.


    I couldn¡¯t figure out what had changed in his mind to make us suddenly on friendly terms. Ducky had always been a horse¡¯s ass to me.


    Poss jerked and shook the cart. She yanked a slip of linen to one side. I walked a bit quicker to the front while Ducky loaded into the back. She stared at a dead female Feline. I recognized the black-and-white fur. She¡¯d been the one to serve us drinks during Greg¡¯s good-bye bash. She¡¯d also been the one to warn Lily and me of Opal¡¯s father.


    Poss shook her bottle at the dead. I paled and flipped the blanket back over. That only upset Mrs. Proctor, and she turned to me, still shaking her drink.


    ¡°Dreadful. You can¡¯t even bury a girl like a proper person. This was my friend. Little Charity. She has a daughter, Abagail, who can¡¯t visit her mom¡¯s grave. All because of the stupid rules.¡± Poss used her deeper mocking voice. ¡°¡®What comes out must go back.¡¯ With a proper shave and a haircut!¡±


    Poss stood and waved her bottle. The cart rocked. I saw people up ahead turning their heads in our direction, their faces masked by piles of rain. I grabbed Poss¡¯s hand and pushed her back to a sitting position.


    ¡°You¡¯d think she¡¯d have deteriorated by now. When Mister Proctor¡¯s¡±¡ªshe snarled abruptly¡ª¡°father passed, the undertaker had to fill his body with every type of concoction I¡¯d never seen before. Yet the girl looks untouched despite being out here for days.¡± She stared at me. ¡°Why is that? You know? You¡¯re obsessed with The Mountain. You brought up your daddy. Surely you know.¡±


    I did. ¡°The ink.¡±


    Poss tilted her head then continued until she tilted into the wagon¡¯s post. She sniffed and pushed herself back up then nodded slowly as if nothing had happened. ¡°So when you die, you won¡¯t age a day. Eternally young and foolish. That¡¯s great for you, Chase.¡± Poss gave a rude snort. She reminded me of Hardwood. ¡°Except no one will have a body to mourn. Another reason poor Lily and you would never have worked out.¡±


    I shook my head. Poss had to be deep into the drink for her to speak so freely. She¡¯d maintained a filthy but civil tone during Greg¡¯s party.


    My heart about stopped when Ducky continued the explanation. ¡°Oh, he¡¯ll age. He¡¯ll die. There¡¯s no marking for eternal youth. And ink preserves bodies, sure. But eventually sunlight will wear them away, until all that¡¯s left are the veins. We¡¯d still have to bring that back.¡±


    Poss¡¯s face paled as her cheeks bubbled. She closed her eyes and swayed with the cart. I had nothing for her to puke in and prayed it wouldn¡¯t come to that. She¡¯d proven herself a champion drinker more than once over the years. I wondered how much she¡¯d been drinking. I reached for the bottle, but she snatched it away.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare. I need this to make it through the weekend,¡± Poss shouted in my face, and the stink of wine washed over me. She clutched the bottle tightly. ¡°Best fortification money can buy.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t get why your rich old man couldn¡¯t have hired some other tattooed bodyguard. They¡¯ve got some in Bell Town. It¡¯s a bit late now though¡­¡± Ducky mumbled as his voice faded off. He fidgeted and rubbed his arm. One hand passed over the blue marking on his neck.


    It had to be Poss. Being around a good-looking girl had gone to Ducky¡¯s head. I figured by the swirl of ink under his skin that had traveled up to his eyes, he might be getting more than an eyeful of the wet woman.


    ¡°Too many monsters,¡± Poss mumbled while shaking her bottle. ¡°Far too many of those mountain-spawned monsters. They destroy everything. Bell Town is Chandler¡¯s lifeline.¡±


    I shook my head. Poss stood and pulled the umbrella out of its secured location. Mrs. Proctor apparently knew what Ducky had been doing because she shook the droplets off at Ducky. He pulled back to the cart¡¯s rear.


    ¡°And my husband is good with money and excellent with his hands. But he comes from civilized stock.¡± She twirled the umbrella idly and showed no signs of putting it between her and the rain.


    ¡°You mean he couldn¡¯t fight his way out of a paper bag.¡± Ducky laughed.


    Poss glared at Ducky instead of facing away as she had been. ¡°I mean he can afford to let his money and influence do the talking, where hopeless souls with no future outside physical labor can serve in more appropriate tasks. Brains being a rarer commodity than your lot.¡±


    I let Poss defend herself. Even deep in her cups, she had wits enough to handle Ducky and loyalty enough to protect her reputation. Their banter served as a welcome distraction from the low humming still hanging in the air.


    We passed two more clerics, a few miles apart. They each gave me the same greeting the first couple had, then refused to continue speaking. Their tiny lights flickered against the darkening skies.


    Hardwood¡¯s distinctive voice came from the nearby trees. ¡°Where are you lot? Come on! Make yourselves useful out here.¡± She stepped out of the tree line.


    Great, I thought. Here comes Hardwood to tell us we¡¯re all failures.


    The thought weren¡¯t kind. Hardwood had escorted me down into the deep mines. She had also used me as bait for the biggest creature to come out of The Mountain that month.


    ¡°Really? You brats are all sitting around?¡± Hardwood yelled loudly enough to be heard over the rain.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me. Mister Ash¡±¡ªDucky managed to turn it into a swear¡ª¡°said we had to sit here with Mrs. Proctor. On account of her being important or something.¡±


    Hardwood¡¯s lips flattened, then she clicked her tongue. ¡°Well, he¡¯s not senior here. I am. You¡¯re coming out to the front. The fellas are getting tired and need a rest.¡±


    ¡°Can she do that?¡± Ducky asked me.


    How would I know? I wondered what Mister Proctor would say if I left Poss. He¡¯d been high enough up the chain of power to make Ash sit me here. He might try to bully Ranger Hardwood, but it¡¯d likely backfire.


    ¡°Can¡¯t.¡± I chose a side, stupid as it may be. Poss counted as a civilian. According to Ash, regardless of what Mister Proctor had promised, I had to make sure she stayed safe.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid, boy,¡± Obsidian¡¯s shadow said from the darkness.


    ¡°I hate to say it, but the mute¡¯s right. We don¡¯t know if this is a test or not. No one¡¯s explained nothing but stay here and escort the dress.¡±


    Poss snorted then took a long swig from the bottle. I glanced at her then back at Hardwood.


    Obsidian stood farther away, leaning against a tree and looking worn. His head rested against the arm being used to prop him up. ¡°You ever ask yourself, boy, why it is the monsters don¡¯t ever interfere with us sending back the dead? It ain¡¯t just those priests burning dead vermin.¡±


    I wiggled my fingers at him. Obsidian scowled.


    ¡°These people can walk on in peace, during a full moon, because real Rangers are out busting their asses away from the mist. You want to make the cut, you hold up your end. Brats.¡± Hardwood turned then walked into the tree line.


    I closed one eye and activated the tattoo that let me see ink. A large number of monsters were running around out there.


    ¡°Or don¡¯t,¡± Obsidian added.


    Obsidian¡¯s body shifted into shadows. I squinted into the darkness to see which marking let him move like that, but he slipped away too fast.


    Ducky sighed then leapt off the cart into the rain. He ran off, and I closed my eyes tightly. My earlier choice might have been a wrong one and burned bridges. Ahead of me, the other two¡ªgreen and ice girl from Bell Town¡ªwere running after Hardwood. That left me and a line of mourners on the way up to their loved ones¡¯ final resting place. I still stuck by what Ash had said. If our first task were to guard the civilians, then staying here would serve them best.


    I activated my Darkness Ward and walked along. Lots of inked creatures were in the distance, but most were distracted, fighting Rangers, or headed down the hill. Lights flashed in the distance but were subdued by the foliage and rain.


    Still, the monsters out there were only a fraction of the amount we¡¯d see in a few nights. It might be possible for some creatures to break through.


    It¡¯s not that I¡¯m scared, I thought, remembering the poor gutted girl who hadn¡¯t made it through the seven-day run. We¡¯d fought our share of weaker monsters during that timeframe. Any still alive prior to the full moon were tougher, meaner, and survivors.


    The tide of monsters dwindled slowly. I lifted my hands again and studied the gloves. We continued the trek up the hillside, weaving along a narrow path. The carts barely fit. I almost walked into a tree while debating what my meager powers could do against all those monsters.


    How would I stop a flying monster? I asked as one of Ash¡¯s sticks jabbed into the air and caught something¡¯s wing. I couldn¡¯t entirely make out what they were. Only the swirls of ink and color flying above the ground were clear.


    ¡°What are you staring at?¡± Poss asked.


    I didn¡¯t realize she¡¯d leaned over the cart to stare into the distance with me. Her head was inches from mine. My finger rose to gesture toward a spot hundreds of feet away. Level with us were a few people fighting minor creatures.


    ¡°Can¡¯t see anything. Just miles of pretty trees and smoke making me tired as hell,¡± Poss mumbled. Her wine-laden breath had grown more intense. ¡°Might be best. Greg was obsessed with watching Rangers in action. Remember that stupid idea? He wanted to turn people into gladiators and sell tickets.¡±


    Her commentary had little impact on the continuing fight. There were flashes of green and blue. I saw a stick weaving through the air against some flying critter. Ducky¡¯s weird multicolored arm twisted into being and he bounced around. Watching them, it became obvious how little I understood about markings used for combat.


    ¡°He could have picked up a piece of art or two himself, but he said all the best ones for fights are given to Rangers. That woman with all the dogs? I don¡¯t know her name.¡± Poss snorted.


    ¡°Cassandra.¡±


    The other would-be Rangers were getting closer now as our path slowly wove up to the top.


    ¡°Whatever. They say she knows all the markings. Greg says. Said. He used to go on about it for hours. I think he wanted to impress you and help get you all the markings you might want. Greg fancied you. Greg fancied everyone.¡±


    Poss¡¯s words distracted me from the useless pondering of men and monsters.


    ¡°What I don¡¯t understand is how two marks can look so different and do the same thing. Or the colors. Or why it is people turn into Felines after too much. Got an answer for that one, oh King of Conversation?¡±


    I didn¡¯t.


    ¡°These ladies. They get these little flowers on their stomachs. And I¡¯m told they enhance pleasure for both partners. But when I ask, they said they have different flowers. Like it didn¡¯t matter.¡± She¡¯d gone beyond drunk. Poss had gone so far that condescending judgment became friendly chatter. ¡°Lily wanted a lily. Told her it¡¯d be ugly.¡±


    Her speaking of Lily made me tense. That and the feeling of those woods crawling with monsters I couldn¡¯t completely see.


    ¡°Mrs. Proctor?¡± I said. I kept trudging along, wishing for a second umbrella. The battle raged on out there, but there were fewer signs of opposition. We passed another cleric who wore the same robes as the rest and ignored the rain.


    ¡°Poss,¡± she corrected. ¡°I¡¯ve told you time and time again to call me Poss when we¡¯re alone. My husband doesn¡¯t mind.¡±


    Fairly sure you¡¯ve told me it¡¯s the other way around, I thought. She were proud of catching Mister Proctor as a husband.


    ¡°Now this other girl I¡¯d hired, she used to be human. Then one night, she got another marking. One on her chest for lactation so she could serve as a nursemaid. Though we all know she¡¯d been working for a family that didn¡¯t have children.¡± Poss shuffled until she lay across the seat. She clutched the bottle to her like a teddy bear. ¡°You must have had a few markings. That¡¯s why you became a Feline, right?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I asked.


    Poss faced the wagon¡¯s back and stared through the wood at those dead bodies, preserved by ink, in the back.


    ¡°Right. You wouldn¡¯t be able to answer me, would you, Charity? Because you died.¡± Poss sniffed and moved on to bawling.


    I realized she hadn¡¯t been talking to me. In her drunken haze, she¡¯d been speaking with the dead Feline under the linen. I flushed cold. We were a lot alike in that respect. Maybe that was why we¡¯d both escorted someone up to the top. Her relationship with Charity, a name that sounded familiar but I couldn¡¯t place where from, must have been serious.


    There were few reasons to escort anyone up here aside from deep ties and greed. The fact that each body brought back would be exchanged for a single rainbow drop served as a powerful lure. There were bounty hunters whose sole job had become hunting down the changed races¡¯ deceased and bringing them back. A few might be with us now. I hadn¡¯t taken note of anyone but the Rangers and mourners ahead of us. They were still moving onward. Somewhere ahead of us might be another son who¡¯d lost their daddy. Or a husband who lost their wife.


    I decided staying here had been the right idea. Not simply because fighting worried me, but because Poss needed someone who weren¡¯t dead. They all did. But my eyes stayed fixed on the distant fighting. There weren¡¯t many monsters of ink out there anymore. I half expected their constant battles to spill over to us, but none of them did. The Rangers and monsters kept their fights to the side. It struck me as weird that none of them came close to us.


    There were lots of gaps in the defensive line. None of the Rangers were intent upon creating a screen of any sort. They simply went after monsters, one after another.


    A large cat-like creature kept to the treetops. It moved with an insane speed close to the blink dogs, but three times more brutal. Ash and Wan fought the creature back. That monster had more than enough speed to barge through the Rangers and go for softer targets, if it wished.


    Then why do they fight at all?

 20 - Hymn of the Dead

    Full moons meant monsters crawled out of the depths. None of us could hear them. Or maybe the others could, but the rain and burned offerings from the priests muddled the senses. Only my markings let me see what was going on. The spawn were out there alright, fighting Rangers. Ducky¡¯d joined them. Hardwood and Obsidian and all the others trial takers were playing their parts, except me. There I plodded along with the wagons.


    What bothered me the most was not pulling my weight. Yet I also knew that if I left these wagons, there¡¯d be no one else but the mourners.


    Chills arched up my arm from the hand with blackened fingertips. They were covered by the gloves, dbut I suspected they swirled with the bubble-like mixture that occasionally reflected other colors. The sensations intensified as I lifted my hand to point toward the large cat. My hand could sense the stronger monsters, like the Wildlings. I still didn¡¯t entirely understand how the marking worked.


    Poss blubbered away at her deceased friend. I stood there, unsure how to be more than a quiet support. I worked to ignore the flashbacks of my own trip and focused on the battles. They may not be getting close, but watching would help me learn.


    For all my watching, I¡¯d seen plenty but little that applied to my own markings. Ash¡¯s weapons were something I¡¯d be able to copy if given the right inks. Figuring out how to trigger the rainbow drop while holding a staff would help me get range. I wondered if the random effect would carry over to bullets.


    Testing that during our few days of downtime would have been a better idea. I¡¯d been using solely the blade in one hand and letting it light up with at least six different effects, each a separate color.


    An explosive strength like Ducky¡¯s might be useful. Unending brutality like Neb¡¯s ax might work as well. The girl with her blue frost had potential. The gang member male ran around and acted as a lure, which were not a stratagem I liked for myself. They each had different marks from my own. Each choice of marking would bring me to closer to another race.


    Thorns formed green briar patches upon the ground. They glowed brightly then surged across the landscape, seeking monsters and pinning them down. Hardwood shot them shortly after. She used two guns.


    I couldn¡¯t tell what Obsidian did. He stood like a silent watcher, all blacks and dark. His body would change locations around the battlefield like a blink dog¡¯s, then one hand would touch a monster. Entire swaths of active ink, or whatever lay inside the creatures, shriveled up and perished.


    Ducky staggered back up the hill toward us. He shook with each step. Blood trickled down his face from a scalp wound. Most of the Rangers were spread out farther away. They had been fighting for while I walked leisurely along.


    ¡°Mute?¡± His head bobbed and arm throbbed with colors that pulsed like blood.


    I¡¯d been getting better at cycling through different filters on my sight. Not good enough to use them all at once, but using the two marks to allow me darkness sight and that ink wiring were perfect.


    ¡°Why do you call him that?¡± Poss asked. She had moved at some point to get closer. I hadn¡¯t realized she¡¯d changed position. Her head hung limply over the wagon¡¯s side.


    ¡°Go. I¡¯ll watch here,¡± he said.


    I shook my head. The fingers on my hand tingled more than ever.


    ¡°Seriously? We¡¯re all working out there. I listened to Hardwood because fighting the monsters keeps them safe.¡± Ducky shook his head. ¡°Never mind. It¡¯s just like at the mines. You get all the easy assignments and someone will stick up for you again.¡±


    Ducky tore others down based on what made him look good. In his mind, I¡¯d been given the best slots and got to bring back barrels. Never mind that I worked my ass off and hadn¡¯t skimmed like Ducky.


    I sniffed. The rain had been pouring, making everything that much worse. My eyesight were a mess, and without these markings, I would have been blind and lost.


    The giant cat charged in our direction with an ear-pounding yowl. Obsidian¡¯s shadow body turned, and vines chasing a lesser monster, from Hardwood¡¯s outstretched hand, shifted toward the fleeing cat. The beast breezed past two humans, Rangers of a sort, and straight for our cart. In three bounds, it had cleared the distance. I searched for any other Ranger who might intercept it, but they were too far behind.


    ¡°Ducky!¡± my voice broke with a shout.


    Poss gave a confused mumble. The war horse carrying her carriage neighed loudly and dropped a fresh steaming road apple. I pushed Ducky to the side with one hand and leveled Daddy¡¯s gun with the other.


    ¡°What¡ª¡± The rest of his words were lost under the crack of all six barrels firing in succession.


    My face drenched in an instant sweat. The bullets glowed with alternating colors that stretched long lines behind them. Two missed and drove off into the sky. One hit a tree. The other three hit the leaping cat.


    Its path veered to the side. Spider web spots spread across its black skin. The horse of nightmare neighed and reared. Poss screamed as her carriage jerked. I fumbled for more bullets while Ducky swore.


    The cat crawled out from behind the bush where it¡¯d landed. Large black eyes swam with darkness so thick it outweighed a moonless night. They were deep enough to swallow a man¡¯s soul. My mouth hung open as fear made my legs wobble.


    It roared. Ducky¡¯s continued rolling to the side, but I couldn¡¯t tear my gaze away from those huge eyes.


    ¡°Look away!¡± someone shouted. Their words registered but shook.


    My hand holding the gun burned. The other felt chilled. A dozen frightened moments rolled across me, summoned forth by the cat. I remembered seeing my daddy dead and on a carriage two people had brought to our doorstep. His body limp and parts missing. Momma cried.


    I signed up for a shift at Wellbrook Mines. The first time I went in, snake-like monsters crawled out of one of the walls. I¡¯d stared in confusion before one of the Jeffs showed up to save me. That night, I cried in bed, terrified of being so close to death.


    The next day, I¡¯d gone back up. Momma had cried all the louder as I told her we had no other way to make money.


    Her howling sobs filled my eyes as the moment vanished. Moments later, the great bear that had chased me down in the deep mines flashed forth.


    Even crippling fear hadn¡¯t been enough to stop my steady loading of bullets. The great cat blinked, the spell broke, and my arm rose, holding a freshly loaded gun. Its hammer cracked six more times. Each bullet streaked with a different color for a split second, then slammed into the cat¡¯s head.


    I stepped over to the broken cat and shook with memories of those fearsome moments. I were no longer a little boy. I¡¯d become a man. I¡¯d stared death in the eye and survived.


    The gun got reloaded, and I once again fired into the creature¡¯s face. It¡¯d already been dead after my latest attack, and the third round of bullets served as overkill. Its face became mush.


    ¡°Mute?¡± someone said.


    I didn¡¯t register who, but I turned and pointed the empty gun. Ducky put up both hands and shied away. His cowardice confirmed, I turned to take in the surroundings.


    The creature might have been a warped cougar or some other mountain cat. Ink had made it become a dozen times larger than any simple house pet. Its hind legs were a mess of colors. Red markings lingered, leaving behind charred fur. Steam rose off a crackling part laced with smelly green rot.


    I lowered the gun and tucked it away. My fingers jerked with growing urgency and I pulled off the glove. My rainbow drop marking had grown bigger than before and wove an array of colors up my hands.


    Now I knew that any weapon in my hand could be infused by seemingly random types of ink. Blades were rimmed with energy. Bullets came out with deadly extra effects. I could find my own ground against any ink creature, like the other Rangers had theirs.


    Footsteps came from multiple sources. I tightened up and got ready to fight other beasts. Ducky sat at the edge of my sight, subdued with a creased forehead. Obsidian and Hardwood entered from slightly different directions. She had a finger pressed to her chest where that damn rose tattoo had been inked. She tapped it twice then sniffed the air.


    ¡°Finally,¡± Obsidian said then snorted. He coughed and wiped his mouth with a long sleeve. ¡°Been chasing that bugger for six months. The longer lived ones are tough, been feasting on the younger ones. Though you made a mess of it. We¡¯ll be lucky to get the heart out.¡±


    Heart Seeker. The word echoed in my mind. I could hear Ducky¡¯s father speaking with a mixture of reverence and disgust. Wildlings knew of the marking and spoke of it in such a way that no common tattoo could compare.


    Why? I asked myself.


    ¡°Well, I weakened it,¡± Ducky said. ¡°And all the others.¡±


    I nodded slowly. They had been fighting the monster for a long time before it broke through. There were signs of other damage on the creature¡¯s back and rear which hadn¡¯t come from my bullets.


    ¡°Runt.¡± Hardwood¡¯s sudden intrusion made my head sway. ¡°What¡¯s the recoil on that marking?¡±


    Recoil?


    My confusion must have been obvious. The world blurred as lights from a nearby torch brightened. One of the robed clerics stood a few yards away, head bowed until his eyes were covered. The fire brightened, and I thought my control over one of the Eyes of a Man might be slipping.


    ¡°The price. Every marking has a price. What¡¯s yours? The way I see it, eighteen shots should be a heavy one. You won¡¯t be much use¡­¡± Her words became distant.


    Tin rang in an ear. I couldn¡¯t breathe. My chest felt tight, and wiggling under my skin made a rib pop. Throat muscles constricted, and my tongue felt too large to swallow past. Dark tendrils crisscrossed my vision. The wormy crawling feeling came with a chill. I lifted my Rainbow-drop-covered hand to glare at it. The last few times, there¡¯d been an answer from that marking, a balancing of hot and cold.


    Only the cold remained, and as I fought for air, the world finished transforming to pure black. I thought I screamed. Maybe I kept screaming. Both ears popped, but the sound of metal ringing continued to drown out everything else.


    Everything ached. My toes strained to move but shot pain up one leg as the muscles tightened. My toes were solid blocks. Someone pressed against my scalp. The pressure on my head hurt.


    It got me, I thought, remembering the mangled bear.


    Something twisted inside me. Then I felt nothing.


    ***


    I felt my body on a solid plain before fully registering anything else. Moving sent pain lancing up every limb. I twisted to one side and pushed back, still processing the sights in this space.


    There were smooth marble floors. Two desks sat by a door. The window to my left had glass over it and no signs of a latch. Light streamed into the room through the window, creating a colorful square upon the ground. White walls took on a multicolored hue.


    I squinted and worked to shut out my vision. Lances of other colors obscured laced through my sight as a result of the markings on my back. A string of purple wiggled through, and when I looked at it, I felt uncomfortably aroused.


    A slow series of footsteps came in the room. I pushed back to a wall and sat. Green pierced through my eyesight, and I remembered two facts: when I was a boy, I¡¯d wanted a puppy for years, and I could smell the tea leaves Momma used to drink each morning.


    Ink feeds off mental images and physical actions. Focus. They¡¯re afterimages. None of them are real.


    I had to believe those bolts of color were tied to overusing the rainbow drop. That splattering from the heart of The Mountain hitting my hand shouldn¡¯t have formed a stable marking. The cat¡¯s eyes had somehow filled me with horror-inducing images.


    All those bullets had used up one marking, which had somehow let the others run rampant. The hot and cold might be balanced. Their inverted colors might be balanced. I¡¯d have to figure it out.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Chase?¡± a man asked. His voice were too loud.


    The footsteps of two people behind the man were also annoying. I blinked and took a short breath that shuddered on the way out. I pushed aside the thoughts of my markings and focused on the people arriving. Ducky stood nervously in the back while Neb and the girl who¡¯d used ice were up front.


    ¡°You¡¯re tough,¡± Neb said.


    I glared at him and ignored the overalls and dumb grin.


    ¡°Son of a bitch,¡± the woman responded. ¡°Thought for sure you¡¯d overloaded. I¡¯ve seen good girls go that way.¡± Her head shook. ¡°It ain¡¯t pretty.¡±


    The woman, whose name still escaped me, walked out of the room while rubbing her head. I took a steadying breath then pushed myself up to a more proper position. Both legs ached and protested at being stretched.


    Ducky¡¯s eyebrow rose. ¡°Had to see it myself. Your mark¡¯s like mine¡ªwild, doesn¡¯t fit one color. And I¡¯ve come close to overloading, where you just sailed right on by the limit.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t intended to.


    Ducky shook his head, patted Neb on the arm, then walked out the door.


    Neb¡¯s smile were tired and worn. He sniffed and wiped his nose with a forearm. ¡°Storm¡¯s gone. We made it up the hill. The other Rangers will be in here soon. They¡¯re talking about you. Mister Obsidian says you did good defending the line. Mister Ash don¡¯t like you though. Like my aunt. Thinks people loafing around while she works can¡¯t be trusted.¡±


    I tapped my forearm and winced. Neb wouldn¡¯t know what the gesture meant, so I made up for it by asking, ¡°How long was I out?¡±


    ¡°Uhhh. You slept through the night and most of the day. The full moon¡¯s tonight, and the Rangers¡ªthat¡¯s Miss Hardwood, Mister Ash, and Mister Wan¡ªsay all Rangers will have to be at the summit. Even us. But maybe not you.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s the green guy?¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t make it,¡± Neb said while casting his eyes to the ground. The perpetual smile transformed into a large dopey frown.


    Neb left as well. The three had popped in to see if I lived then exited just as quickly. I would have been offended, but we didn¡¯t really know each other. Seven days of running hadn¡¯t left time to socialize. We were physically pushed to our limits and often too tired for talk, except for Neb. He must have used that bull-like power of his again. It turned him from a blabbermouth to a quiet star-gazer.


    I struggled to stand. It took a few minutes before my feet were steady enough. Memories from years ago stuck me, and it felt strange to see how everything in the temple had shrunk.


    My clothes were a mess. The bed they¡¯d left me on barely amounted to wooden slats. There were no signs of ink on it or me. I was pleased there hadn¡¯t been any contamination from that powerful monster.


    Going into the mines without a single tattoo meant being bundled under layers of cloth and thick gloves. Ranger Hardwood had held the monster bear¡¯s heart without flinching. Either having markings helped, or they¡¯d built up immunities. Tawny and Obsidian had said something along those lines, that no Ranger dared in their first six months.


    Or maybe Rangers are another type of being, I thought.


    The idea scared me. If Rangers were other beings, then they¡¯d have to risk the change Tattooist Cassandra had spoken of. A crossroads.


    I shuffled toward the sound of voices. There were a few rooms around the corner, a small privy that were in use, and a kitchen that couldn¡¯t have cooked more than a few meals at a time. Ranger Ash stood in next doorway over, picking at his nails with a grim look.


    ¡°You, young Mister Craig, are the spitting image of your father,¡± he said while shaking a knife blade at me.


    My eyebrow lifted. I didn¡¯t believe our short time together could give Ranger Ash that impression. Daddy had been hard working and away from home for days. He¡¯d worked at the mines.


    Or that¡¯s what I¡¯d believed.


    Ranger Ash stared at me. I didn¡¯t rise to his bait and continued down the hallway in search of another door or exit.


    ¡°You did nothing with the regulars. Then had to show off when the big one broke through. Like you knew that it¡¯d be needed.¡± Ash frowned at me then glanced at my hands. ¡°Because Hardwood just had to bring you to hunt that bear. Do you even understand what¡¯s been done?¡±


    I shook my head. It weren¡¯t that I didn¡¯t know what¡¯d happened, but the whys were escaping me.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have over drafted like that if you¡¯d come out to fight the weaker ones. We could have cleared them faster then killed the big bad as a group.¡±


    You told me to stay with Poss, I thought.


    His words were logical, sure, but annoying. I couldn¡¯t say why for sure, but I didn¡¯t care what Ash had to say anymore. It might have been being called Hound by all those clerics. They clearly knew what Cassandra had titled me. But I felt as if there¡¯d be a future for me, even if I never became a proper Ranger. I didn¡¯t know if this potential other path might earn me the same money Rangers got for their hunting. It might tie me to The Mountain even more than being inked a dozen times over with battle markings.


    Then there were the idea that my daddy had almost been a Hound. Would it be good to succeed where he hadn¡¯t? To follow in the footsteps of my granddaddy? I didn¡¯t know.


    I stopped and rubbed my eyes with one hand. My stomach felt twisted into knots and the room kept tilting. Questions went through my mind and came out in pieces that made no sense.


    One task at a time. Just like working the mines. The returning of bodies to The Mountain on a full moon took precedence over worrying about my future. I¡¯d been one of the grieving who ventured up, and on that note Ash had been right. We needed to show this situation the respect it deserved. It had meant the world to me as a boy. It had left wounds that would never heal.


    By God, I¡¯d make sure I didn¡¯t ruin other people¡¯s last moments with their loved ones by brooding.


    Ash mus thave said his peace because he turned away. His footsteps padded softly down the hall. I listened until he shut a door somewhere else in the building, then I started moving again. Louder voices came from around another bend.


    I planned on finding an unoccupied washroom or outdoor spigot and cleaning up. Up here there should be a few. They¡¯d pump water from a reservoir or used a mixture of blue and green to gather and purify rainwater.


    My steps dragged. The hallway spun, and I flashed to the last time I¡¯d ventured here. All at once, I felt young and lost. The people around me a mixture of strangers and distant neighbors. A dozen souls who escorted empty shells of loved ones.


    ¡°Chase!¡± someone shouted.


    I turned to look at another doorway. My eyes still blurred together illusions cast by the ink¡¯s over usage. There stood a cleric, dressed in a multicolored robe. The light behind him were overcast, but at the same time showed daylight. My vision distorted briefly, showing the same image from a shorter height. I remembered being a younger man in this very hall.


    One of my hands went up to block the wavering backdrop of light.


    ¡°It¡¯s the sickness. Come on. We must prepare.¡± The man¡¯s words rang like thunder and threatened to call down fire if I didn¡¯t act quickly.


    ¡°Kenneth?¡± I asked the familiar voice.


    ¡°Come on!¡± his voice echoed. ¡°We got to get you washed up and ready for a baptism!¡±


    What? My feet moved before it fully registered he had the same tone Cassandra had used on me. The rainbow colors might have been a clue, since the tattooist had the same swirls and had been equally beguiling.


    ¡°Not a moment to waste.¡±


    Two sets of arms came up on either side of me. They lifted me as easily as one might pick up a baby.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°I am a lowly servant of The Mountain. And servants need no names.¡± He shook a finger at me and walked forward.


    I struggled to remember everything I¡¯d ever heard about the clerics on The Mountain. The people below rarely spoke of their ventures up here. Even I¡¯d stayed button-lipped about my own trip.


    The two carried me into another room. The air there was heavy and thick. After the first breath, I felt dizzy. By the third, I felt heavy. After that, hardly anything mattered. They undressed me, washed my face, and redressed me in garbs that weren¡¯t my daddy¡¯s.


    Absently, I plucked at the threading of the new robe. They¡¯d put work into the coloring. The way it spiraled outward acted as a continuation of my rainbow drop marking. One side continued the spiral of red, blue, and greens outward from my sleeve.


    It seemed wrong, but I couldn¡¯t figure out why. The other side started black and bubbled out. They reminded me of the markings on either hand. I wondered if the Eyes of a Man were somehow represented on the back.


    When I turned to look over my shoulder, a hand gently pushed me back. I couldn¡¯t fight it and found myself breathing in the thick air. They continued to move my limbs about, inspecting something. My eyelids fluttered as I tried to understand. None of it made sense. I thought I saw Opal working on my leg, but that might have been a fever dream brought about by the over usage of my ink or whatever they¡¯d put in the air.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said to her.


    The woman who might have been Opal smiled. It were sad and twisted her eyes into tight, nearly vanishing ovals. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said.


    That made no sense. I shook my head to explain. The words didn¡¯t come. I lifted an arm to push her out of the way and worked to get to the door, but someone simply held me in place until the idea faded.


    Eventually they finished with me and I flew like a bird toward the exit, only I had no wings. It were a wrong thought. There were two bodies on either side and they carried me. We went down the hall, around a corner out the door, and two lights became blindingly apparent.


    The Mountain¡¯s core had bubbled to the surface. Funny how such a deep hole in the ground looked like a simple lake during the full moon. The ink swirled, bubbling with blacks and every color imaginable. While our proceeding continued, I searched for the elusive silver.


    Above the pool of risen ink sat the full moon. It were larger here, at the top, than I¡¯d ever seen before. It called me to gaze upon its surface. It pulled with unblemished purity. I groaned with the need for sweet release from all life¡¯s worries.


    On the small platform for mourners to lower their dead stood a man wearing a multicolored robe. He faced a large crowd and waved as if gesturing to all life¡¯s creatures.


    My head felt heavy. There¡¯d been something in the fog, a heavy scent reminding me of flowers, that burned the insides of my nostrils. I shook my head to clear the sensation but couldn¡¯t get the muddy feeling to leave. It confounded everything.


    ¡°Rangers, take the outside circle and stand against the night. See us through the darkness as is your duty!¡± the man on the platform roared.


    I moved to go to my spot, but the two men on either side of me held me back.


    ¡°Clerics, assume the inside. Watch over The Mountain¡¯s heart and keep it safe from those who would do it harm. Bear witness to these souls here to do right by their loved ones.¡± He gestured to either side.


    I felt a bit more level-headed, but not much. The world swam, and his words hung for longer than they should have. As each cleric got into position, they started a low hum that echoed softly across the lake of ink.


    ¡°And you.¡± The man wearing a rainbow-colored robe pointed in my direction. ¡°You stand here.¡±


    The two people picked me up and carried me into position. They pushed me down until I knelt by his side, on the small outcropping that looked across the pool of rolling ink. I turned my head, but the man ignored me. I squinted to see his face, but the wrapping around his eyes, like every other cleric¡¯s, prevented his features from being clear.


    What does this mean? What¡¯s going on? Am I a Ranger?


    ¡°Let the first be brought to the edge,¡± the cleric next to me boomed.


    The clerics still hummed, and the note picked up and gained a bobbing rhythm that made me sway. I wanted to stop but couldn¡¯t find the strength.


    I¡¯m not hard enough, I thought. I failed to help them fight the horde of monsters. Ducky would make a better Ranger.


    It were strange how I¡¯d started having second thoughts. The process worried me, but this had been what I¡¯d fought for. Being a Ranger was the first step toward freedom. I couldn¡¯t let doubt shake me now.


    ¡°And ever be mindful that your loved one¡¯s soul has risen up! For that belongs to the Lord for judgment.¡± His hand shook in the air. The book in his other hand waved back and forth, but I couldn¡¯t think clearly enough to place it.


    The clerics hummed as their leader continued. They used the same notes from our pilgrimage along the path. It sounded like a choir group warming up for a big song and dance. Their bodies might be enhanced by ink because my body vibrated with the sound.


    ¡°And his body shall go down. For there is no waste in God¡¯s plan and we must all return to our roots!¡±


    I blinked repeatedly and attempted to activate the eye that let me see ink markings. The pool glowed, but nothing else stood out. It were as if my abilities were muted.


    ¡°Let the next be brought to the ledge,¡± the man who might be Kenneth said. I felt certain that under that mask, the padre from church would be found.


    I just wanted to be a Ranger, I thought. What was happening to me couldn¡¯t possibly be part of the trials. It made no sense. Why would they put me in a robe, drug me, and make me sit with my knees folded under me in front of the pool of ink?


    The clerics hummed while their leader continued to call out the names of the dead being sent down. Poss stepped up, carrying a dead Feline under a fancy linen. She stepped onto the dock. I watched her. She had a shiny, wet face. The colors of the ink were bright enough to reflect off her tears. She set her friend, or housemaid, or lover, into a body basket then slowly lowered it into the false water. A familiar female Feline went back to The Mountain.


    ¡°And her body shall go down!¡± the head cleric shouted. His words rang in my ears.


    The Feline vanished entirely as Poss tugged the platform rope. Her face twisted then collapsed into a sobbing wreck. She backed away as another body were called forth.


    They continued through a dozen names. Each person took a handful of minutes with their loved ones. The man or woman escorting the dead whispered, cried, or screamed in outrage. But in the end, all who had passed had their bodies returned to The Mountain.


    I swayed and struggled to understand. Those people weren¡¯t simply from Chandler¡¯s Field. They came from farther than Bell Town. Each one went back to the temple. There they¡¯d wait until the Rangers cleared The Mountain of monsters.


    ¡°And now, tonight marks a new beginning. A hound has been named!¡± he said, spouting fire with every word.


    The Rangers and clerics were silent. I squinted and tilted my head up.


    ¡°As is our duty, we will maintain our vigil as he is tested,¡± Kenneth roared while pointing at the swirling lake which had swallowed a dozen bodies.


    Something felt wrong. I heard the words Kenneth said, but they weren¡¯t fully registering. I shook my head and attempted to blow away the fog once more.


    Pressure on my back made me groan. My body tipped forward, right into the lake. Energy shot through me. Panic, coupled with the feeling of bathing in a warm bathtub, fought in a battle to lull me to sleep but somehow keep me alive. I slipped under, then came up sputtering for air and flailing for the lake¡¯s edge. I¡¯d never swum in anything so deep.


    ¡°I¡¯m not dead!¡± I shouted.


    ¡°You ain¡¯t yet lived either, boy!¡± their leader said. His voice sounded softer.


    I lost the will to move for only a moment as his words sank in. Once again, I slipped under the water and fought my way back to the surface. My mouth tasted everything. Sour, sweet, like oil and cow shit, then cool fresh water from a stream.


    The Rangers stood and stared. They made no move to help. My head dipped under again, but I saw Ducky and Neb, still as statues. I spun in the ink, searching for the nearest shore.


    Under again I went, and once I¡¯d fought my way back up, I¡¯d somehow made it to a ledge. I pulled myself up a little bit. The robe they¡¯d put me in was heavy with ink and my body shook.


    Hardwood stared down her nose at me. She snorted. Her husband, Tawny, stood nearby, shaking his head sadly. He drew himself up and stood as tall as he could.


    He¡¯d warned me.


    The pool of ink dropped from beneath me. My body felt weaker than ever, and the side of the inkwell threatened to crumble under my unsupported weight. I hung on and stared over the edge. One arm fumbled to find more purchase.


    My heart hammered. Blood rushed in both ears. The clerics¡¯ singing sounded like madness and I couldn¡¯t breathe right. The wall burned my toes and sank through the robe. I could feel my chest crawling with emotions spawned from Rainbow ink.


    Letting go could mean death. I clawed on the side, ignoring the ink stains that would surely leave me a wrecked husk. No amount of twisting would be worse than what were about to happen.


    Finally, I saw one friendly face in the crowd of silent judges.


    Jenn.


    I couldn¡¯t tell if I wanted her to help or run away from these madmen. It didn¡¯t matter. My fingers lost their strength and down I went.


    Jenn reached the edge. Her top half leaned over the ledge after me. I saw people holding her from leaping in after me.


    ¡°Chase!¡± she shouted.


    I stared at her soft ears and wondered without focus. Ink wormed its way into those thoughts, flashing a dozen images of our life together. Those were pushed to one side as realization of my current situation settled in.


    ¡°Jenn!¡± I yelled while falling.


    My body twisted and spun end over end. The pool of bright colors swirled beneath me. I swore upon the grave of every angel in God¡¯s army that the Delvers were singing a single tunnel away.


    ¡°Way down he¡¯ll go¡­¡± they sang. Those words merged with the hymn above. ¡°To join his daddy below, low, low, low, low.¡±


    My head hit the side of The Mountain¡¯s heart. Colors brightened and flared to life, blinding me.


    The Delvers¡¯ song continued on a final line, ¡°Till all he knows is woe.¡±


    Then I felt nothing.

 21 - Mirror of the Hills

    Low tones haunted the air like ghosts of The Mountain. Then the noise truly registered. They weren¡¯t ghosts. They were Delvers singing in my ears. Lost souls who¡¯d traveled deep into the ink-infested mines and never really resurfaced.


    My mind trailed down a random path, twisted around itself, and grasped at a slippery thought darting out of reach. It¡¯d been about a dog barking in an impossible location. A dozen more half-formed concepts galloped by with flaming eyes and black fur. They looked exactly like the horses that pulled carts up The Mountain before a full moon.


    One of the faintly imagined nightmare steeds reared. I backed hastily into a tree. A cat leaned in and licked my face before glaring at me with one deep dark eye full of fear. Then it gave a sharp bark.


    My heart jumped. What?


    The wrongness of those flashes of thought struck me dumb. None of them could exist. Cats barking like dogs and horses inside the mine¡¯s depths were nonsense. Even the Delvers would be miles away.


    I faded out. The dog bark continued at uneven intervals until it roused my brain. The loud sharp noise came twice more while I pushed up from the ground. A hand slipped in a puddle of liquid. My whole arm gave way. My body flopped onto the ground, and a terrible feeling of being the wrong way up spun my vision in circles.


    I¡¯d fallen into the heart of The Mountain. The idea filled me with dread. But survival and awareness meant something. That realization turned horror to brief confusion. Fear came crawling in again as my back shivered and scalp tightened.


    Have I survived? Or maybe I¡¯m dead and this is hell.


    That damned dog barked again. I opened my eyes and peered into a murky blackness. Occasionally bolts of colors swam through, zipping across either air or a wall.


    I panicked, thinking of all the raw material I must have touched on the way down. Then it hit me as a certainty¡ªI had died. There were no way for a living body to be dipped in the pool of colors that swelled up The Mountain¡¯s heart. Only the deceased went down that path.


    My feet still worked, so forward I ambled, shuffling one leg in front of the other. Walking brought aches. Muscles on my calf and hip pinched with each step. The bump on my head felt tender beyond belief and was matted with a stickiness of blood or maybe ink.


    Where do I go?


    The ink zipping by came from multiple directions. There were walls, but they were soft and nearly invisible. I bumped into one after the other, and each time, my mind reset and breath hitched.


    I couldn¡¯t say how long I¡¯d been walking. The dead should have no concept of time. Seconds became minutes. Minutes stretched on for too long. Throughout it all, the dog barked somewhere out of sight.


    ¡°This is hell,¡± I said, sure at last The Mountain had truly been a gateway to the afterlife. I¡¯d expected more screaming and brimstone but received only blackness. Maybe God hadn¡¯t weighed my soul yet.


    I reached for my markings and felt only thick coats of slime. There were nothing to see by aside from the illumination of irregular bolting inks that reminded me of lightning. They continued to curl around me like a heartbeat.


    One of the markings on my back should have let me see in the dark. I wondered why it hadn¡¯t activated itself. Maybe the fall had damaged me somehow. Maybe being dead meant my abilities were gone. I covered one eye and focused on the Darkness Ward.


    The room spun. Walls which hadn¡¯t been apparent slowly faded into being. Something huge, bigger than any monster I¡¯d ever heard of, groaned. Rocks rolled and my body swayed at the sudden earthquake.


    Ink swirled in an orange circle. A smaller circle formed inside the first. It glanced in almost every direction I could imagine before narrowing at me. My head leaned back to take in the scope of such a huge creature. This surely had to be the eye from some giant inside The Mountain.


    The orange eyeball mockery scattered in multiple directions. More colors came together. Noise creaked from behind me and I whirled, reaching for daddy¡¯s gun. Only it were gone. I fumbled for the knife. It had vanished too. They¡¯d left me nothing but this ugly robe of mismatched sides. My heartbeat sped as I peered across the dim room in search of the enemy.


    Kenneth stood there. His twisted rainbow robe swirled. Similar to the temple, I couldn¡¯t see his face. It had been covered by a thick cloth matching his robe.


    ¡°Your clay is mine to judge, boy!¡± He lifted the book and shook his arms.


    ¡°What?¡± I asked.


    Kenneth strode toward me. With each step, red coiled behind him in the shape of fire. He continued shaking the book and walking forward. With each step, he increased in size. ¡°You ain¡¯t alive yet, boy! You may never be.¡± The flames behind him burned bright as he spit his words. ¡°For vessels are mine to shape.¡±


    He came crashing down over me like a tidal wave. I threw up my hands and fell backward. My eyes closed tightly. Ink splashed, but the blow I expected never arrived.


    Instead I burned. My body shook with rage. I wanted to tear down a wall. The raw material deep from the mine fed me insane images. Ducky¡¯s face twisted from anger as we fought over a meager barrel. Daddy smiled in a way that made his eyes look like teardrops turned on their sides.


    A damned dog barked repeatedly. I cracked an eye and saw nothing. Kenneth, the walls, those brief visions, and the giant orange eye had all vanished. My body felt like a mess. There were a dozen sensations crisscrossing as a result of the ink, but they felt muted.


    I felt doubly sure I¡¯d died during the fall. This world belonged to poor dead souls claimed by The Mountain. It included me now.


    One of the half-formed thoughts from earlier solidified.


    ¡°Daddy,¡± I mumbled.


    A sad, half turned face flickered. He¡¯d seemed worried on that last day, before heading to the mine.


    His body had been sent down into The Mountain¡¯s heart. Since I were dead too, and clearly in this place, I could find him. He¡¯d want to know I¡¯d failed in my promise. Momma would be stuck here for the rest of her life. Or maybe she¡¯d move away, knowing The Mountain had taken her family.


    That¡¯s nonsense.


    I needed to find my way around this twisted place. The darkness slowly receded until another vision presented itself. All around me were dozens of people. Faceless clerics stood silent with wrappings over their eyes. Behind them stood mockeries of Rangers. Their bodies burned with tattoos that twisted as I stared.


    That¡¯s right. They kicked me into The Mountain.


    The circle around me closed. Rangers lifted burning hands shining with every color I¡¯d ever seen. The clerics watched.


    ¡°We must all return to our roots!¡± Kenneth shouted.


    The words made me wince. I turned to find him standing in the middle of the procession with me. His hands were clasped with the book.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been named, Hound. And sent for judgment.¡±


    What does that mean?


    ¡°Stand tall and be weighed. For down you were sent. And here you shall see your nature laid bare. Your insides shall become your outside, and I will have no mercy upon your flesh.¡±


    I closed my eyes again and wished the vision away. My body quaked. The words continued, and a tightness pressed upon me from all sides. I felt as though someone had hooked into the air inside my lungs and slowly drew it all out.


    ¡°Now don¡¯t go mad. Your soul ain¡¯t mine. Your body will be my clay.¡±


    The situation made some form of sense. Not a lot. I¡¯d gone to school but would never consider myself well-taught. Still, Neb could have figured this out. I thought that this vision might not be Kenneth at all. It might not be hell or the afterlife. This could be The Mountain given voice. Neither possibility made me happy.


    ¡°No.¡± My heart shook as red bounced off the walls, illuminating the room with The Mountain¡¯s heartbeat. ¡°No.¡±


    I ran. Whatever he, the not Pastor Kenneth, wanted to do, it couldn¡¯t be good. My body would not be his clay. It wouldn¡¯t be his anything. I would die a man. Not a Flop, Delver, or Feline.


    What else could he mean?


    Crashing sounds came behind me. To my front were branches, roots, clods of dirt and tunnels. This were exactly like the deep mines with its endless tunnels. My breath stilled. Two ideas occurred to me, and I fumbled them both.


    I fell, splatting to the ground, and rolled to a half crouch. The world around me dimmed. My eyesight faded while I searched for signs of traps. Green would be a warning marker, because the monsters of the deep couldn¡¯t see it.


    Wait, was it green or blue?


    No. Blue would tell me if the air had been purified.


    Colors were in the walls. They moved slower than the earlier zipping bolts. These were like birds leisurely flying through walls of dirt. Red, bright enough to blind even an eagle, swirled along like a living creature begging to be followed.


    Snuffling noises from a beast filled the emptiness. I held my breath and listened. There were more creatures sniffing about for whatever scent had caught their attention.


    It has to be me, I thought. They couldn¡¯t possibly be searching for anything else down here. I needed to use traps or get to a safe room. Those were the best solutions. Dammit, I¡¯m dead. There are no safe rooms. Even if there are, I¡¯ll never reach them in time.


    I fought back a curse. The creature¡¯s snuffling noises abruptly stopped. It were like knowing rats scurried under the house, or a fox might be getting into the chicken coop. I simply knew in that darkness, something moved.


    The snorting started up again. I felt myself shiver from chill. Hell had monsters. Of course there were creatures down here. They probably made the ones that crawled above look like harmless kittens.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    If I had a weapon, then maybe this could have been easier. A tattoo that summoned a staff like Ranger Ash, or Hardwood¡¯s gun. Those would have helped. Escape became the only route out. There had to be an exit somewhere.


    Where do I go?


    I bolted. Not toward the looming presences or the wall I¡¯d been traveling down. This route would hopefully be a hallway to freedom.


    Stiff fur brushed against my face. I jerked away, or bounced off a hide and fell over. Teeth snapped. Snarling noises filled the small confine. It sounded like a snake and rooster had mated to create dozens of nightmare creatures that couldn¡¯t speak without retching.


    I kept one hand out in defense and fumbled for a weapon. My heart skipped. Once again, I realized those damned priests of the temple had stripped me to nothing but the robe.


    The beast attacked. Mushy flesh teeth closed around my arm. Sharp needles pierced through to bone. I screamed then thrashed to the side, attempting to roll my attacker into a position that would let me break away.


    My free hand banged against a wall. I longed for gloves, a pickax, or even a simple knife. Those were familiar. Instead I found a stick. It lit up with flame. The sudden flare blinded me.


    I swung awkwardly as the creature still latched onto my arm shook its head. The arm ached as flesh tore. My flaming stick pelted the creature over and over. Its fur caught fire and it cried out in panic, releasing my arm.


    Two more creatures lunged at me. I gripped the stick with both hands and swung like a wild man. A beast nipped my thigh, but the robe proved thick enough to block the bite. One more caught on fire. The first continued to whimper and fell over, knocking one of its hunting companions down and causing the fire to spread.


    I swung again, aiming for the one already panicked in fear. There were more hopping along the wall. They alternated between snarling and looking away. Monsters with gaping mouths and needle-sharp teeth spun in writhing circles.


    Thudding filled my ears. One hand tingled with a numbing coldness. The other burned. The conflicting temperatures spiraled toward my heart, like the robe I wore. I pushed them down and sprang at the next creature. It yipped, curled, and bit my weapon instead of me.


    My free hand punched it in the head repeatedly. The critter¡¯s body jerked with each impact. I continued until the eye curled up and all signs of life faded. The remaining monsters yipped or barfed and ran off.


    Energy lanced up my arm. It raced along my skin and my hair stood on end. Tingles tickled my neck and scalp. I struggled to control my breathing and take stock on what had happened.


    The weapon in my hand twisted. I stared at it with confusion. Its tip opened in a hiss. My heart jumped, and I threw the weapon down. It burned then slithered away around a corner. The remaining light helped me confirm there were no living creatures left. It also showed me the three dead monsters that looked like moles crossed with porcupines.


    What is going on? I asked.


    The air felt still. No more beasts approached for now. I leaned against the wall and wondered if I¡¯d die of poisoning. Poison would surely turn my body into a saggy corpse. Supposing that dead people could die again.


    I bled. The aches in my muscles worsened from the repeated swings. My bitten forearm screamed from boiling agony. Under the fabric, I felt fresh blood. Or maybe it were smeared with black inks that weren¡¯t lit up. Nothing made sense to me, at least in a bigger picture view.


    What had happened made sense in hindsight, but in the brief bout of darkness, I hadn¡¯t been able to analyze what kind of creatures they were. Common monsters, like blink hounds and others, were named after their traits. Everyone working from Wellbrook to Bell Town knew their natures.


    Those furry hissing creatures were dirt rats. They came in all sorts of flavors but acted the same. I¡¯d tossed dozens of them into The Mountain because Harold had asked me to. Him and his Delver pals had murdered a whole slew of them.


    Were they dead too? I wondered of the dirt rats.


    The stick must have been a stone snake. It wouldn¡¯t care about fire. Apparently, with the rainbow drop¡¯s weird functions or us being dead, that meant it qualified as a weapon. There were tales that spoke of men being turned into rocks after one unlucky bite.


    I continued shaking and steadying my breath. My eyes drooped with weariness. A few simple animals had nearly killed me, or made me more dead. Some Ranger I would have made. My head shook, but the jitters weren¡¯t leaving me alone. I shivered from fear, sickness, or hunger.


    I have to figure this out.


    First, Kenneth¡¯s weird doppelganger had assaulted me. That might have been The Mountain talking through a medium. He¡¯d certainly sounded like an asshole fallen angel should, at least in my head. The way his body fell apart and the eyeball made of ink might have been twisted visions from being bathed in rainbow drops.


    Visions of familiar people didn¡¯t occur in the deep mines. Not even when the Jeffs told their wildest tales. Monsters of all sorts, tricks of the light, some spoke of whispers coming from dimly lit tunnels, but never men yelling aloud. Plus, I should be dead.


    I felt as though I could have seen all this madness coming. There had been signs aplenty. Momma knew about Daddy¡¯s jobs. The Hound name were implied as hereditary. I could have found a day to ask anyone in the universe what the hell that title had to do with¡­ well with anything.


    But I were blinded preparing for the Ranger trials.


    The excuse sounded lame. Still, thinking about it all kept me from dwelling on the critters scuttling in darkness. I felt the earth¡¯s pulse. Or maybe it were imagined. Like a dozen huge presences sat somewhere around a corner, ready to spill out and devour everything in its wake.


    I had to believe this world used raw ink to form itself. That meant the ink came from the pits of Hell or this weren¡¯t the afterlife. These tunnels weren¡¯t Delver-crafted. None of the walls had been shored up. The ceiling sloped at odd angles. I couldn¡¯t tell for sure, but under the light of fire-coated monsters, the place had seemed like a simple tunnel in the deep mines.


    Do the dead bleed? I wondered.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t dead yet,¡± I repeated. ¡°But I ain¡¯t alive either.¡±


    The words held a secret and I couldn¡¯t figure it out. It might have been the near-death experience or the fact that I¡¯d been bleeding. Maybe the simple shock of falling into The Mountain¡¯s heart¡ªor being pushed by those clerics¡ªhad played a part.


    More snarls and yips came from the direction the stone snake had slithered off to. I hoped it were my former weapon catching monsters on fire. I¡¯d ponder my status in the afterlife once I found a safer place.


    Creatures continued their angry whimpers. I stumbled on blindly, afraid to use the marking on my back for fear it¡¯d trigger visions of Pastor Kenneth¡¯s evil twin.


    At a corner, or a doorway, I dug rocks from the wall. They touched the marking and glowed a sick green, black, and finally red again. The color bounced like a heartbeat but lit up the area exactly as a miner¡¯s helmet would. I found a few more to serve as projectiles.


    I can see why Rangers have tattoos for weapons.


    The tunnels were endless. Exhaustion pulled at my eyes. Sounds surrounded me, but nothing could be seen under the pulsing red light. I risked using the Darkness Ward to get a better view.


    I¡¯d been here before. This pit looked exactly like the one Hardwood had led me to when we were hunting the bear in the deep mines. The pools of ink didn¡¯t have the same color though. Instead of rolling liquid shining with a trapped rainbow, these pits were filled with gray. As if it couldn¡¯t decide between being white or black or any color at all.


    ¡°You ain¡¯t hard enough, brat.¡±


    I turned to find a new person standing in the dark tunnel. Hardwood¡¯s arms were crossed and lips puckered, making her leathery face seem sour. She spit on the ground then turned toward me.


    ¡°You may never be!¡± she shouted while drawing a gun. Green energy coiled around the barrel as she raised it in my direction.


    I fumbled for a weapon of my own and came up empty again. Hardwood¡¯s arms tensed slowly enough that I could see her pulling the trigger. I dove to one side. My arms and legs worked to shuffle me away like a four-legged beast.


    The gun cracked six times. Each shot thudded. A low humming growl came from behind me. I jerked my head to glance at the other being.


    A huge monster reared above me. Brier patches sprouted at each wound. Its arms raised, mouth frozen mid snarl. The creature¡¯s snout were too long for a bear. The back muscles created a hunch that didn¡¯t fit any creature I¡¯d seen come out of The Mountain. It whimpered like one of Cassandra¡¯s endless miles of mutts. The body warped and withered. The green patches where Hardwood¡¯s bullets had struck abruptly reversed their growing.


    My chest itched then ache. I glanced down and felt my ribs push their way outward. Cracks brought spikes of pain. There were wiggling bits inside me, under the skin, writhing. I fell, clutching my robe and huffing. Pounding filled my ears. A sharp jab of pain lingered in my chest. It went on and on until my eyes refused to see and my ears couldn¡¯t hear anything except a low whine.


    The hurt stayed with me. I smacked an arm around, flailing for anything that might help. My hand thudded against a solid object. I repeated the motion uselessly. I couldn¡¯t tell what size the objects were or where my hands ended up. Only that my arm bounced. I couldn¡¯t see what I¡¯d grabbed. One thought made it through the murk. Somehow, Hardwood¡¯s briars were inside me and not the monster.


    My body swayed to the side and into one of the gray, indecisive pits. My mind shut up, folded on itself and a lot of other sensations that didn¡¯t make sense. With it came blackness.


    A time later, licking assaulted my face. I twitched. My eyes opened and the location had changed. My belly tightened and pain hit. The shock made me double up, causing more damage.


    I violently coughed.


    ¡°Whoa now. Take it easy,¡± a rough voice said.


    Shallow breaths reduced the sudden influx of agony. I rode the latest wave with short gasps for air.


    ¡°It¡¯ll pass. Let the green do its work.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have a marking that healed, unless the rainbow drop somehow twisted a weapon around to leech vitality from a monster. That thought shattered as a fresh bout of pain hit me. This time, I heard the sound of a bone snapping under sudden pressure.


    ¡°Careful. Don¡¯t fight it.¡±


    Branches snapped. Heat came from nearby. My chest slowly expanded for air. I focused on not letting the bursting sensation grow. Muscles ached and twitched.


    ¡°Use the power. Let it go where it¡¯s trying to go. It¡¯s like swimming with the stream, not against it. Don¡¯t think about it. Do. Struggling will only make the wounds reopen.¡± The man¡¯s tone vibrated like a struck horseshoe. There were no other way to describe it.


    I still didn¡¯t know who spoke. Their words felt far away. Everything did, except the expanding feeling. My chest seemed two sizes too small. Both legs struggled. Fingernails itched, burned, and cooled.


    ¡°The hooks are in deep. Down to your bones and the very marrow. But we can use those.¡±


    A hand passed over me. I noticed too late to get more than a glimpse. It was human, rough, and leathery like Hardwood¡¯s hands. Or Tawny¡¯s. But with a monstrous strength to them. Trails, afterimages, something hung in the air where the person had reached across. I felt cool pressure against my forehead. Turning hurt, but I needed to see the man who spoke with such a foreign tone.


    ¡°Careful now. Moving suddenly will bend your body wrong. Lying on your side, that¡¯ll help. Fetal position makes the change easier.¡±


    What?


    I finally got more than a glimpse of the man. He¡¯d ventured beyond road worn and dust-riddled. Dirt were caked upon his face while streaks of black and brown ran down his hair and skin. His sweat-stained clothes were in tatters. His shoulders huge and waist narrow.


    ¡°Watch the knees. Don¡¯t tuck your head too far down.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I managed to ask aloud.


    ¡°You remind me of my son. Full of questions I don¡¯t have time for.¡± His tone managed to be rough and soothing.


    I¡¯d asked one question. One single word spoken out loud, and I¡¯d been chastised. My voice cracked and lips ached. To hell with him, the dead can ask all the questions they want.


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked.


    ¡°First time¡¯s the roughest. Crossing over takes its toll. Then you wake and find out you¡¯re not human anymore.¡±


    The fire in front of him moved wrong. The flames were turquoise. They flickered every few heartbeats then froze in a new position.


    The warmth were real. Shivers crawled down my back, and I jerked to put a hand in front of me. It didn¡¯t look right. Fear gripped my heart and I jumped, crying out from a fresh wave of pain.


    I twitched. My toes dug in the dirt. It felt cool, like damp morning grass, but it almost had no substance.


    Not human?


    It took time. What it was that required time I couldn¡¯t tell. How much, I couldn¡¯t say. This place operated by rules that made no sense. The fire continued its intermittent dance, and the other man stirred it with a stick. Eventually, I managed to confront my hands without thrashing about wildly.


    The fingers were too long and the wrong color. They were black. A breeze rolled through, making the fire dance. New patterns rippled down my fur. It reminded me of the Heart Seeker marking, but on a dog¡¯s fur.


    Hound, a voice whispered. The clerics on the hill had repeated that word. That title. That description.


    None of this made sense. No, it made sense as a visual, but the reasoning behind it had been muddled.


    I curled my fingers, and the strange claws turned into a fist. They were sharper and thicker than normal.


    ¡°You¡¯re confused,¡± the man said.


    I nodded slowly. The motion hurt.


    ¡°See. Statements are worth more than questions. Questions are an impulse, a need to figure out something. You¡¯ll be stronger if you learn to stop questioning and deal with facts.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand what¡¯s happening.¡±


    ¡°Of course you don¡¯t. None of us do the first time. That¡¯s why someone is here to guide you. Someone stronger. Someone smarter. Someone who knows how to do more than ask useless questions.¡±


    Stronger than me? That much probably went without saying. My body felt weaker than a newborn¡¯s. I could barely think coherently. But who is he? And how is he going to guide me?


    He thumbed his nose. The sudden dry scraping sound made me twitch. Moving hurt less than it had. I shook briefly while scanning the area.


    This place reminded me of home. It could have been any clearing halfway between Wellbrook Mines and Chandler¡¯s Field. There were even mountains in the distance that reminded me of Butcher Hills. They were farther away and covered by a haze blurring their tops.


    I coughed then shook with pain.

 22 - Powers of the War

    ¡°I see. You¡¯re still fighting the change and need to be distracted. I¡¯ll talk, you listen.¡± He poked the fire again. ¡°But this time isn¡¯t forever. I¡¯ll only stay until the sun rises. Then you¡¯ll need to go home the same way you came.¡±


    How is that? I questioned, but said nothing. My companion didn¡¯t seem to want interruptions or anything sounding unsure.


    ¡°This is The Field.¡± He said The Field in the way others spoke of The Mountain. As if there were only one in all of existence.


    I sat up, and my teeth chattered. My body curled too far forward. My head hung. Creatures moved in the distance and sounded right next to us but had to be farther away. They had to.


    ¡°Here, we fight The War. The only war that matters. The War that will exist after everything else is ground to dust.¡±


    ¡°The War?¡± I felt stupefied.


    He jabbed the fire with his stick. It crackled into a new position then froze. ¡°I don¡¯t like questions.¡±


    My mouth sealed until not even chattering escaped. He¡¯d said someone had to guide me, but it felt unfair that the person teaching me what to do¡­ whatever the nebulous hell that were, didn¡¯t want questions.


    He nodded. ¡°You can¡¯t see it from here. This place is huge. Giant beyond belief. As big as Earth.¡±


    The ragged man chewed on something. I couldn¡¯t tell what, but it made me wonder about my own hunger. The dead, apparently, could feel starved.


    ¡°I¡¯ll say it, and it won¡¯t make sense entirely. Or you won¡¯t believe me. Or you¡¯ll accept it and not realize how important it is. Doesn¡¯t matter which really.¡± He spit on the ground then lifted his head back toward the sky.


    I followed his gaze upward. Stars were above. They twinkled and distorted, as if fog hung in the air.


    ¡°This is where all the power is. The air¡¯s thick with it. Heavy. It smells different with each breath. Sometimes I smell my wife¡¯s pies in the wind. But she¡¯d never be enslaved like us. I refused to let her be touched by the ink.¡±


    I¡¯d sniffed the air myself. No pies, but I could smell chopped wood and damp pine. There were hints of tiny chocolates like the ones I¡¯d sneaked to Jenny. I took another breath and seized with pain. The hurt had almost become a forgotten memory. My chest still ached and fingers felt wrong, but I¡¯d enjoyed being distracted for a moment.


    ¡°This place. It¡¯s where all of us, anyone touched by the stuff of creation, come to. Here we continue to fight, man against monster, for all eternity. They¡¯re all here. Delvers from every corner of the world. Felines from the Butcher Hills. Slithers from the Lost Ruins. Dragoons from the Lake of Galahad. And us.¡±


    I almost opened my mouth to ask what ¡°us¡± meant. His description sounded like an afterlife. A place where our tainted bodies went after death. It made sense that The Mountain hadn¡¯t let any of us go. I¡¯d known it for years. Daddy had said it to me many times before.


    Poor Hound. Once The Mountain has you, there¡¯s no getting free. Tattooist Cassandra hadn¡¯t said those words. Neither had Daddy. But I could hear them speaking in a mocking unison.


    ¡°Sun¡¯s almost up,¡± he said.


    Time passed strangely. It¡¯d been full night a few minutes ago. He¡¯d hardly spoken more than a few lines. I couldn¡¯t have spent that much time wool-gathering and staring at my strange hands.


    ¡°Here we fight the war for reasons beyond me.¡± He dug his fingers into the dirt then shuddered. ¡°I knew a woman once who claimed to know what had happened. How all this came about. She named me. No doubt someone named you as well. You¡¯ll wish they hadn¡¯t, because names have the wrong kind of power.¡±


    It sounded as though this fight had been going on for generations or more. His words gave me the impression he didn¡¯t care about the past and worked only to survive the present. The man had iron to him, his body tight and locked in a single position. Only his arm moved. I wondered how long he¡¯d been fighting this supposed war in the middle of nowhere.


    Or maybe I¡¯d gone mad and made up some daydream based on all the horrors of my life. I nodded as though I understood what the hell were going on.


    He continued. ¡°There¡¯re creatures that cross between worlds. They recruit soldiers. They bring in others to fight the war by tainting them. While Rangers, that¡¯s what they were called when I were still a man, work to keep the borders safe.¡±


    I nodded again. It fit with what I¡¯d seen over the years. Creatures came from The Mountain and we kept fighting them back. He spoke as if we were simply on the other side of a coin or over the Butcher Hills, fighting the enemy empires.


    ¡°Generals get through the tears. They sneak by, or we¡ªI¡ªcan¡¯t fight them all back. There they devour the material of creation until they grow strong enough to kill our soldiers. Or they aim for babies in their cribs.¡±


    I got lost in the steel ring to his voice. The words he said should have meant more but didn¡¯t. We could have been talking of the weather. He continued speaking, and I struggled to absorb the words.


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you all this for two reasons. First, there¡¯s a good chance you won¡¯t remember a damned thing when you leave here. This shadow world ain¡¯t meant for the daylight side.¡± He spared me a glance, pried my hands off the rag I¡¯d been holding to my forehead without realizing, then touched my skin. His hand was warm. ¡°And second, I wish someone had told me. Instead, my daddy only asked if I wanted to go back to the land of the living and protect my loved ones, or join the war. I went back. It might have been better to stay here.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know what to say. His words went onto a pile of half understood ideas I couldn¡¯t figure out how to handle. There it¡¯d join Cassandra¡¯s speech about pups and Harold¡¯s foolish dreamers searching for silver.


    ¡°I was¡­ able to choose. Like you. Having flesh meant I could go back to the other side. I didn¡¯t have to stay here and fight this endless conflict.¡±


    Surely I¡¯d died the second time, when Hardwood¡¯s enchanted bullets filled me with briars. Correction¡ªshe¡¯d shot that distorted canine creature.


    That really happened though? I wondered.


    This couldn¡¯t be heaven. These might be the kinds of lessons that were said to be taught to dear souls upon death. But talking with a man in a field, The Field, about The War couldn¡¯t be redeeming. This couldn¡¯t lead me to redemption in the eyes of God.


    My hands were the same shape. I might be living another person¡¯s hell. A tenuous relief washed over me, and I realized he¡¯d offered another tidbit.


    ¡°What do you mean¡­ having flesh? Am I alive?¡± I asked, forgetting my guide¡¯s dislike for inquiries.


    ¡°Don¡¯t ask me. Tell me.¡± He glared at the horizon.


    I couldn¡¯t tell why, but he seemed reluctant to glance in my direction. Maybe it had to do with the nature of this place.


    ¡°I¡¯m alive,¡± I said.


    ¡°Say it again. Sound sure of yourself.¡±


    That couldn¡¯t be done. The dead didn¡¯t get to call themselves alive and mean it. Asking questions and risking the ire of a ragged mountain man were within reason. Believing I still lived were not. I¡¯d be dead until proven otherwise.


    ¡°You won¡¯t make it through the gateway without being sure, and your time is running out. Flesh doesn¡¯t last forever. Not over there. Especially not here. This place, it¡¯s a rot on the body.¡±


    Gateway? I wondered.


    I struggled to put the pieces together, but so many topics were going on that it made no sense. Gateways were between pieces of property or larger homesteads. Wars on fields that were fought years ago made sense on their own, but neither one belonged inside The Mountain.


    Flesh had been what I¡¯d brought down into The Mountain. Flesh¡ªmy body¡ªwere The Mountain¡¯s to judge. A giant jigsaw puzzle were in my head. All the pieces were fitting together. It had a picture, but the image made no sense.


    I muddled over my own status. The possibilities were split between being dead and in hell, being confused and thinking I¡¯d become a dog man, or being alive and knowing all this were real.


    ¡°If you¡¯re dead, you¡¯ll stay here and fight. If you¡¯re alive, you could go back and escape his clutches.¡±


    ¡°The Mountain¡¯s,¡± I said.


    ¡°The Mountain.¡± He snorted as if I¡¯d told a joke. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard him called that in an age.¡± My companion leaned back and inhaled deeply. ¡°It¡¯s not the mountain. That¡¯s where he punched through. He were driven back decades ago. But the man and the location aren¡¯t the same.¡±


    ¡°The Mountain¡¯s a man,¡± I stated.


    ¡°Course it¡¯s a man. A fallen angel. One of God¡¯s sons. It wouldn¡¯t be a woman.¡±


    They might have been angels before their fall. Down into the earth they went, or were sent, Harold had said.


    I¡¯d come out on the other side of a pool of uncolored ink, if such a thing were possible. This were where Angels came from. Or I¡¯d fallen prey to a delusion.


    He shook his head. ¡°Only men are stupid enough to go to war when they¡¯re angry at their daddy. Women fight their battles in a smarter way. Least that¡¯s what my wife used to say. Smart woman. Smarter than any man I¡¯d ever met before or since.¡±


    My companion had obviously fought in a ton of wars. It also sounded like he thought women weren¡¯t fighters. Or at least, that were the implication I got from his speech.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Momma might not like to hear anyone considered her lesser. She¡¯d always been strong, before Daddy died. Then it were as if someone had snuffed out her candle. Poss handled her business with an iron fist, and Mister Proctor fell in line with equal surety. Jenn would have roasted this person¡¯s balls on a spit, were she dead and in this foreign hell.


    The ground rumbled. With each vibration, the blue flame flickered into a new position. My supposed guide tensed, took a deep breath, and held still. Earth shook again and he smiled weakly at me.


    ¡°Remember what I told you. Dealing in questions won¡¯t help you. Deal only in what is¡ª not what might be. Getting lost in the ifs of life will cause cracks,¡± he said.


    Cracks in what? I kept the question to myself.


    He stood. It were like watching a giant stand. With each second, he loomed larger and shined with power that crackled along his body. Not ink, but something primal. Raw in the way thunder and lightning carried themselves in a boiling storm cloud. Not only had his size changed, but his build had as well. His body towered over me in the form of a dog given man¡¯s shape, his fur rippling every color of the rainbow.


    I¡¯d never seen a dog man creature born of The Mountain, but that was what he¡¯d become. Only he had a savage, feral edge.


    ¡°Now say it again. Tell me you¡¯re alive.¡±


    Thunder cracked above even though there were no rain clouds. If God Hisself came down to Earth and commanded me, it would have been in the same tone.


    ¡°I¡¯m alive,¡± I said, wanting my voice to feel as certain as the giant power looming over me.


    ¡°Again.¡± His voice shook me as if I were no more than a leaf arguing with the wind.


    ¡°I¡¯m alive!¡± I shouted.


    ¡°Now go. Get through the gateway. Alive.¡±


    He waved me off. I stood, lost. I¡¯d never seen the gateway he spoke of. I barely understood how I¡¯d arrived at this place. Surely that hadn¡¯t been the real Hardwood, shooting a dog creature that somehow hurt me instead.


    ¡°Where do I go?¡± I asked.


    He sighed heavily and his nose flared. In the distance, something huge, bigger than him, loomed. With each step toward us, the earth shook. His head shook as he turned to face the giant.


    I risked another question. ¡°Where¡¯s the gateway?¡±


    The man¡¯s face, which now resembled a dog¡¯s more than any human¡¯s, frowned. One ear perked. He shifted slightly and listened to a steady pounding from the distance. Following the slamming noise, metal jangled.


    The obscured figure barreled toward us from the distance. Withe each long stride the enemy became clearer. It were a creature made of metal and carrying a pike. Eyes of fiery red peered from under the foe¡¯s helmet. The armored man swayed and raised the weapon, jabbing it at the dog man my companion had become. Whatever space between them, be it miles or more, seemed to flood in on itself with freakish speed. Outstretched pike struck the dog man, drawing a line of red and sending blood flying over the landscape. The huge wolf grabbed the weapon and lashed out, rending the arm to shreds, tearing the weapon away.


    Ground near me shook with each thunderous step of their oversized bodies. I threw up my hands to ward off their feet. Through a cage of fingers I saw him point a path for me. The gesture cost him as the former pike-wielder attacked. My guide¡¯s body twisted into a curl and bounced back on top of the giant in armor. He glanced down at me and raised his elongated lips in a snarl. His head jerked as a gesture toward the distance.


    I knew that head motion. It reminded me of how Daddy used to give me a shaky nod, letting me know he intended to go to The Mountain. He¡¯d also hated questions, preferring to teach by example.


    ¡°Daddy?¡± I questioned.


    A second enemy joined the first. The huge feral canine snarled and tore his first opponent¡¯s head clean from its metal body. He wasted no time before diving for the newest foe. His feet traveled away from me, clearing yards, or miles in seconds. I couldn¡¯t rightly tell distance in this place.


    The giant detached cranium spun to a halt nearby. Its red eyes dimmed, never once showing a sign of noticing me. Metal clanked as its body toppled, and another monster stomped out of a looming sunrise that blurred the horizon.


    I stared, feeling confused and lost. He¡¯d told me to go home, but the path didn¡¯t have a clear exit. If it were my daddy, I needed to stay and help.


    The creature he fought bent, bringing its weapon around. The wolf swayed back, twisted to all fours, and ran hundreds of feet in a few bounds. Dirt flew. My lungs struggled for clean air. None of my powers were strong enough to deal with these creatures.


    Worse still, those men of metal weren¡¯t like the monsters of ink I¡¯d been raised with. They were something worse, meaner, and somehow less human.


    I can¡¯t worry about that now, I thought.


    He¡¯d said to only deal in sureties, but there were too many questions. Maybe he had been my daddy at one time. Maybe this world existed as a strange reflection of the one I knew. I couldn¡¯t afford to spend time second-guessing.


    I needed to deal with facts. I¡¯d been pushed into The Mountain¡¯s heart and come out dead or in another realm. That meant my way out of here, and back to the other side, might be through The Mountain¡¯s heart.


    The fire flickered and changed to a new position. I ran by it, headed for the haze-covered mountain in the distance.


    The air stank of mildew and sheep¡¯s fur. Thick trees lined the countryside ahead. Those farthest from the forest¡¯s edge had been chopped down, leaving behind uneven stumps. I puzzled over the idea that anyone chopped wood here and assured myself the dead souls still used logs for their frozen flames.


    Two trees crashed in opposite directions as a man of metal barreled from the forest. His body had signs of red that were out of place on the otherwise polished armor. It carried a long pike like the others.


    Just my luck. This one is normal-sized, I thought.


    The other monsters had ignored me. This one pushed through trees and almost seemed upset. The armor faceplate made knowing for sure impossible. I couldn¡¯t ponder the possibilities as to why it had a grudge against trees. There were sides to this war and none of them would matter unless I got stuck here.


    I skirted wide around the creature. It ignored me and continued its attack on the trees. For only a moment, I wondered if I should stop the monster. Then I remembered I still hadn¡¯t much in the way of weapons.


    A few more armored beings were farther in the trees. They fought back against nature. I slowed my frantic pace and shuffled steadily toward the mockery of a mountain¡¯s top. My leg seized and my toes curled in displeasure. Pain didn¡¯t stop me. I¡¯d survived months in the mines; I could make it up the hill.


    Time passed. I couldn¡¯t say how much because when I attempted to find a safe spot and think, something crashed nearby. The earth thudded with the seemingly endless battle back on The Field.


    There were no clear paths. The slope ahead of me had too much unstable ground. I slowly walked along, searching for an easier path up the ridgeline.


    A screech of noise set me back. I huddled to the earthen wall behind me and searched for the source. Sounds came from all over. Critters were in the woods. I saw their dark red eyes floating above what were surely hungry maws. One ambled forward, body swaying as it bobbed on uneven feet. More leapt out of the woods and bit the first one. Their entire ball of chaos became a bundle of squawks and molted fur flying everywhere.


    I glanced at the mess. They left an opening. My only hope at getting back home were up the hill. My sudden dive for escape made the creatures halt in unison. Two dead monsters lay in their midst, and three more were wounded. The first one¡¯s companions turned to hop after me.


    Dozens of the creatures would be too much. I grabbed a stick in hopes that it might burst into flame like the one prior. Blue raced up its side. A small lace of green joined the blue, creating a twist of turquoise.


    They continued after me. I dodged by a tree and around some bushes. Some crashed into objects without regard for their own well-being. Thuds followed wood snapping. I threw the stick behind me and felt a wash of exhaustion.


    Using the marking drained me. I¡¯d fired over a dozen bullets and passed out. Throwing an equal number of sticks might not work out well. They were bigger. That one blast had drained me as much as a full round.


    Shrill noises came from behind. I ran, searching for an escape route. A sudden yowl preceded something black and white diving from the bushes. My feet gave way, a hand raised to defend my face. The creature sailed overhead while screaming a feline battle cry.


    Who? I asked myself.


    The Feline raked at the monsters with her claws. Black spots and white blotches intermingled upon a clearly female form. She wore nothing, literally nothing.


    ¡°Back!¡± she yelled in a gargled tone.


    I hadn¡¯t expected to run into anyone in these woods. A stupid mentality. There were likely people everywhere, strewn across the abnormally large field. Among them were monsters and large armored murder machines. My thoughts flashed to the empty helmet.


    There were too many possible factors. The man had been right¡ªfocus only on what I knew. The Feline fought back the dirt rats. That¡¯s what those misshapen creatures must be, for no other mountain spawned creature had that mixture of features. When in battle, their numbers only increased.


    Escape would be impossible. Fleeing while a girl fought to save me would mark me a coward. I grabbed another stick, intent on having a weapon to beat them back. The two of us might win. My body swayed as the ugly stick lit a sickly yellow.


    What does yellow do again?


    I shook my head and stumbled toward the fight. My legs shaky, I swung for the critter but fell instead. The yellow touched it, and the dirt rat shrieked as its body crumpled.


    More dove for me. I flailed the ugly stick around. Monsters yelled. Others tore at my flesh, shredding the damaged robe. The Feline barreled into creatures, freeing me. A second horde came out of the woods like angry cockroaches. The stick cracked.


    Two more received smacks before my weapon faltered. Yellow energy still lit the remaining half. I jabbed in into a dirt rat¡¯s side then stepped back. The creature¡¯s death throes yanked my stick away as it spun in circles then lay still.


    The stream of monsters continued to chase us. My Feline savior¡¯s energy had drained.


    She turned to me, open-mouthed and whiskers twitching. Her chest heaved as she gasped. ¡°Where do we go?¡±


    I blinked a few times. Running wouldn¡¯t work for me. She¡¯d be able to go, but her question implied we were in this together. These ones showed no signs of fleeing like cowards. Their horde had grown too large for them to show standard fear.


    I suggested a worse solution. ¡°The armored soldiers. Will they fight these?¡±


    They continued attacking while we spoke. She raked her claw-like hands at one. I punched one then spun. All escape routes were cut off. A full circle formed around us as the weaker ones stayed back. I¡¯d never seen so many dirt rats in one place.


    ¡°Yes. The suits fight everything that lives.¡±


    ¡°Know where one is?¡±


    They bit at me. Claws tore my skin each time I failed to drive them back. Fear made it easier to talk.


    ¡°East!¡± she shouted, then darted off.


    The Feline drove right into the line of monsters. I ran after her, focusing on the bobbing black-and-white tail. A dirt rat latched onto my arm as I struggled to keep up. I spared a moment to punch it frantically in the head. It slobbered and growled violently. Each punch sent pain up my arm. I groaned and wished I¡¯d been given a green.


    We crashed into a tree. I pinned the creature and gave it another solid hit. It went limp. I coughed wetly then continued after the Feline. She¡¯d gotten ahead. Some dirt rats were fixated on her, or must have been, since they ignored me.


    Surely I¡¯m dead, I thought. Being dead would explain why I can survive so much without a green. Or a brown. Or toughness.


    So many different markings would have helped me more than random effects for weapons. We kept going. I cradled my arm and pushed aside the pain. I didn¡¯t even have the strength to yell.


    Soon the tail got lost in the field of monsters. I couldn¡¯t make out the trees from the horde. They chittered, hissed, and were insane. The dirt rats seemed to be laughing at my failure to keep running in fear. I stumbled and fought off another that tried to bring me down. It coughed, let go, and shook its head. My chest thumped and head grew fuzzier with each passing moment.


    They were all around. In my ears. In my head. Coughing wet noises sounded like a chain of roosters being strangled. I huffed and moved blindly. There were no signs of armored warriors. I couldn¡¯t hear the Feline over this noise. She must have run away.


    I¡¯d die here¡ªa third time. Surely this would be the end. I closed my eyes and repeated the words that vagabond had told me to use.


    ¡°I¡¯m alive,¡± I said.


    The dirt rats drowned me. There were too many to fight back now. I felt them tearing, pulling my flesh.


    ¡°I¡¯m alive.¡± My voice choked. I felt wet and couldn¡¯t say the words right.


    I¡¯m alive, I repeated. Pain overrode the barest hint of a thought. My neck tightened and arms pulled in as creatures bumped me. I hung on to the hurt because it was all that remained.


    The pressure lightened. I couldn¡¯t see clearly. One of the dirt rats pulled my arm with too much force. Bits of light shined through, but there were too much blood in my eyes.


    I huffed for air, surprised I could still breathe. Blood pounded loudly, drowning all but the shrillest cries. My eyelids fluttered, and I could see dirt rats being murdered in droves as though someone were swinging a large scythe.


    My body jerked. Someone bent over me. A white-and-black blob appeared in my vision. The face turned slightly and a large ear on the side of her skull twitched.


    ¡°Come on,¡± she whispered. The Feline lifted me over her shoulder and ran.


    A thousand tiny tears cried out in protest. She ignored me and took off. The sounds of monsters dying continued behind us. I lifted my head once and eyed the single knight in armor cutting down the critters.


    This world is mad, I thought.


    Despite gritting teeth and a host of aches, darkness swallowed me again.

 23 - Souls of the Deceased

    ¡°No!¡± I woke, jerking both arms to cover my face from the blows surely still coming. There were none.


    I flopped, got upright, hissed in pain, and fell back onto the ground. The worst day in the mines had never hurt this badly. I felt as if someone had jammed glass shards into my flesh then ground them in for extra effect. I gasped and rode out the wave. It carried on longer than desired. Each moment felt like a battle against lingering damage. My face, arms, legs, and torso cried out from abuse.


    ¡°Sir? I¡¯ve prepared green. Don¡¯t worry. It will help you. Lay still.¡±


    ¡°Green?¡± I questioned.


    She nodded. ¡°It¡¯s everywhere here. All the colors are. They make up¡ªI don¡¯t know. Plants? Air? Everything, I think.¡± She smiled and seemed confused.


    I blinked slowly and slipped to a prone position. The ground were no more comfortable than being propped up, but at least the world stopped spinning.


    She applied a paste to my exposed bits of skin. Skin jumped with each contact, cooling after. I almost remembered waking up by a campfire a few hours ago. It¡¯d been much the same, my body mending from hurts put upon it by a situation that made little sense.


    That moment felt like this one. I felt bad that I¡¯d constantly gotten hurt. Having two doses of green ink to feed me were out of place. Back home, we¡¯d be lucky to get a barrel or two of green in a month. It fetched the highest prices.


    ¡°It¡¯s this place. This afterlife. We can¡¯t be more than we were in life, but we can use everything around us. Each item is living, and dead, made of something like the ink. More monsters too.¡±


    There had been far more critters than I¡¯d ever seen outside the mines. Even in the mines, I¡¯d never seen a big group. That many dirt rats could have murdered an entire family, their dogs, and the next farm over to boot.


    ¡°Do you know what you are? You¡¯re not a failed Wildling. You¡¯re not a Feline,¡± she said.


    I hadn¡¯t seen my face and only noticed the shift to my hands. They weren¡¯t normal, but felt so natural I¡¯d hardly thought about them. It didn¡¯t matter what I felt or looked like. The clerics and Tattooist Cassandra had named me. The Mountain had named me.


    Hound, they¡¯d said.


    ¡°You¡¯re like, a dog version of what I became.¡±


    I slowly pieced together a dozen different ideas from the last few months. Hound, as a title, meant something more than simply a dog. It weren¡¯t like other Ranger names, who were associated with colors. Obsidian tied into blacks. Wan related to lighter whites, I thought. Tawny with yellow. They were as much descriptions of the Rangers as they were titles.


    But what does Hound do? Am I like the other creature I saw, the giant of lightning and thunder?


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re like that other one fighting on The Field. You¡¯re too small. Too¡­¡± She faltered for a moment. ¡°Weak.¡±


    I blinked with confusion. She¡¯d answered a question I¡¯d kept inside my head. She¡¯d done so more than once during our brief time together. It worried me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be scared. I¡¯m very good at knowing what people are thinking, or what they need. I¡¯ve always been good at it, sir.¡± She shrugged and smiled. The display of happiness died quickly. ¡°They say my family has a trace of the gift. Something separate from the ink.¡±


    Gift or no, she¡¯d rescued and healed me. I couldn¡¯t see being scared of her. My body felt miles better. Running would be difficult, but I felt sure I could defend myself against a single person, Feline or not. And Momma had raised me to be polite to ladies.


    ¡°Chase,¡± I mumbled while tapping my chest like a caveman. Any more subtlety were beyond me. Her fur patterns suddenly clicked and a light bulb lit. ¡°You¡¯re Poss¡¯s servant. Abby.¡±


    She smiled and nodded urgently. ¡°Yes. And no. Abby¡¯s my daughter.¡±


    That confused me. I¡¯d expected she¡¯d been more than a mere servant, but I hadn¡¯t known the exact relationship. Poss wouldn¡¯t escort anyone common up The Mountain for the procession.


    ¡°Not simply her servant, sir. We were lovers at times. Though that feels like ages ago.¡± She sniffed the air and glanced around.


    That seemed insanely private as a detail. ¡°Why tell me?¡± I asked, before she could answer the partial thought.


    ¡°Sir? Because I miss my lady,¡± the Feline said. Her eyes watered and whiskers flicked. ¡°And if you¡¯re Chase, then you must be Chase Craig. Lily¡¯s first. She spoke of you with a smile.¡±


    What did that have to do with confessions?


    ¡°Out here, finding people is hard. Lily said you were kind to her. That¡¯s good enough for me.¡± She laughed.


    Lily had left for a better life. I¡¯d been kind, sure. I would have been kind to her my whole life if I¡¯d thought, for a moment, I could give her everything she deserved.


    My mind shut down the memories. They did no good out here in the wilderness. I put more thought into what the Feline had been saying.


    Poss and her? I¡¯d heard of humans having relationships with beings altered by The Mountain. I¡¯d heard of women who preferred the company of other women. Those two together made my mind blank for a moment.


    ¡°Yes, sir. I love Poss. God help me, I¡¯ve wanted to say that for years.¡± She glanced down then shook her head while flashing her fleeting smile. ¡°It¡¯s a strange thing to think I had to die to finally say what was in my heart.¡±


    The bushes rustled.


    ¡°Come on. We can¡¯t sit here long. It¡¯s dangerous, and worse still at the top.¡± She dashed away.


    I walked much slower after her. We continued up the mountain¡¯s side, straight for the top. The Feline stayed ahead. At times I¡¯d catch her walking bushes or trees. There¡¯d be a brief scuffle, then a death rattle of some monster slightly out of sight. I closed my eyes briefly and continued up the path, thankful she¡¯d taken to keeping guard.


    Felines were excellent wilderness hunters. If it hadn¡¯t been for me, she probably could have escaped the horde and whittled them down one by one.


    I propped myself on a tree and caught my breath. The trek wore me to the bones. Being so close to death¡¯s door¡ªtwice¡ªhad taken a toll on my body. If home were truly an option, I¡¯d get back, sleep a month of Sundays, and drain the meager savings I had getting a real green, on booze, and maybe even buy some time with a woman.


    ¡°I am alive,¡± I whispered. ¡°I am in hell, but I am alive.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not too far off, sir,¡± the Feline said in a low tone.


    I sucked in a breath and settled once I realized she¡¯d sneaked up on me. My legs were about to give way.


    ¡°Sir? We can¡¯t stay here. That other fellow said you need to get back. Though I¡¯m afraid once you¡¯re gone, all that¡¯s left for me will be fighting.¡±


    My brows twitched.


    ¡°I heard him speak. His voice carried.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± I said slowly. Her ability to understand my questions were uncanny.


    ¡°To the top. That¡¯s where we¡¯d go. Right?¡±


    I nodded. That¡¯d been the only destination that made sense.


    ¡°Then you go down and come out the other side. Your soul and flesh are still one. I can see it, plain as I used to see a nose.¡± She smiled. ¡°Or know when the missus wanted a drink.¡± She crooked a paw and motioned for me to join her. In her hands were a pike, or spear, whatever the proper term, just like the armored creatures wielded.


    I nodded and resumed the trek. The sooner we reached the top, the quicker I¡¯d be on my way back to the land of the living. Any questions on what to do next would have to wait. The older man had been right on that front. Here, we needed to deal with what were in front of us and visible facts.


    A dozen steps up the hill, I stopped and asked a question I¡¯d never thought to utter. ¡°What¡¯s a soul look like?¡±


    The Feline turned and smiled. It were a strange conflict of features. Her eyes, how they twisted at the sides and watered slightly, always seemed so sad. But that grin could light up a room.


    ¡°Like tarnished silver,¡± she answered.


    After that, we spoke no more until reaching the top. There were other monsters. I saw the edge of a murder of barbed ravens. They were like normal birds but with hooks on their heads growing all wrong, and longer talons. There were blink hounds, but they skirted us. All the while, the Feline continued vanishing into the woods and returned clutching the spear.


    Then we stood at the top. It looked almost exactly the same as the real world¡¯s version. A deep, wide hole went into the ground. At the bottom, a lake of gray shimmered. I couldn¡¯t figure out what the lack of color meant, but the pool I¡¯d fallen through before had had the shame sheen.


    Seeing The Mountain without a temple or clerics struck me as odd. A dozen statues stood around the cusp and faced inward. They were gray, like the water, and their faces smooth without features.


    ¡°Down there?¡± I asked.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know for sure, sir. Makes sense though. Light comes out of this end into the mountain as ink. Reality comes through here as colorless. But I can tell. Alive and hard to make it through.¡±


    That word again, I thought. Hard. Like it meant something more than a simple measure of durability.


    ¡°I¡¯m alive,¡± I said automatically. ¡°What about you? You¡¯re talking to me. Surely you must be alive?¡±


    She glanced at the pool and shuffled her feet. I looked at her arm for a moment. The black-and-white fur had been covered by something red-tinged. She blocked the sight before I could figure out what the coloration meant.


    ¡°Sorry, sir.¡± She smiled weakly. ¡°I¡¯m already dead.¡±


    My stomach sank. This place really were hell. I¡¯d simply popped through a pool of ink for a visit. I wondered what would happen if I grabbed her and took us both into the pool. She¡¯d killed dozens of monsters. Surely she¡¯d be considered hard enough by any Ranger¡¯s measure.


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t take me, sir. My place is here. But you can do me a favor.¡±


    I nodded.


    The Feline shuffled her feet and kept the odd-colored arm behind her. That spear stuck up straight by her side. ¡°Tell Possy I love her. Tell her it wasn¡¯t her fault about the ladder. Will you do you that, Mister Craig, sir?¡± The Feline¡¯s eyes watered.


    I couldn¡¯t place her name, but I¡¯d never forget her face. It weren¡¯t often a woman looked at me while crying and begging. Even if Poss irritated me with her high society ways, I¡¯d still pass on the message.


    My head dipped in another nod.


    ¡°Thank you, Mister Craig.¡±


    She pushed me. The situation felt so strangely euphoric. My body weighed heavy and plummeted. My hands stretched out then pulled back tightly. This had happened before. A tingle shot up my back, pushing away all other thoughts.


    I fell again. Above me, bearing silent witness, stood Poss¡¯s dead lover. The weapon in her hand glowed a rusty red.


    The world blackened and came to at high speeds. I didn¡¯t even feel a thud of force or anything else, only the shift of gravity spinning around me.


    My body sat up. A tingling feeling rushed over me. Both hands were back to normal, with splotches of the rainbow drop and the Heart Seeker on either side. The robe I¡¯d been pushed down in were in tatters.


    The pool of gray next to me cast off dull illumination. I stood and glanced around. There were no signs of the dead wolf Hardwood¡¯s evil twin had shot.


    The world felt a bit clearer than it had before. I replayed in my mind what had happened and struggled to find out where it¡¯d all gone wrong. There¡¯d been a lot of places, but surely I¡¯d be forgiven for losing my mind as insanity unfolded around me.


    Dog barking. Cassandra¡¯s dogs. Down and further down I¡¯d gone into that place. That wolf-faced man on The Field. My own furry hands on the other side. Being named Hound. It all fit together.


    But how? Goddammit, how?


    I needed to get out of this place. There were only a few routes out of the deep mines. This place, real or not, seemed to reflect facts from the world I understood. That should mean that reaching the surface would get me out.


    ¡°I¡¯m alive,¡± I repeated the mantra with more surety than I¡¯d felt all day. Having a goal helped.


    Up, out, then answers.


    Without red ink or the darkness shroud, I¡¯d never make it out of the mines. They¡¯d dumped me in on a full moon and at most a day had passed. I risked the Darkness Ward, and my back muscles twisted as it activated.


    The world grew brighter. I glanced around for twisted visions but found nothing. The pool to my left stayed the same dull color that could have become white or black with ease.


    Dirt shuffled. Someone cursed. I turned sharply then saw Ranger Tawny with an ax in his hand. His gaunt features made his clothes seem baggy. Scents lingered about the man and wafted my direction. Lilacs, field flowers, roses¡ªlike an old woman who wore too much perfume.


    Hardwood smelled of thick trees and reminded me of the deep woods a few miles from home.


    Why can I smell them?


    The frozen moment passed as Tawny tilted his head. He stared over my head. I turned and realized if I could smell Hardwood, she must be here. She leveled the gun again.


    A dog barked. I whirled, expecting to find the same beast over my shoulder. The room sat empty besides us three.


    ¡°Told you, you ain¡¯t alive!¡± she shouted then cocked the gun.


    I bolted. I¡¯d be damned if Hardwood shot me twice.


    The dim light worked against me. I fumbled through a barely visible pathway as Hardwood shot. The bullets cracked with so much noise, my body tilted sideways in immediate vertigo. It might have been a marking effect. Maybe Tawny had cursed me somehow.


    ¡°Mongrel!¡± Hardwood shouted.


    My sight wavered with the attack. I put together a few stray thoughts as bullets pounded the walls behind me. She¡¯d spoken. The real Hardwood hadn¡¯t said a damned thing during our hunt. Either she got annoyed quicker or this were another vision.


    I memorized the next dozen feet then let go of the marking¡¯s power.


    A dozen feet later, I slammed into a wall where there should have been a doorway. The lead I had over Hardwood dwindled as I scrambled to find my feet. Only Hardwood weren¡¯t there. I huffed, alone in the dark, and wondered what the hell had happened.


    Deal with the facts.


    The visions triggered whenever I struggled to see in the dark. The Eyes of a Man markings must be tied to the effect. Using the markings made visions appear. That other place with the man who turned into a giant wolf-man might have been real. It might not have. He¡¯d also told me not to get lost in the possibilities, so I couldn¡¯t let that situation influence my beliefs.


    What do I know?


    I knew few things for sure. Panic, in bucket loads. Fear, like a wet blanket that threatened to rob me of air. The thudding sound of my own heartbeat, and darkness that couldn¡¯t be seen through without the aid of a marking.


    An idea hit me and I stood ramrod straight. My head tingled. The dizziness from the noise magnified the effect.


    This could be a giant test.


    One solution would be to face the test-giver. The second involved escaping The Mountain, real or not, and getting to the surface. I¡¯d rather reach the surface than face The Mountain. Given a choice, the fight for freedom meant everything.


    The caverns were oddly quiet. I expected monsters at every corner but heard and saw nothing. Silence carried me until I lost track of time, tried to start over by counting the minutes, then lost myself again.


    I searched for signs of an upward incline or traps in the walls. There were none.


    ¡°Way up we¡¯ll go.¡± A soft chorus in the distance made my ears perk. ¡°While the moon¡¯s aglow, glow, glow.¡±


    I froze and checked the markings. There were no signs of ink zipping around or my surroundings growing brighter. My heart raced. The Delvers¡¯ song must not be a result of my ink activating.


    I toed ahead carefully, tapping my way steadily down an unseen path. There were corners and pitfalls to navigate. My only companions were dirt, dry air, cold, and the occasional lingering song from the Delvers.


    ¡°Even if we say no, no, no,¡± the Delvers sang.


    Their words sounded wrong.


    ¡°Because we all know woe.¡±


    The tone and echo matched. Changes to the wording bothered me. Harold and his crew sang of digging to reach the bottom of the mines. These ones sang of going up. I vaguely remembered Ranger Ash saying that different groups of Delvers sang different songs.


    The song must be a lure. The Mountain had found another way to get at me. I halted and pondered this escape route. In truth, I could have been going in circles. Navigating my own way might fail. Facing The Mountain would be a last resort.


    I¡¯d starve at this rate. It had to have been at least a day since I¡¯d been pushed down here. Two could have passed when accounting for unconsciousness. On a good day, getting out of the deep mines took half a day, using the elevator. Without the shortcut, crawling out could take days.


    The safe room. There had been a room past all the traps, right outside the elevator. I brightened. I¡¯d make that my next waypoint then decide what to do after attempting the shorter goal. But at this point, I¡¯d have to risk using the Darkness Ward again.


    I did, and regretted it as a series of men strode calmly around a corner. Red light pulsed ahead of them, lighting up the tunnel like a heartbeat.


    ¡°Hey, Chase, you going in rounds, yeah?¡± the one up front said. ¡°Round and round. It¡¯s enough to drive a body mad, yeah?¡±


    The rest filed in behind him. There were ten Jeffs. There¡¯d never been ten Jeffs. There were always five, but never this many.


    ¡°You¡¯re headed to twelve, yeah?¡± They smiled in unison. Their teeth were too white, even under the glowing crimson. ¡°That''s how old you were when your daddy failed the tests.¡±


    The line chilled me. I weren¡¯t twelve anymore. My face flushed and toes tingled against the cold ground. I thought about running, but there were too many. Even if they only used the pickaxes in their hands as weapons, I¡¯d lose. The Mountain could have given them any number of tricks.


    Stop thinking like that. Deal with what you see, I told myself.


    ¡°Good lad,¡± the lead Jeff said.


    Can they read my mind?


    The lot of them smiled. They were the same in that regard. The one in front always spoke and the rest bobbled along.


    I waved then pointed at the cave behind them.


    ¡°You want to go this way, yeah?¡±


    I nodded.


    They actually stepped aside. A row between ten or twelve Jeffs opened up, allowing me a clear line to the tunnel. This might be a trap. They might be some sort of mimic monsters.


    Doubts continued to plague me, but I walked between the lot of them.


    ¡°Best be wary, or you won''t see daylight in an age. Not with your funny head.¡±


    With each step, I expected to be attacked. No one did. The Jeffs continued to smile peacefully. Their heads swiveled like owls as they let me pass.


    On the other side, at the tunnel¡¯s exit, one of the Jeffs handed me his helmet. I¡¯d been prepared to lunge at them and steal one of the lights. They¡¯d read my mind, as surely as Poss¡¯s lover. I shook my head and refused to get suspicious. Whatever I saw, that was all that it were. Anything else would drive me mad.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± I asked while using both hands to form question marks.


    ¡°We¡¯re not killers. We don¡¯t need to be. The Rangers take care of monsters.¡± That series of answers came from three different Jeffs. Even here, they continued each other¡¯s sentences.


    ¡°You see the others, tell ¡¯em we¡¯re still down here, yeah?¡± a Jeff said. ¡°Or don¡¯t. Doesn¡¯t matter, I suppose. In the end, they¡¯ll come back on their own. Us Jeffs always find each other in the end.¡±


    I nodded slowly and kept steady eye contact. The leader smiled. He said sticking together as though they were glued at the backs to each other. For a moment, I thought he¡¯d been conjoined with another Jeff. The light played tricks on my mind.


    ¡°Better get out soon, yeah? Not everyone in here is friendly,¡± their leader said. ¡°Before those snares get too deep. Then you¡¯ll end up like him.¡±


    Who?


    ¡°Time is life, Chase. Or life is time. Either way, ain¡¯t for us to explain. Run out lad.¡±


    The Jeffs stepped away. The last one shoved a helm into my hands. They were like ghosts disappearing into the darkness. Red light beat from the new helmet, and with each pulse, they became less.


    The Darkness Ward turned itself off. That made no sense. Those Jeffs simply hadn¡¯t wanted to be anymore. Either they, or my lingering fear, had let the marking¡¯s ability fade. This place for sure were in The Mountain¡¯s power. I lived and sat in its belly.


    Up, I told myself then slid the helmet on my head. Out, I corrected, but couldn¡¯t rightly say what the difference were.


    I marched down the halls. Grooves in the floor signaled traps. Going slowly helped me spot them without using my face as a trigger. There should have been a soft green glow as a warning, but this version of The Mountain didn¡¯t have them.


    Because The Mountain couldn¡¯t see green. Monsters couldn¡¯t. Green ink came from inside Wellbrook Mines. It healed. Red were the heart. Blue tested air purity. Black came in all shades and filled in the blanks.


    I¡¯m going mad, I thought.


    Being down here for untold hours had warped my senses. I used rocks to mark passageway intersections. On one corner, I placed a cross. Three turns later, a triangle sat waiting for me. Either I¡¯d made a different marking, it¡¯d transformed, or The Mountain mocked me.


    Stop thinking about possibilities. Focus on what is.


    Hours later, or a day, or two, the helmet¡¯s red faded. They wouldn¡¯t last forever. I discarded the dead lamp and stomped. Five powers were available to me. Two were good in finding monsters and killing them. The Eyes of a Man were one mark with three abilities. Maybe using the other two abilities, instead of Darkness Ward, would help me.


    ¡°I¡¯m alive,¡± I said.


    The words echoed softly. I swallowed a dry lump and activated Watchful Soul.


    The world lit with veins of ink all around me. Purple, red, all shades of gray. They spun, dancing, laughing, mocking me. My body heaved with sudden sickness, and the tattoo¡¯s power shut off.


    Wet chewing sounds filled the air. Multiple somethings ate nearby. They gnawed on bone and gargled liquids that sounded thicker than any beer I¡¯d drank in my life. I held still and struggled not to panic. The Mountain had tried to kill me and failed. I lived. This latest challenge should be survivable.


    I hadn¡¯t realized it, but at some point, I¡¯d stopped to rest. The cold ground beneath me throbbed. Maybe it were warm. I couldn¡¯t rightly tell. Still, the chewing continued. I stood, then almost immediately saw the source of the noise. A half dozen Delvers with bloated bellies and uneven limbs knelt over dead monsters. They shoveled food into their mouths. Smears formed along their faces in a rainbow of gruesome colors.


    The fattest one ambled over to me. All the others froze their eating and glared at the leader.


    He waved to his companions. ¡°Continue eating, lads. Chase will help me.¡±

 24 - Birth of the Hound

    Hell, I cursed to myself. Now there were visions of Delvers. Rangers, a man who reminded me of Daddy, the Jeffs, Delvers, and others. The Mountain might throw anyone at me. Seeing Lily might break me.


    But I haven¡¯t seen Lily. I haven¡¯t seen Momma or Opal or Mister Proctor, Poss, or even Mister Jewel. There has to be a reason.


    Though I didn¡¯t know if Mister Jewel had been marked, the other three hadn¡¯t been for sure. They were all ink-free. I finally realized the connection between these visions and the people being put in front of me. Even Hardwood and Tawny. They¡¯d been touched by ink.


    ¡°But it¡¯s too late for you. Even if you dream. Shall I tell you why, Chase?¡±


    Behind him, the Delvers tossed bodies over a ledge. I hadn¡¯t seen the cliff before. Down went dirt rats and blink hounds.


    ¡°Because I am the gateway. I own this font of power. And everything that comes in here is mine. Your body is mine to mold, young Chase.¡± The not Harold snarled the words in either mockery or hunger.


    My stomach clenched as a dozen ideas pased through. Only one stayed with me. These were not Delvers. These were all The Mountain. A fallen angel.


    ¡°The wolf was right. I and my brothers, we¡¯re in a war. With each other. With ourselves. But he was wrong too.¡±


    I opened my mouth.


    Harold snarled.


    I closed my mouth.


    The creature who wore Harold¡¯s face smiled. ¡°We had a breakthrough. We opened the tunnel in search of answers. Instead we found weapons waiting to be molded. And you¡¯re my latest general, young Chase.¡±


    Harold laughed. The other Delvers, or not Delvers, jerked their heads up. Expressions of terror etched on their features.


    ¡°No,¡± I mumbled.


    ¡°No?¡± Harold¡¯s cheek lifted in a sneer. He patted his belly with a wet slap and laughed.


    The not Delvers shook like leaves and resumed throwing bodies over the edge.


    ¡°They¡¯re mine! You¡¯re mine! Mine to do with as I will.¡± He¡¯d said that before. He¡¯d called himself all sorts of names that implied he had a right to remake me.


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t for you to know, boy.¡± He said boy in the same way other people might say worm. As if I were utterly beneath him in both stature and value.


    I took short breaths and worked to stay calm. Panic never helped in the mines. Panic hadn¡¯t helped during the first few Ranger trials. Behind Harold, the other Delvers continued their cycle of eating, dumping, and shaking. Wet chewing sounds filled the air.


    The whole situation raised my hackles. I¡¯d been sent down here. My understanding were generals explored the world and recruited others to fight in The War. Rangers worked to stop them.


    I would never become a monster Rangers needed to hunt.


    ¡°You already are,¡± the thing wearing Harold¡¯s face said. He smiled wide until his lips stretched farther than a normal Delver¡¯s could. ¡°Even now, my hooks dig deep into your very bone. My gifts for your obedience. And just a bit of your flesh to house myself in.¡± Harold stuck out a large hand. His head tilted to the side like an owl¡¯s.


    He wanted to shake on it. As if that would make our deal unbreakable. This thing had also called me a monster.


    ¡°No. I¡¯d rather die a man,¡± I said.


    Those were the same words I¡¯d spoken when first tainted by the rainbow drop. They were the culmination of everything I¡¯d been striving to prove to myself. Honoring Daddy¡¯s wish had been about proving myself an adult. Joining the Rangers had been about proving I¡¯d grown up and could handle responsibility. I would be a man, by all counts, and die as one.


    ¡°If you know what¡¯s good for you,¡± his voice echoed, ¡°you¡¯ll do what you¡¯re told and join me.¡±


    I shook my head and backed away. The Delver¡¯s hand shifted briefly. Veins of ink shot through, making the arm bulge. His arm reminded me of Ducky¡¯s. Harold stomped after me. One shorter leg made his steps uneven and almost comical. He scowled.


    ¡°If you won¡¯t join me, then you¡¯ll die here,¡± he said.


    I shook my head again.


    He lifted his misshapen arm and pointed at me. ¡°Kill ¡¯im!¡±


    The Delvers behind him perked up, shook in unison, and ran in my direction. They weren¡¯t going to be passive like the Jeffs.


    I grabbed for a weapon. There were none obvious. Facing The Mountain had worked against me. Escape became the only remaining option. Ink in the walls dimly lit a path and I followed it, escaping a few dozen feet ahead of the monstrous Delvers.


    Traces of red zipped along the walls lighting a path. There were dozens of twists and turns. I bolted down a corridor and slammed into a Delver who hadn¡¯t seen me coming. He flew into a wall. I picked a new direction and fled.


    In the next corridor, I found two more people I would have never expected.


    They were two Rangers who hadn¡¯t made it. The man with green and the girl who¡¯d stated she couldn¡¯t fail here. They¡¯d both been in the trials, one failing with the blink dogs and the other dying up the hill.


    Their eyes glowed dark red. An equally angry crimson zipped along the walls. At the same time, both failed Rangers¡¯ eyes pulsed. They weren¡¯t any more real than the rest of these visions.


    I continued to run. My body hurt. It had hurt for so long, it almost became bearable. Slowing down would lead to death. Pain wouldn¡¯t matter.


    Corner after corner went by. Hanging blade traps slid down with a sharp ring of metal. Delvers blindly stumbled into axes, pitfalls, and tripped over wires, but I knew where they were. All those months in the mines had been worthwhile. But the deep mine traps were deadlier and more numerous.


    This were the third time I¡¯d found myself running through these dark tunnels. The first time, I¡¯d gone out with Hardwood. The second time, I¡¯d run from that giant ink-twisted bear. The turns were easier to find now.


    Slobbering noises came from behind me, broken up by Harold¡¯s disgusting laughter. He kept repeating, ¡°Run, boy!¡± Sometimes he said brat. Other times he called me a worm.


    I ran. I ran until my hands bled from scraping rocks. My body screamed in exhaustion.


    Ahead of me were a metal doorway with a thick border. The safe room. The Jeffs had told me it should be used by anyone in need of refuge. I¡¯d made it. Any other plans went out the window as I dove for the partially open room.


    The Delvers were on my heels. One yanked my foot. My free leg kicked him in the head. Thick nails tore off ribbons of my flesh, but I got enough room to pull myself inside and bolt the door.


    I went for the green marker. There should be one on the wall I could light. It would signal to the outside that a fellow miner were in distress. But the spot Jeff had pointed out to me had nothing in it.


    The rest of the safe room had been completely emptied. I spun in circles. There should have been days¡¯ worth of supplies. I¡¯d expected metal racks filled to the brim with packaged foods and clean water.


    ¡°Damn!¡± I kicked the wall.


    All those ideas only mattered if this had been the real Wellbrook Mines. I¡¯d forgotten during my desperate flight. This hell had no escape.


    The Delvers clawed the door. It rattled; their bangs filled the small compartment with noise, driving me near to madness. Adrenaline faded and I slumped to my knees. My eyes closed, and a fervent series of whispers passed my lips. They¡¯d have been prayers, but I weren¡¯t sure I wanted God to hear me. It didn¡¯t matter. Being a Ranger, getting money for Momma, all those things mattered but felt like distant needs.


    This Harold had offered me a choice. Well, he¡¯d ordered me to accept what he offered. Power for slavery. That weren¡¯t different from me getting markings to become a Ranger. Rangers stayed near The Mountain. They ensured the rules were followed.


    The pounding continued. I rocked and attempted to gather all the facts I¡¯d heard in my lifetime. Rangers fought monsters. They used The Mountain¡¯s power. They used it.


    But did it use them?


    I wanted to live. Accepting Harold¡¯s offer would keep me alive.


    Is that so wrong? No, this place is playing tricks on me.


    My head shook rapidly. The Delvers still pounded. I heard the other two failed Rangers calling me. Their words were hard to understand over the slobbering noises.


    Then all the noises stopped. The banging, slobbering, the taunts of dead would-be Rangers, even the air stilled. I stared at the doorway and waited.


    ¡°Let me in,¡± Harold said.


    There were one more marking to try. If the Darkness Ward and The Watchful Eyes wouldn¡¯t help, Hidden Soul might.


    Men don''t like it when the world sees how weak they really are, Cassandra had said.


    I swallowed and activated the final part of The Eyes of a Man.


    The room warped. My prison hallway faded. This time, I stood before an old man. My rainbow robe showed signs of age, its colors faded and edges frayed. His body quivered. This man had outlived dirt and seemed close to keeling over at any moment.


    ¡°Time runs thin. Your rebirth approaches,¡± he said and wheezed. He tried to straighten but seemed unable to lift his head far. Cataracts gave his eyes a glossy sheen.


    This had to be another trick by The Mountain. He¡¯d used visions of my friends and enemies. Now he sought another way in.


    The old man¡¯s head shook. ¡°No. I¡¯m neither a Hound or a Fallen.¡±


    What then? I wondered but dared not ask. It felt like ages ago I¡¯d told myself that deeper questions didn¡¯t matter, but here I were, being thrust into the middle of a all these vague explanations.


    ¡°There are sides to this war. There are paths to this power. There are creators and created. Those who use the power and those who are abused by it.¡±


    That made zero sense. No, it sort of rang a bell. The wolf on The Field had told me to use the power and not fight it. That didn¡¯t connect well with Ducky¡¯s fervent screams.


    ¡°The sanctified spirit. The markings to see. She gave you everything you need to survive. You can be his general or your own. You can use the power, but don¡¯t let it consume you. Now, while it¡¯s deep in you bones. Make it something wholly yours.¡±


    I shook my head. He made zero sense. This still felt like a trap, or bait to let the man turn me into one of his minions. Even the concept of people recruiting us barely made sense. I¡¯d only been introduced to the idea yesterday, or this morning. There hadn¡¯t been enough time between all the fighting and running to figure out what I believed.


    ¡°Creators and created. You¡¯ve been creating. Those traps that felled his creations?¡± The man¡¯s image cracked like glass. His face tightened with pain. ¡°Use it. Don¡¯t let it use you. Keep your world safe.¡±


    I shook my head again. The man¡¯s shattering form cracked further as he fell to one knee.


    ¡°Use it! Fight!¡±


    His body finished shattering. I saw a tunnel appear in the space he¡¯d been standing in. The door to the safe room didn¡¯t exist anymore, like it¡¯d never been. This whole situation made no sense at all.


    I was already using the power. He had said I shouldn¡¯t fight it. This new strange man and the twisted version of Harold might be the same voice, but they didn¡¯t seem to be the same person. This second figure¡¯s pain had been genuine.


    But I couldn¡¯t figure out where I¡¯d been running around. This twisted version of The Mountain¡¯s inners might have been real. It might have been a twisted landscape, but that didn¡¯t explain how everything danced around me as if I were standing still. I¡¯d covered miles in my journey to escape.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Unless I¡¯d never left. I thought back to my original fall. I¡¯d been thrown into pure, unfiltered ink. All these endless hours of traveling in the dark, trying to find my way out. What if I¡¯d never gone anywhere at all?


    My attempt at escaping this version of hell by exiting Wellbrook Mines hadn¡¯t done a damned bit of good. Because I¡¯d never left. I¡¯d been surrounded by ink and floating in its heart. Jenn had said it, that there¡¯d be a choice.


    The time of rebirth. Generals. Sides. The War. The Field. I could take these random bits of information at face value or simply disregard it all. The War could be one inside my head. It could all be my mind¡¯s way of rationalizing being dipped in pure ink.


    I could be mad and it wouldn¡¯t matter. Only two choices existed: survive or die. The man on The Field who¡¯d said all sorts of things might have been an illusion as well, but he¡¯d been right. I were alive. I still had thoughts.


    The rest should be taken as presented. All the faces had given me advice or spilled words.


    I stared at the tunnel with a single light at the end. It made as much sense as the rest of this place. Simply reach that point, be reborn. Use the power but don¡¯t let it use me. Live. Would I come out as a Delver? A Flop, Feline, or twisted Wildling? I set my sights on dying a man. And if it gave me a chance at survival, I¡¯d die a Hound, whatever that were.


    Out I stepped. With the first footfall, the twisted Delver creations started to fade into view. By the tenth step, there stood Harold¡¯s evil twin.


    ¡°You thought you could hide forever? I¡¯d know your scent anywhere, boy,¡± he said.


    I shook my head. Even now he wouldn¡¯t get me to submit to whatever plan he had for me.


    ¡°Heel!¡± he bellowed.


    The word vibrated inside my skull, driving me to my knees. I fell forward, catching myself with both hands, and groaned in fresh pain. They¡¯d been scraped raw during my earlier flight from the Delvers.


    ¡°No,¡± I said. My voice shook and pulse beat unsteadily.


    The man¡¯s fists tightened, making his arms turn red, purple, and gray. His face twisted.


    I forced myself to crawl forward, despite the pain and weariness. I¡¯d escape.


    One of the Delvers leapt at me from the side. I dodged then slammed its head with a fist. He yelped and spun off. Two more dove at me without pausing.


    They grabbed me, and I pulled myself forward. Their limbs were weaker than I¡¯d expected. I managed to get upright and continued stumbling toward the light.


    Harold marched slowly after his minions. His short form somehow overrode those creatures attacking me. He were like the sun on a hot day. Everything else vanished in a haze of heat except that scorching presence.


    ¡°Run, boy. Run!¡± he said in slow motion.


    There were dozens of tunnels to dodge into. A million twisted tracks like those from Wellbrook Mines. Left went to station three. Right went to six. There¡¯d be miners there.


    A dog barked. My attention snapped away from those fake escape routes. This weren¡¯t the real Wellbrook Mines. Those turns were illusions that would get me further lost inside this strange world.


    He¡ªHarold, The Mountain,  fallen angel, or fevered dream¡ªwanted me to run. I¡¯d been doing nothing but running. He wanted me to heel, and I¡¯d refused. This were the choice. Give in, keep running until the ink¡¯s power changed me without regard, or carve my own way out. This was what it all came down to.


    On either side of me, small Delvers lay, whimpering and grasping weakly for me. Their bodies curled unnaturally. There were other creatures too. Felines with broken paws and deformed legs. Unnaturally huge Flops. I¡¯d done nothing to them, but they¡¯d clearly failed the change.


    Wildlings, I thought. That was what they reminded me of. Now they resembled withered turnips.


    Something crept behind me. Something thick and dark. I could feel it in the same way a body knew they weren¡¯t alone in the room. Like a ghost hanging over my shoulder and dimming the world. I heard a gargle and turned in time to see something reach out. It grabbed one of the Delvers and sucked him into the darkness.


    The Delver vanished with hardly a peep.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be mine,¡± it said to me. The voice sounded like Harold¡¯s, but I knew it to be something worse.


    My legs barely worked. Crawling on hands and knees would have been humiliating, but dignity always ran secondary to survival. I managed to keep stumbling.


    The monster grabbed me. Bits latched onto my arms, more around my chest. I lifted my arm and brought it down on the thick strands threading around my waist. They shifted, and a knife formed in my hand.


    Use the power, they¡¯d said.


    I clawed the strands around me. They snapped. More formed. The blade slit them as though they were wheat. I focused on that knife, its sharpness. It looked exactly like daddy¡¯s knife. A second one formed in the other hand. My knuckles hurt and bones ground. Something were happening to my arms, but still I struck.


    ¡°You¡¯ll die a monster. It won¡¯t matter if you¡¯ve made peace with that or not.¡± Kenneth¡¯s voice roared next to me. He shook his book and loomed overhead like the devil given man¡¯s flesh. ¡°When it¡¯s your time, it won¡¯t matter if you¡¯ve made peace with it or not! The world will make its peace with you!¡±


    My head shook. The motion hurt and my nose flushed with liquid. I broke free and resumed crawling toward the light. ¡°I will be my own man.¡±


    Everything burned. My chest felt aflame to the point where I hardly noticed anymore. Real or not, The Mountain, or my own fevered imaginings, I wouldn¡¯t bow down to anyone. Those two were right. I¡¯d do what I planned all along¡ªuse the markings and position as a Ranger to accomplish my goals.


    ¡°Just die!¡± Harold reached for me while roaring.


    I lifted an arm and stabbed at the creature looming above me with both knives. It felt as if I¡¯d clawed against something thick but Harold reeled. Emboldened, I slashed again, and again. Pain continued to course up my arms.


    Harold fell. Or split. I couldn¡¯t tell for sure as his body faded like the Jeffs had before. All that remained were a single point of light that burned my eyes with the brightness of it. The path to fredom lay in it¡¯s direction.


    My body burned with energy. I grabbed for the light and found a hard wall. My hand weakly beat against the pinpoint spot. It widened. My fingers found grip in the hole and tore at it. A dull thud made my chest ache, as though my heart had never beaten until now. The pain continued on, and on.


    ¡°Let,¡± I said through grinding teeth. ¡°Me. Out.¡±


    Out, the Jeffs had said. Of this nightmare. Of this hell. I couldn¡¯t decide which. I¡¯d grown so tired of having my head screwed with. Rebirth, awakening, remaking. None of those words held meaning higher than being free. Free to make my own choices. Free of my promise to Daddy.


    Free to be my own man.


    The surface cracked. I fell forward, twitching. Steam poured off me, blurring the room. Gunk covered my skin in thick clumps. I took steadying breaths and slowly pushed myself upright. An arm slipped. I tried again and ended up hurting myself. The cold ground pulsed beneath me.


    One of my markings had activated to see the forsaken material. I turned it on and off repeatedly. Ink littered all around me in every color I¡¯d ever seen except for silver. There were no visions of Harold or Kenneth. The ragged man from The Field and his endless war never appeared.


    This were the first time, since falling in the pit, that I felt almost normal. My body ached, but my fingers were whole. Their earlier rawness had faded or been imagined. My body felt different, but I couldn¡¯t peg how.


    My fingertips still glowed with the rainbow drop, but the colors had shifted. They were deeper than they had been. Not vibrant. Not brighter or duller. They reached farther into my skin then they ever had. Darkness played tricks on me as I thought my arms were closer to claws. I blanched and checked again, they were normal. There were no pointed dog ears on my head. My shoulders and legs were the right size.


    I turned. Behind me sat a larger pool of ink. In its center were a cocoon or an egg. The mess all around made no sense. There couldn¡¯t have been space inside there for everything I¡¯d experienced or gone through.


    It had all been in my head. That must be the answer. I¡¯d been pushed in and were now reborn. Baptized in The Mountain¡¯s heart. Maybe all Rangers went through the same process when they were ready.


    He¡¯s not a Ranger, Obsidian had said. He may never be one.


    Hound, the clerics had firmly said.


    I didn¡¯t have answers. There¡¯d be people to ask if I dared show myself to them. Obsidian or the others would likely find me once the monster tide died down.


    My thoughts didn¡¯t line up clearly. I needed rest but didn¡¯t feel safe sleeping inside this cave.


    My legs worked poorly. The markings would let me stay ahead of any monsters, but there hadn¡¯t been any. The Mountain¡¯s interior had been empty, almost to the point of a New Moon. Time passed and it were long enough for me to grow hungry, then starving, and finally somewhere beyond that. I managed to find tunnels leading upward and came out in an unexpected location.


    I bobbed unsteadily and squinted at the small building. Ducky¡¯s private ink-drying shack sat a few dozen feet away. The location had almost no camouflage from this angle. Being able to see at night helped. My Darkness Ward made the process easier.


    Words weren¡¯t coming. My throat felt dry. I couldn¡¯t decide if rain would help or make my condition worse. My clothes were a mess and the gunk on me was turning crusty.


    Inside the ink shack stood the untouched barrels from Ducky¡¯s embezzlement. A small strand of black ink sat in the bottom of a barrel. I grabbed it with a bare hand, and the ink curled around my fingers. As my hand lifted, I studied the material. It didn¡¯t bring twisted visions or make memories surface. Instead, it felt as though the material waited to be given a form. Any form.


    My head tilted as I tried to make sense of this situation. The strand of black twisted slightly and made my skin tingle. Loose edges turned up into sharp barbs. It could have served as wiring on a fence to keep cattle in their ranges. Maybe it could hammer into a fresh dagger like the one I¡¯d used on that monster.


    I abruptly dropped the material. It went limp midair and flopped back into the barrel with a splash. None of that had been real. Yet there I were, making ink twist and turn like a seasoned tattooist at the table. Only they could work with raw ink. They had to¡ªto give it shape and harness the power.


    Loud rumbles accompanied my stomach¡¯s backflips. My breath hitched. Figuring out what this all meant would have to wait until I¡¯d freshened up, ate, and rested. I couldn¡¯t think straight while being such a mess.


    I left the small room and stumbled downhill. Hours passed, and my mind fogged under the weight of hunger too long ignored. My eyes repeatedly closed and bare feet tripped over everything.


    There in front of me were the crossroads. I¡¯d finally made it to the base of The Mountain and more familiar territory. The sight of those diverging roads set my mind to wandering. Jenn had spoken of a crossroads. Or maybe Cassandra had. Their words blended together in my head. I wondered why The Mountain hadn¡¯t shown me those two ladies to go with all the others.


    Is it because they¡¯re not dead?


    I snorted. The Mountain could show more than the dead. Kenneth, Hardwood, and Tawny had all had a hand in chasing me. To my knowledge, none of them were deceased. They¡¯d each used The Mountain¡¯s power, and that meant more than if they lived. The ink existed in them as surely as it did in me.


    My stomach rumbled and I took the hint. I glanced down the roads to figure out which way would lead somewhere useful.


    There were four roads. Wellbrook Mines lay on the path behind me. Chandler¡¯s Field in another direction. One went toward Bell Town and the river which fed our town.


    Another path went toward the temple. I¡¯d had enough of those clerics and their ways to last me a lifetime. Two trips up that road were enough for any soul. A third might truly kill me.


    As a last taunting note, in the trees at the crossroads, I saw the markings outlining Tattooist Cassandra¡¯s home. Those thin threads of faded fabric danced with the wind like birds mating. She¡¯d have answers and provide me nothing but more questions. She¡¯d bewitch me with her words and fancy markings.


    I staggered off the beaten paths. I staggered home.


    I¡¯m alive.


    This had to be real and not another trick. I couldn¡¯t smell anything. My nose felt stuffed full of gunk. My skin had slime caked in lumps.


    Every few steps, I halted and wondered if this were another ploy to get inside my head. Creators and created. It had something to do with the ink curling around my hand, waiting to be given shape. The muddled thoughts kept colliding and scattering apart. Each attempt to apply logic were thwarted by hunger.


    If I¡¯d gone from The Field straight home, instead of The Mountain¡¯s top, would I have found a twisted version of Jenn?


    I¡¯d worked for months in the mines and come home dead tired. This were like those long weeks, only miles worse. My eyes fought me with every step. Both legs ached and simply stopped moving for heartbeats at a time.


    I¡¯m alive, I told myself. The words wouldn¡¯t get past my dried lips. Each attempt to speak made my head throb and throat ache.


    Darkness closed in from all sides, dimming the world to a single light in the distance. My belly hurt. The need for food consumed me as surely as exhaustion did.


    My mind continued to give me half-formed thoughts at every turn. I thought there were people around, or at a distance, but they might have been tricks. Shadows felt longer. The horizon brightened. Dawn crept over the land, and still I walked the familiar path toward home.


    I paused. This time I hadn¡¯t imagined it. There were certainly a person in front of me. Long flopping ears draped around a crown of red and brown hair. Fur thickened at the sides and gave her hips a wider flair. I knew the colors and short stature but couldn¡¯t think clearly.


    She ran to me.


    Jenn, I tried to say.


    I tensed and fell backward as the shorter Flop tackled me. Her hands were rapid and rude as they prodded every ounce of my flesh. She sniffed my side, face, and even my crotch. My eyebrows wiggled in a half-formed thought about a proper place and time.


    ¡°Stupid Chase!¡± she shouted then hit me with balled-up fists.


    I coughed weakly and gave up trying to move.


    She ran off toward a blurry building in the distance, screaming ¡°Stupid Chase!¡± over and over.


    Time and consciousness slipped away from me. Something jerked my arm and I pulled away, fearful that dirt rats or deformed Delvers were trying to tear me apart.


    ¡°Stop squirming, son,¡± a woman said.


    Momma?


    My voice didn¡¯t work. It hadn¡¯t worked since I¡¯d popped out of that ink-made egg back at The Mountain. My eyes closed. This should be real. Momma had never been touched by The Mountain.


    I stopped struggling and fell limp. My limbs were cold and aflame at the same time. Tingles threatened to make my body jerk like a sick cat. I kept the motions to a minimum but couldn¡¯t hold back my teeth chattering.


    ¡°It¡¯s him. I told you. Smells exactly like Chase. But it can¡¯t be. He fell in. Could it be? I know you said it might be.¡± Jenn¡¯s mouth ran on for miles.


    My head tightened and stomach gurgled.


    ¡°There¡¯ll be time for answers later. He needs to get clean and rest. I know my boy, and he takes after his daddy in all the wrong ways. Well, like his granddaddy I suppose. Ain¡¯t no better.¡± Momma and Jenn were on either side of me. Their voices made my ears hurt, but I couldn¡¯t stop listening. ¡°But he¡¯s home. We¡¯ll have to nurse him for a spell before I go find those bastards and let them know.¡±


    My face had grown wet as trickles ran down either cheek. I¡¯m alive, I told myself. My mouth opened to say the words, but still nothing came out.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been down in the heart of The Mountain,¡± Momma said. ¡°You paid a price. Might be as simple as your words. Might be more. Your daddy, he were in worse shape than you when he came out. Said he¡¯d seen the face of God and the Devil. Said a lot of things. Time will tell, son. But rest first. ¡±


    Jenn¡¯s ear perked. The fur brushed across my skin, sending tingles crawling down my back.


    ¡°What?¡± she asked.


    ¡°You¡¯ll learn when the time¡¯s right. You¡¯re part of this now,¡± Momma answered.


    I slipped in and out of darkness like that dancing blue flame.


    ¡°Now you know, Chase.¡± Momma¡¯s eyes were hard things. Harder than even Ranger Hardwood could be on her surliest day.


    My teeth chattered.


    ¡°Did you see him? Did you see your daddy?¡± she asked.


    I didn¡¯t know. I¡¯d seen a man who might have been him. Time had robbed me of a perfect recollection, sure as it had turned that man into a tattered-clothes-wearing monster fighting an endless war.


    Were it real? I wanted to ask. My fingers jerked in question marks.


    She simply stared at me and offered no answer. She kept under my shoulder, and Jenn sat on my right. They lifted me into a bed. I didn¡¯t have the strength to fight when Momma left and Jenn stripped me of the tattered robes.


    Momma came back with a washbasin. They cleaned me while my mind ran in circles.


    There¡¯d been a series of changes. Almost as if I¡¯d been born as another creature entirely. Delvers, Flops, Felines, all had their gifts. Mine might have cost my voice. Maybe I were too tired to tell. Then the gifts¡ªI¡¯d barely even scratched the surface of what those might be.


    Or maybe I¡¯d simply become a Ranger.


    Hound. A Hound isn¡¯t a Ranger.


    I knew The Mountain, fallen angel, devil, or asshole son of God must be using us as sure as we used the ink for powers. If nothing else, I could say that everything about The Mountain screamed intelligent design. Rangers were likely another angle of the whole scheme.


    My hands tingled with a scorching heat and freezing chill. The sensations melded in my chest and I felt a low growl come out. I¡¯d changed in those depths. Something between The Mountain¡¯s normal choices and my own desires. I were alive. Alive, and I¡¯d finally understood what Hardwood meant when she said we¡¯d know. I¡¯d been hard enough to survive and come out of The Mountain.


    Happy with that realization, I let unconsciousness claim me.

 25 - Words of the Damned

    The next few days were rough. My body hurt in places that shouldn¡¯t exist on a man. When lucid, I believed that trek down the mountain had been made by another soul. When feverish, I still lay in it¡¯s depths, fighting a war between monsters of rusted armor and a great wolf who walked on two legs.


    I confirmed another price for survival. My voice had been robbed entirely. That, more than anything, made the world feel like a cage. Not speaking had been a choice and now I¡¯d been robbed of it.


    On the third day, laying in bed being coddled got to me. I stood and staggered to the outhouse and did my business. Then I fumbled to the back porch to enjoy the freshness of being outdoors. There, I sat on an old rocking chair that daddy used to spend hours in. It faced The Mountain. I weren¡¯t sure if daddy had stayed out here to stare down that bestial location, or if he watched it for signs of trouble like the Rangers did.


    The rainbow drop and heartseeker leftovers on my hands were still there. All three markings making up The Eyes of a Man were still functioning. The only part that remained weak were my body which muddled my thoughts.


    ¡°The material of creation,¡± that old warrior had said. I assumed he spoke of ink, as if were the building blocks of reality itself.


    That¡¯s only useful to know if what I saw were real.


    I¡¯d never considered myself a highly learned man who studied ink. That were for the scientists in their colleges on the coast. There, they sat, safely removed from thread of the Saracons and could ask all the mighty questions they wanted.


    I simply stared at The Mountain, hoping that my thoughts would land on something useful. Eventually I realized that the easiest answer would be to confirm some of the things I¡¯d been told. Of the Jeffs, or Poss, or that other man, who surely might have been a Hound before me.


    ¡°Do you know what you are? You¡¯re not a failed Wildling. You¡¯re not a Feline,¡± that girl of Poss¡¯s had said. What I didn¡¯t know, is that The Mountain gave birth to so many creatures.


    Felines. Flops. Delvers. Those were the known. Wildings, those I¡¯d learned of. But a fifth type of creature? One rarer than the other three? The Mountain threw out monsters in great numbers. Maybe I¡¯d been turned into one of them somehow. A thinking human monster. I lifted an arm and studied it.


    Still a man.


    A stiff breeze hit my body. I shuddered and rubbed an arm. The motion hurt but that meant little anymore. Soreness were an old friend. Behind me the house rattle and shook as a second wave of air came in. I eyed part of the land, wondering if I should plant some trees so they might break the wind.


    One ear twitched. I heard the creek of wooden floorboards from inside the house as mom shuffled through the house to the back door. Her steps, like everything else since I¡¯d stepped out The Mountain, were louder than they should be.


    ¡°Chase! I swear boy you need to get rest. Two days. It¡¯s been two days and you¡¯re still healing!¡±


    Three, I thought. My face tightened but momma¡¯s voice remained as piercing as ever.


    She prattled on. ¡°Get back inside this instant. So help me, if I have to go get that girl Jenny from the garden just to drag you back inside I¡¯m going to be upset. You don¡¯t want to do that to me do you? Lord knows you¡¯ve tired me out with all these nights of worrying. Almost as bad as those tax collectors what with the heartburn you¡¯re giving me.¡±


    Each of her steps echoed around the house as she found the back door and pushed it open. Wind caught the door¡¯s edge, slamming it into the house. The noise drilled down to a soft spot in my brain and refused to let go.


    I whimpered softly. It were the strongest noise I could make.


    ¡°You¡¯re not ready for any of this. It takes time to adapt. Worse than a marking. Worse than a one of them war tattoos the soldiers get. Ask Jenny how her first few days were. Felines are the saddest of the lot. They sleep for days and days all curled like babies. But maybe Jenn¡¯ll tell you and maybe you¡¯ll listen. Lord knows you don¡¯t listen to your momma none.¡±


    Back into bed I went. Momma bustled around my bedroom straighting up nothing at all. She¡¯d cleaned the room so many times that she¡¯d actually run out of stuff to do. Despite that, momma complained.


    I tapped at my throat a few times.


    Momma paused and held still. Her eyes narrowed at my voice then a shuddered rocked her willowy frame. ¡°Gone for sure?¡± she asked.


    It were the shortest sentence I¡¯d ever heard mom utter. We¡¯d mentioned it once upon my return to the house and maybe she¡¯d been hoping her first guess had been a lie.


    I nodded.


    ¡°Not the worst I¡¯d heard of. Your daddy, God rest his soul, couldn¡¯t have children after it happened to him. Down he went, and when he came back he wasn¡¯t the same man. Not that he believed me. I told him he was a man. Showed him too, but he was foolish enough to believe that a follows who¡¯s pistol shot only blanks weren¡¯t a man at all.¡±


    Momma had gone over the line again. I shook my head and pulled the covers over my face. Fabric couldn¡¯t step her piercing words.


    ¡°Oh, get over it. You¡¯re old enough now, and losing your voice isn¡¯t a big thing anyway. The way I heard it, you ain¡¯t said more than ten words a day to anyone since he passed. Least this way you have an excuse for being meek of mouth.¡±


    Momma stopped again then pulled herself together. I peeked out and smiled weakly. She were trying to be a proper parent, and I¡¯d let her. After all, my own body were still too battered to do much else. Whatever strength I¡¯d used to escape and travel home and left me sorely overtaxed.


    ¡°Prices child. Prices. Back on the coast, they call it equivalent exchange. You give up to get. I¡¯ve seen it happen to many a body when working the mines. Just never thought it¡¯d happen to my own child. Worse then messing around with that flower girl. Would have rather you ran off to Bell Town with her than stay here.¡± Mom bustled about in laps.


    ¡°That¡¯s the world for you. Ain¡¯t a bit unfair if you look at it all. Life simply reacts to what we do.¡± Her voice had a sour note, as if she didn¡¯t believe a word of what she¡¯d spouted. ¡°But you got that girl Jenny. Brave little girl. Scared too. Don¡¯t let her stern face fool you otherwise. Girl¡¯s as broken as any a soul to wander The Mountain¡¯s shadow. It¡¯s a trial I tell you. For righteous souls tough out the worst while fools try to steal from thems they don¡¯t understand.¡±


    With that she wandered out the door, muttering to herself the entire time.


    I didn¡¯t understand. Momma seemed to be rambling simple to fill the silence, but her words and the sudden emptiness of my room got me thinking. For years, I¡¯d believed The Mountain made sense. It were malevolent, a thief of life, maybe a living thing. I¡¯d rarely asked myself why it got placed here or anything for the bigger question. It were simply a fact. We had The Mountain.


    Other places had their own sources of magic. They had their own ways of using it. Kenneth might have the answer to that. He seemed a man of the world, at least, he¡¯d been traveled to a wider world than anyone I¡¯d ever spoken to. I added his name to my mental list of people to visit, thought after he¡¯d kicked me in that might not be welcome.


    Of course, thinking about that night had me wondering about everything all over again. That lead preacher might not have been Kenneth at all. I¡¯d been in a fume of drugs, weary, overtaxed by the rainbow drop, and on edge. It could have been a simple marking designed to make me think the priests were some one familiar. I¡¯d never know unless he admitted to it.


    Kenneth¡¯s place on the far side of town would be best. There, we¡¯d have wittinesses and be away from ceremony. He¡¯d even lend me his good ear. Though a priests conviction were a dangerous thing. Speaking to a man who believed so firmly that The Mountain were related to God might color my own views.


    I thought back on the words I¡¯d heard from the old cowboy.


    ¡°I¡¯ll say it, and it won¡¯t make sense entirely. Or you won¡¯t believe me. Or you¡¯ll accept it and not realize how important it is. Doesn¡¯t matter which really,¡± he¡¯d said.


    Were that my daddy? I wondered. He¡¯d also said I might forget what I¡¯d heard, but I hadn¡¯t. Words from all of the people I¡¯d met had been echoing in my mind since crawling out of that cocoon.


    If it didn¡¯t matter which I believed, then I only need to go about life as I¡¯d intended. That meant seeing if I still had a chance at being a Ranger, assuming I even wanted to go that route in live.


    Then it hit me like a bolt, hard enough for me to jerk out of bed. Casandra and her damn dead pup. Hound. The barking down below. That bag with the herbs and casting it into the pool at night. Somehow it were all related. It¡¯d been a ritual of sorts. One I¡¯d subjected myself to.


    I needed answers. I¡¯d try Poss first. If only because she weren¡¯t a Ranger, tattooist, or priest.


    After resting another day, I managed to creep around the house. On the fifth day of my return from the depths, when the ladies had ventured next door, I put on the hand-me-down clothes from daddy. The arms felt tighter than before and my pants were turning into high waters. They weren¡¯t fitting right anymore.


    I stared at them for a time then shook my head. Clothes were another problem for a day when I had money to spare. Off toward town I went.


    The journey went better than expected. My legs felt better as they stretched and grew used to moving around. All that laying in bed and sitting had near driven me mad.


    The scents along the road were wild. Droppings lined the road, in all states. Flowers hung heavily on some tree branches, ready to bloom into fruits. Apples, if I remembered right.


    I found myself staring at tiny white flowers with yellow centers. Lilies, though I couldn¡¯t remember the exact name. Poss would have known. Lily would have known.


    I stared at one hand then the other. The markings were still there and I¡¯d forgotten to pack a pair of gloves. It only took a moment to use one of the eyes on my back. COloring on both hands faded, along with the stronger scents. That worried me, as if my heightened sense of smell and hearing were somehow tied to The Mountain¡¯s markings.


    ¡°Just a bit of your flesh to house myself in,¡± that not Harold had said.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Just a bit? I wondered.


    Panic threatened to overwhelm me and I pushed it down. It weren¡¯t the first time I¡¯d been in danger. It also further proved I needed knowledge. What if I turned into some crazy monster and attacked Jenn and momma?


    I resumed my brisk stride toward town then veered off the road toward Poss¡¯s mansion. The property spanned a good mile of land and their walls were high. We were near a new moon, which meant her gate stayed wide open.


    In I went, across the yard and up a cobblestone pathway. A third visit so soon here seemed auspicious. The house¡¯s side were still clean as ever and the roof freshly washed. Trees were carefully manicured and fresh flowers grew strong. Seeing her mansion after spending so long in mine reminded me of the gap between our social status.


    Yet, we¡¯d both brought loved ones up to The Mountain. Death struck all of us regardless of races and riches. It¡¯s what came after death that I wanted confirmation of. Course,  asking now were like reading the fine print on one of Mister Proctor¡¯s legal documents after already scrawling my name.


    I walked up to the door and knocked. Then knocked again, and continued until one of the serving girl¡¯s answered. Abby. That Feline¡¯s daughter. I couldn¡¯t rightly remember what Poss had called her during her drunken stupor.


    Now that I had a better idea of her age, it were likely that Abby couldn¡¯t be more than fifteen. Her eyes were too bright and fur clean. Not rough or aged as I¡¯d seen on her mother. That made Poss far younger than her lover but it weren¡¯t my place to judge. After all, I¡¯d hung around Jenn for years, and by now she¡¯d been a Flop in equal measure to her time as a human girl.


    ¡°Can I help you sir?¡±


    My eyelid squeezed shut. Obsidian had been right to say I lacked forethought. A smarter man would have picked up paper from the general store. I made a mental note to buy some once I had money. Both lips formed an exaggerated shaping of Poss¡¯s name.


    Abby didn¡¯t get it.


    I tried again and pointed to my throat. A low sort of harfing sound came out. On the third try I managed to wheeze something that sounded like Poss. The Feline¡¯s ears perked up and hear head tilted.


    ¡°You¡¯ve talked to my mom,¡± she said quietly.


    That reminded me of her mother that I might not have met. Based on Abby¡¯s words, it seemed likely that everything in that vision had happened. I nodded, then shook my head, and shrugged. By the time abby nodded along with my insanity, Poss had reached the door. She pulled it wide open then blanched upon seeing my face. She looked down, then up, and back down.


    ¡°You¡¯re alive?¡± Poss asked. ¡°I guess this means I¡¯ll have to pen a fresh letter to Lily.¡±


    I tried to laugh but soreness halted the motion.


    ¡°He talked to mom,¡± Abby said.


    I hesitated but nodded again, then wiggled my fingers in a question mark.


    Poss¡¯s gaze narrowed. She turned to Abby and put a hand on the young Feline¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Your mom died before Chase met her.¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°He talked to my mom. I know it. After she died.¡±


    Poss turned to me and frowned.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard Rangers can do a great many things, but speaking to the dead? I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ll have to say bullshit to that Chase. And I think you should leave. We¡¯re in mourning.¡±


    My stomach rumbled loudly. I lifted a hand and my fingertips burned as they briefly pointed toward Abby. The sensation reminded me that I could feel ink touched creatures. I waved the fingers around and felt the sensation go off again while facing the other door. I suspected it meant that Poss¡¯s bodyguards were in place in case I went crazy.


    I pantomimed writing in my palm. Poss¡¯s eyes rolled and I pointed at my throat.


    ¡°He can¡¯t speak,¡± the younger feline said.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s an important message.¡± Her eyes shifted toward behind the door and nodded to someone. I curled my fingers and oculd almost trail the Feline walking around. It might have been easier to use one of my Eyes of a Man markings, but the marking that kept my tattoos hidden might slip.


    It didn¡¯t matter. A minute later I had a piece of paper and pen. I scribbled down a note.


    You were lovers, it said.


    I turned it to Poss. She stood there in her slim dress with perfectly woven hair and read it. Her gaze lifted toward mine. Poss¡¯s glare could have set a barn on fire, but I met with my own blank stare. Abby said nothing and cast her eyes downward.


    That¡¯s an answer then, I thought.


    I jotted another note down.In the time it took my, Mister Proctor arrived at the front door. He glanced at the note I turned toward them.


    She said it weren¡¯t your fault with the ladder, the badly scrawled letters said.


    Poss¡¯s face flushed and eyes watered. She glared at me while her husband rubbed an arm up and down.


    ¡°What¡¯s all this about? What does that mean?¡± Mister Proctor asked.


    I put up both hands to stave off any more questions. They weren¡¯t for me to answer. Poss would have to sort out her issues with her husband and God knew I¡¯d be poor assistance in that endeavor.


    ¡°What¡¯s Mister Craig talking about?¡± Mister Proctor questioned.


    ¡°He¡¯s,¡± Poss¡¯s words faded.


    I started to turn away and take my leave. The rest of this conversation would do me no good. Their family drama meant nothing in light of my current mindset. Though maybe he¡¯d be upset about Poss¡¯s feline lover. Maybe he¡¯d known. It didn¡¯t matter to me at the moment.


    ¡°Mister Craig?¡± Poss said. I turned back. She gestured at my hands. ¡°I¡¯ll be needing that pen back. It¡¯s worth more than you¡¯d make,¡± her words died off as she seemed to reconsider what she¡¯d been saying. ¡°My pen please.¡±


    I gave Poss her fancy pen and the paper with my notes. Down the cobblestone I went, out toward the town.


    Their reactions helped me gauge what¡¯d been real and what hadn¡¯t, but they didn¡¯t make me feel any better about the situation. I¡¯d thrust myself into the middle of something grand and the idea scared me. The only goal had been to earn money and get momma to safety and that seemed further away than ever.


    It also seemed like it might be useless. What if there were a war? What if all those terrors were really fighting to get out and use people as fighters? I didn¡¯t know how far away to get momma from that nonsense. All of Chandler¡¯s field sat on a knife¡¯s edge, one that meant Rangers were more important then I¡¯d ever suspected.


    There were more places to go for answers. The sooner I moved onto the next location, the more sure I¡¯d be. The fact that Poss had reacted as she did worried me for too many reasons and part of me hoped the Jeffs wouldn¡¯t be the same.


    I¡¯d had a dollar in my pocket. Enough for a broken pencil, piece of paper, and one piece of jerky. Then off I went, toward the coach¡¯s pickup point.


    I continued to consider my course of actions. If I¡¯d been angling to complete all my stops in as little time as possible, then Cassandra¡¯s home would have been closer. There were the possibility she¡¯d been at Wellbrook¡¯s refinery though. At the least, a Ranger or two would be nearby.


    I corrected myself. Kenneth¡¯s would be the best place to visit next. I¡¯d get his take on this situation. Not on the war, not on the plains.


    Best not to say anything at all, I thought.


    I¡¯d let him yammer on and judge his topics for myself. If he spoke of my decent into The Mountain¡¯s core, I¡¯d know he¡¯d been up there in some fashion. Opal might be out there too, but I couldn¡¯t tell for sure if she¡¯d actually helped me get cleaned before being thrown in. That might have been another part of the feverish dream. Maybe he¡¯d have thoughts on the afterlife that all us inked people were headed toward.


    Up I went to the building. No one responded to my knocking. The door opened with a slight push. In I went, doing a full search of the building. The cupboards were full and beds made but Kenneth and his congregation weren¡¯t in this little church.


    I stepped back out onto the porch and wondered what that meant. There¡¯d been an entire gathering at this place and not a soul remained within walking distance. I could smell a scent that might have been cookies lingering the air. That told me that they¡¯d left recently.


    There were footprints in the dirt that weren¡¯t mine. I followed them for a moment until I found they went toward town. They continued down the same nearly the same path I¡¯d followed to reach Kenneth¡¯s church.


    Once I hit the edge of town, those footprints got lost in the mess of others. I looked around and squinted as light form the setting sun cut at my eyes.I¡¯d taken longer than expected to get few answers and would likely need another hour¡¯s walk to reach Cassadra¡¯s hut, assuming she¡¯d even been there.


    It¡¯d be easier to see if the Wellbrook coach were headed back up the hill, as I¡¯d intended before detouring toward Kenneth¡¯s empty home.


    Midday had been quiet enough since but afternoon saw a spike in people¡¯s movement. Everyone bustled between buildings, centered around the tavern. Sounds from the town drove me to the outskirts.


    I skirted the crowd and stood some distance away from the coach¡¯s drop off point. My head rocked and stomach still grumbled even after the scrap of food. A dull pounding behind my temple grew until I lost control of the Hidden Soul marking which hid my ink tainted hands.


    Both hands went under my armpits as I attempted to master my own abilities. They¡¯d been under control prior to being thrown in and undergoing this strange rebirth. I feared my hand might grab onto a frying pan and light it aflame.


    One eye flickered and saw the ink in everything around me. I remembered this annoyance from before and steadied my breathing until it ceased. Then everything lit and dark corners of the building lit up. I held still with barely a whimper until it too passed.


    My hands curled into fists. The world spun and I promised myself I¡¯d complete this quest for answers before heading home to rest. Sitting in bed idling with nothing but questions had been irksome.


    The sun dipped and the carriage still hadn¡¯t shown up.


    A fist hit me in the side. I caved and stumbled toward a wall for support.


    ¡°Stupid!¡± a sharp voice shouted.


    My ears rang and vision blurred. Both knees folded and down I went onto the ground.


    ¡°Oh,¡± the one who¡¯d yelled at me said.


    ¡°He deserved it,¡± another woman added.


    I rocked to one side and eyed my attackers. Jenn stood there in overalls with holes at the knees. Mom wore the same sun dress she¡¯d been in earlier. Both of them had to be cold in this weather.


    Oh horse shit, I thought.


    Waving seemed inappropriate given I¡¯d snunk out of the house to get answers. I worked to get upright and failed. My chest wouldn¡¯t lift right and I wished for greens to life easier. A bit of self healing would have gone a long way, even with a side effect.


    ¡°Knew we¡¯d find him in town. Always here. Or the mine.¡± Jenn muttered. Her ear twitched and she dug a foot into the dirt. Soil loosened in clumps around her toes.


    Momma waved her finger at me. ¡°Coming into town like this. Bet you were thinking you couldn¡¯t ask me about all this. Bet you didn¡¯t even think about talking to either of us. Chasing down Rangers and that Cassandra without a thought. You should have talked to me first. I¡¯m your momma. I ain¡¯t witless and watched what your daddy went through.¡±


    ¡°Stupid Chase,¡± Jenn said. She huddled closer to momma¡¯s side as a few people passed by.


    They saw the three of us then moved on without a care. I snorted. Nearly everyone in town knew us by sight alone. Chandler¡¯s field were that kind of place.


    ¡°You need to get on home. All this walking around today? I¡¯d bet a dollar that you¡¯re legs are jelly at best. All those days in recovery and you¡¯ll have made it all worse.¡±


    I stood and felt wobbly. Momma had been right. To think, I¡¯d been ready to go up to Wellbrook or Cassandra¡¯s homestead. That idea had been beyond foolish.


    ¡°We¡¯ll get you home. Jenn, girl, are you able to carry the groceries or Chase?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Could do either. Ain¡¯t hard. I¡¯m short. Not weak.¡±


    I shook my head and fought back a forming limp. It wouldn¡¯t do to let either of them know how right they were.


    ¡°Pride is bad,¡± Jenn said. She sniffed and stayed within arms reach.


    We collectively went toward the carriage. If we were lucky, the three of us could get a ride to the crossroads at least. That¡¯d save us half a trip.


    Momma prattled on saying nothing of use. Jenn only interjected to call me names I¡¯d rightfully earned. When not calling me names, she carried a few bags of groceries in stitched bags. She muttered about everyone we passed and kept her gaze down. Sometimes I wondered if Jenn had ever been given an inside voice, or if she¡¯d been in the woods for so long on her own that she¡¯d gone insane.


    We stood by the carriage drop off. Momma didn¡¯t even wait for the workers to unload before she started in on the driver. I couldn¡¯t remember ever seeing her be so serious or protective. He weren¡¯t headed out our way, leaving us to walk home.


    The last few got off as we turned away for the long trek home. I shook my head, annoyed that they¡¯d felt the need to come out here. I¡¯d made it out of the mountain while half dead and delirious. Making it home from town would have been easier.


    ¡°How?¡± someone said.


    I turned to see Ducky standing there. He¡¯d likely been the last one out of the worker carriage. His face hung slack and mouth stood open enough to catch all the flies in Chandler¡¯s Field.


    ¡°You died! I saw you die,¡± Ducky said.


    His commotion caused some of the others to turn toward us. One of them, Mister Jewel, frowned then shook his head in disgust. Off he walked, without caring an ounce for what anyone else said.


    Momma put her shoulder under mine. She seemed smaller than I remembered. The extra support didn¡¯t help me get around but I stumbled away with her help.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Ducky asked. His voice hadn¡¯t grown any quieter.


    ¡°Go away!¡± Jenn shouted at him.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go son. You need to rest,¡± Momma said.


    ¡°Mute! You¡¯ve got to see the others. They¡¯ve been waiting for you up there for weeks now. Weeks!¡±


    I hadn¡¯t known how much time passed. Apparently a lot more than I¡¯d believed.


    Momma turned us and waved Ducky off. ¡°Go away! Run and tell those idiots that my boy survived. That ought to be enough to make even that pucker faced Tawny smile for a moment. But nothing is happening until he¡¯s good and rested. Rested I tell you. Go on. Get out of here. Idiot boy. You¡¯re worse than your mother was and she¡¯d-¡±


    Ducky got so mad he managed to quack. He shook then turned sharply and ran for the carriage that had arrived.


    Momma turned us back toward home. I glanced at her feeling overwhelmed by confusion and exhaustion.


    Her eyebrow went up. She said, ¡°What? Can¡¯t a woman stand up for her boy? Lord knows I¡¯ve been mourning long enough. Long enough that I¡¯m right back where I started. Watching this hell happen to my son, sure as it did your daddy. Well not twice, you hear me?¡±

 26 - Lightning of the Sky

    That night, I dreamed the strangest thing I''d ever seen. Silver flashes that rained down lightning playing out in the Butcher Hills''s northern range. Each bolt struck out around some barely seen creature with wings that flew a sharp line above the earth. Between the bolts, other bird like creatures chased after the dark one. Their wings were a blinding gold that stood out even in the darkest storm.


    They slammed into the fleeing one and sparks flew off. The dark bit of bird turned and threw one of the golden attackers to the ground, and the earth below rocked. Still, lightning poured down in waves that must have been on par with the ocean, though I''d never seen the sea except for in Poss''s artworks.


    Time is a funny thing in dreams. Gold birds wove paths through the storm to chase the fleeing one. Their deaths continued to color the ground red with rust. Until one long bright bolt hit the fleeing creature and sent it to the ground. There it struggled.


    Then I woke, sweating, even more exhausted than before, and threw myself out of the bed toward my little window.


    A storm brewed outside as well. I searched for any sign that the creature sin my dreams were somehow something natural rather than what I feared. Then lighting flashed, and all I could see in the distance were The Mountain. Sitting there in a spot that felt oddly like the land from my time in the ink,


    Had my mind made this dream up or were it somehow related?


    I hoped it were none of the above. A fallen angel. One fighting others and feeing from thunder. Even if it weren''t God and the Devil, it were something important. It felt as if someone were trying to pry open my head and pour in reason.


    The thought made me chuckle weakly. Reason had never been a gift of mine. Hard work and pursuing a goal. That goal had been momma''s escape from the area and becoming my own man. Here I sat, all but jailed in my room with momma being the warden. I couldn''t figure out if my desire to be a Ranger even meant anything anymore. I couldn''t tell if being a Hound could get me money enough to buy her a life elsewhere. Not to mention the one idea I''d been ignoring this whole time.


    How am I not dead?


    Coming close weren''t nothing new, working in the mines like I had been. If money didn''t come from being a Hound, and if being a Hound made it impossible for me to be a Ranger, I''d be faced with venturing back into those deeps. I brightened a bit. Maybe with these new abilities I could help dig out some of the valuable colored barrels and earn bounties for finding them. I could be a divining rod.


    Happy with a plan, and trying not to dwell on my own mortality in the face of grader questions of the soul, I went back to sleep.


    The next morning I woke and could smell warmth. That didn''t rightly make sense but it felt like sunshine had a scent. A kind of musty and woody smell. There were hints of fresh dirt and a sharp undertone that made an ear twitch repeatedly. I reached out and found a familiar weight to my side, snoring softly.


    I tried to cough politely but couldn''t. Jenn had once again snuck into my bed, naked, and passed out. his time I had clothes on so it weren''t so bad, but it confused me. She hated men but apparently didn''t feel safe enough to sleep anywhere else in the house. Given momma''s attitude, I couldn''t fault her for hiding in here. At least this way momma would be distracted.


    Jenn''s naked form had a certain appeal. One hand reached out to make sure the blankets were in place. Temptation were one thing, but there''d be nothing more from me. Momma wouldn''t approve and I''d feel like an ass for even lingering on those thoughts too long. Jenn had helped me out immensely over the years since daddy died. She''d braved The Mountain with me. She''d drug me home.


    If weren¡¯t her fault that life had scrambled her mind until right and wrong were vague at best. I owed her. Jenn were the closest thing I had to a friend now that Greg and Lily had left.


    My feet were unsteady but I tried to get up and find some clothes. A leg gave out and I found myself falling back to the bed.


    Yesterdays venture had made the problem worse. I''d been healing slowly and able to stagger around the house but wandering for hours across the country side in search of answers set me back. Hopefully tomorrow I''d be up for a walk to temple up top to ask all involved what the heck happened next.


    I stood up again slowly, managed to go to the bathroom with the dawn''s light guiding my way, and back to lay down. Jenn could solve her own seeping arrangements if she cared enough and I needed rest.


    Momma bustled in right as I''d sat down on the bed¡¯s edge. She swept through the room searching for stuff to clean but there were nothing. My clothes were in a drawer and boots by the front. My feet felt a bit damp from dew but nothing else.


    "Chase, you''re not thinking of running out on us again are you? You need to finish healing. Listen to your momma now and we''ll get through this."


    My head shook slowly. I hadn''t planned on running out, but did need more answers. One finger jabbed toward The Mountain, which were clearly visible through the window.


    "Yes. You went in. I''m sure. Your daddy told me once that he''d done so as well but something went wrong. That¡¯s why he went to work the mines more than anything else. He never took time to recover. That''s why you need to heal, so that this time nothing happens."


    I lifted an eyebrow. That didn''t make a lick of sense to me. Someone had mentioned, I couldn''t remember who given the jumble in my head, that daddy hadn''t become a Hound, or that he''d tried and failed. My forehead wrinkled and I made a note to try and remember everything I''d heard about him while working the mines and dealing with the Rangers.


    I jabbed a finger at The Mountain again, trying to tell my momma that the answers would be up there. The priests would know. Cassandra or one of the other tattooists at the refinery might know. A Ranger would have an answer. I couldn''t be sure any of them even knew I''d made it out. Though I dimly remembered they''d been set to watch over my as I fell down. To bare witness.


    "Oh don''t you worry. We''ll be going up there together. I''ll give them all a piece of my mind for involving you in this nonsense. I''ll be that Cassandra didn''t tell you anything. No warning on what they were getting you suckered into. Not one whisper. All vague like making you do stuff for her in exchange for this? That woman''s as nonsense as ever."


    I wiggled my fingers in question.


    "I ain''t explaining it. If I did it''d be second hand knowledge. I''m not one to shy away from gossip but not on this. Mark my words you''ll want to hear the story from the source. Of all the tattooists to get involved with she''s got to be the worst of the lot. High and mighty and hasn''t aged a day in the time I''ve known her. Who knows what witchery she''d marked herself with to stay young all these years. Probably requires her to feast on the hearts of the young or some other nonsense."


    Momma dashed out the door without further explanation. I reached out and tried to ask for more information. My body slipped forward as both legs failed.


    I groaned silently while rubbing the sore muscles.


    "You okay? Dumb to fall out of the bed." Jenn said behind me.


    Dumb to be naked in a man¡¯s bed. Put some clothes on, I thought. Worse still, momma apparently decided not to care. Whatever that meant. I would have asked her but it were one more topic on the list of hundreds that I didn''t wan her input on.


    I got back into the bed without Jenn''s help. As soon as my head hit the pillow dizziness struck me. The room spun. Jenn''s body moved and I couldn''t rightly make out more than her form slipping over me and to the other side. Something rustled, the blanket went into place, and I returned to slumber.


    Lightning flashed as the dream took hold again. I fought to remain myself in the face of what I''d been witnessing. Silver. The sky was filled with silver. Golden drops fell down out of it, transforming into those winged creatures that had fought the black bird. They scoured the landscape for ages, buzzing back and forth like angry bees. I stared, or shook in the bed as the vision continued. Another black being fell from the sky, carrying something. Gold winged motes chased after it and lightning poured over the ground.


    That black bird fought against the golden ones. The black ones were stronger somehow, and this one took a hoard with him. As the gold fell to the ground it transformed the earth from dull brown to rusty red.


    Thunder rattled me along with something wet at my lips. I jerked my head back onto the soft pillow. It took a moment for one of momma'' giant spoons to come into focus. Behind it sat Jenn, wearing one of my shirts that hung too loose on her shoulders. The sight confused me as much as the images I''d been seeing a moment ago.


    "Eat. You need to eat. Don''t be a smelly idiot now," Jenn said.


    It''d grown a lot darker. I couldn''t believe so much of the day had passed that quickly.


    Jenn whispered, "One sip. Your mom will be mad if you don''t."


    I lifted an arm and struggled to get a bit upright. My body hurt less but the room continued to be blurry. My side felt cool. I felt kind of sticky but at the time parts of me were clearly cleaned. the clothes I''d been in were different than before. They''d been right to say I needed rest. It''d been the same way when I got the markings on my back only this took longer.


    For a moment I cycled through all the markings again. The room brightened, went dark, Jenn''s form blurred then came back. The black ink on my fingertip and spider web rainbow on the other hand on my hand faded back out. I felt the tingles as I moved hoe fingers in Jenn''s direction.


    "What are those?" Jenn asked, grabbing my hand. I flinched, worried that it might do something to her. "They''re scar. But they''re not. They work right?"


    I nodded. She dropped one an moved to the other.


    "A rainbow drop? does it do something?" I shrugged as an answer then nodded. "Can you control it?"


    I nodded then shrugged.


    "That shouldn''t happen. Should it?"


    The door banged and Jenn jumped. Momma swept in and carried on like nothing were wrong. "His daddy was the same way. Those marks are different than his, but the same. It''s raw ink. Ink that no one sane would touch, but his family line''s able to survive the exposure all on their own. Almost like being their own tattooist, but with less fashion sense. And more mess. His daddy had this marking of purple on his back that looked almost like a butterfly. Took up near every inch of skin and damned if it didn''t cause me problems when he''d," momma''s words halted. She jerked upright then stared at Jenn.


    "Well that''s none of your business. Now, make sure he gets all that in him." She turned and jabbed a finger in my direction. "Chase, you drink it all. It''s got vegetables fresh from the garden. And don''t think I won''t hear it if you two get up to something, so keep your hands off each other. That''s double on you Chase. Jenn''s momma ain''t here to tell her to be a good girl so it''s on you."Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    My jaw dropped. Jenn stuck a spoon in my wide open mouth. Momma bustled back out, apparently having accomplished whatever he set out to do.


    "And tell him what your change was like now! Maybe he''ll realize he needs to keep resting. Besides, it ain''t like that lot up there don''t know your coming. What, with that fool Lake boy running up there shouting it to the winds. Let them stew and wonder on their own, that''s what I say. Maybe they''ll threw each other into the mountain and that''ll be that. Wouldn''t it serve them right instead of finding another-" Momma''s words halted again and the back door slammed.


    Jenn stared at me. I gulped down the bit of broth and opened my mouth for another.


    She kept feeding me, which I accepted because sitting up still hurt a little bit, and being pampered were nice. Between bites she talked. "Your momma knows what''s going on. Acts like it. Not sure though. Seem tight lipped. Never seen her like this."


    I shrugged then brought up my blackened fingertips. She''d said daddy were the same way, but I couldn''t remember any ink or markings on him. Not eve the purple that momma mentioned. Maybe he had a marking like I did to make the inks fade out of sight.


    Jenn gave me another spoonful then sat still. I stared at her. It were a shame that lie had all but ruined her from such a young age. I didn''t know how she''d survived out there or how she handled being inside a house after so long. Maybe Jen didn''t know either.  If life had been kinder to both of us, we could have grown up together. Maybe meant something to each other. More than friends. I''d have daddy who''d be a saloon worker instead of a miner or a Hound or whatever got him killed.


    It were strange seeing a woman wearing my clothes. The thin threaded hand me downs hide little. I cleared my throat then pointed to her ears, eager for a change of subject.


    "What are you saying?" she asked.


    Jen had been one of the easier people to talk to. Now I couldn''t even do that. The realization made e pause for a moment before I pushed past it and reached for her ears.


    She tensed. I didn''t grab but lightly tapped on them, then on my own chest.


    "The change. Your mom says you changed but I don''t know. I can''t tell. You''re. Still stupid."


    I snorted.


    "She told me to tell you what it''s like. But I don''t know. Not enough. Jenn don''t talk to others.¡± Jenn shuddered. ¡°I don''t. Your mom hates when I talk about myself like that." She set the bowl and soup down on a table nearby then stared out the window. "Jenn. I. I can only speak for myself. Would you still want to hear it?"


    I nodded. Anything would help me.


    "I told you once. There''s a choice. A point where you could be," Jenn''s leg started vibrating in nervousness. She gulped. ¡°Either thing.¡±


    Both my hands went up to stop her but Jenn''s head shook.


    "We¡¯re forced to choose. Because of the ink. That''s what they gloss over. Too much. It seeps under your skin. Down to the bone. Down deep until you''re not the person God made you."


    My finger curled into a hook and dug at my chest. Jenn saw and nodded.


    "Deep down inside the bone. Deep down. One mark. Ain''t nothing. Two. An itch. Three, four, more until you''ve less of you and more of it. Then one night, it takes you."


    My gaze drifted away as her story slowly unfolded. In her own way, Jenn described what I''d been told. That the ink or The Mountain or fallen angel put hooks into our bodies. As if these tattoos humans sought were some spiritual fishing lure. The image made me shudder. As if it weren''t a fallen angel at all, but some old man with a fishing reel and too much time. Ink as the bait and us the fat dumb river-fish. My mind briefly flashed on the older man who''d appeared in my vision. He''d been a strange one.


    There are sides, he''d said.


    "That''s what I felt. Each mark. Each one I felt less like the little girl I''d been. Something sucked away what made me. Me. Replace it. Replaced Jenn with this body. Only I¡¯d barely been a little girl. "


    I shuddered. So did she. Jenn glanced at me then back down. Her ears swung up and down and toes stretched uneasily.


    ¡°For days I felt wrong. My arms weren¡¯t my own. My legs hurt. I was hungry. Delirious. Not scared exactly. Too tired to be scared. But my arms were stronger than ever. I could taste everything. Smells were sharp. I¡¯d keep waking up in the garden.¡±


    Her quick sharp tone slowed as Jenn seemed to be lost. She may not know what to say, and I surely didn¡¯t know what would help me. Worse still, I remembered the person who¡¯d yelled at me. That not-Harold or not-Kenneth. That I were his to reshape as he saw fit.


    I put up a hand then pointed to the nightstand. Jenn grabbed my paper and pen then handed them over with a shaky grasp.


    Did you see anyone while changing? I wrote.


    Jenn stared at the words. She mouthed them slowly then once more.


    Her head shook.


    I swallowed, unsure what the differences in our experiences lead to.


    ¡°I was fevered. In a nightmare. One that stretched on forever but I couldn¡¯t remember. I know there was ways to go. Knew it. Then I woke and the nightmare continued with familiar faces.¡± She shuddered again.


    In winced and sat up slowly. Jenn continued to tremble. With one hand I attempted to rub her tiny back in hopes that she¡¯d find some comfort. Her eyes stiffened and she held her breathe. I stopped and pulled my hand back.


    Sorry, I wrote. I¡¯d forgotten she had issues with being touched.


    Her head shook, and out of the room she fled, like I were some monster from The Mountain¡¯s depths and not a childhood friend. There I sat, left alone.


    Jenn¡¯s change had been different from mine in terms of what she saw and remembered. That much were obvious. She¡¯d also come out looking completely different, been younger, had more markings of different types. I¡¯d been thrown inside the ink, come out with only the three markings I¡¯d gone in with.


    Honestly, I should have come out as one giant rainbow blob. Melting and sobbing like a horror. One single drop had imprinted on me. Nothing else had.


    Then I''d encountered a strange version of Tawny and Hardwood while down there. If they were real, that was scary enough. If they''d been ghosts, that were strange too. The Jeffs. Everything felt different and I¡¯d no guidance.


    ¡°You need to walk around a bit if you can. Doesn¡¯t do a body well sitting too long in bed.¡±


    I frowned at momma¡¯s sudden intrusion. Especially since she¡¯d been the one to insist I go back to bed in the first place.


    ¡°Then when you¡¯re up and about, we¡¯ll take those mules up to the temple.¡±


    There¡¯d be monsters on the way up. I frowned.


    ¡°Don¡¯t fret. It¡¯s nearly a new moon so the worst of the tide¡¯s passed. Plus if those idiots up there want to see their precious Hound, they¡¯d best clear a path. Though I wouldn¡¯t be surprised none if Cassandra left all the monsters intact. She¡¯d think of it as a test, that she would. Worse than those other Rangers.¡±


    I grunted and tapped my paper.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t got the time nor desire to answer your questions Chase. You already ran off that poor girl and since you¡¯re laid up, it¡¯s on me to keep the house running.¡±


    I wanted to make an unhappy comment but momma had been improving a lot recently. Especially since I¡¯d started this venture to become a Ranger in earnest.


    Though if I were being truth, despite my need to understand, the last place I really wanted to go for answers were The Mountain''s top. It''d been the site of two terrible days in my life. The first being when daddy''s body returned to the ink. The second being when my living body were throw in like a piece of dead lumber.


    I remembered shouting at the head priest, "I ain''t dead yet!". He''d mocked me by saying I weren''t alive yet either. Strange how that echoed the same word as that wolf man from the planes. Alive. He''d been hung up on it. Like Hardwood with being hard enough. The acted like words meant something.


    All about the house I stumbled with only my thoughts. The exercise helped and some of my body¡¯s stiffness loosened. By the fourth lap I felt almost up to normal speed. My stomach grumbled with hunger and the sun slowly set. Time kept slipping by me.


    First it¡¯d been the weeks in The Mountain. At least, that¡¯s what Ducky stated. Momma and Jenn hadn¡¯t mentioned anything about it, but they were likely used to be vanishing for a week at a time in order to work at the mines.


    I went back inside and collapsed on a chair. My stomach continued to rumble. In and out I drifted. Food showed up at some point. I picked at it, hungry but too tired to eat much despite the gnawing feeling. The vegetables and bit of dried meat weren¡¯t appetizing. The scrambled egg tasted a bit more appealing but somehow missed the mark.


    Water took the edge off enough for me to get back to sleep. Back I went into slumber land.


    For the third time, visions plagued my rest. Golden winged drops chased after the fallen black birds. They had no luck.


    Then the rusted ground moved.


    My heart stopped. This reminded me of something else that escaped me. I struggled to remember what it meant but couldn¡¯t. The scenes weren¡¯t exactly the same either. Where those black winged birds had fallen had differences each time. A lake in one. Mountains for another bird. A third had landed in a forest of immense size. There were a dozen locations and each had armies of gold monsters around them, searching.


    As time passed, the gold birds fell to the ground on their own. They reminded me of windup music boxes, all glittering and dancing in the air until at last they ran out of energy. Even the thundering sky stopped.


    I watched the same series of events happened again and again. Black bird fled with some sort of prize. Thunder rained down. Gold drops chased. The black bird killed some. They fell to the earth and stained the landscape. Eventually the black bird fell. Gold ones searched for the remains, I assumed after the stolen prize. Occasionally they recovered some blue orb and fled back to the skies.


    They failed in most cases but continued searching until they ran out of steam.


    With each replay of the vision it grew fuzzier. It were like those days of running for the Ranger trials. I¡¯d been worn down. The dream wore me down as well. It might mean a lot but there¡¯d been no context. Though part of me wondered if were somehow related to The Mountain.


    I woke with that thought rattling in my brain.


    What if those are how The Mountain started? Those fleeing creatures, were they the fallen Angels that the preachers belted on about? What if they¡¯d stolen something form the skies? It didn¡¯t seem like heaven in my visions and those golden drops didn¡¯t look righteous, only shiny and bright. They¡¯d run out of energy and set about tasks like machines set on one task. Clocks operated with as much emotion, or the gears that kept the mine¡¯s elevators working.


    I felt better after realizing how this might all fit together. It could have been my mind lying to me but I¡¯d started to trust that the vision meant something. It wouldn¡¯t play repeatedly and mean nothing.


    But why?


    That¡¯s what stumped me. These visions didn¡¯t start on their own for no reason. They couldn¡¯t have. Something made them plague me. Something more than my mind trying to apply reason to the world.


    I eyed my hands but the room were too dark to see either one rightly. Using a marking would have lit up the room but didn¡¯t feel the need. They were still in the same places they had been. I could feel the ink under my skin. Both would function if I desired.


    Below those markings, below the Eyes of a Man, lay another feeling. A deep nagging that bothered me immensely. Either I¡¯d unknowingly walked a path that all Rangers did, which I doubted given that ceremony, or ended up as some sixth choice. Flop. Feline. Delver. Wildling. Ranger.


    Me, I thought. A Hound.


    I didn¡¯t feel like a dog of any sort. Aside from the amplified noise and sense of smell, nothing much had physically changed. It were more like, there were an itching in my bones. This tiny squirming feeling. Then there were these damned visions. My mind circled back to all the hints along the way.


    The closest thing to God we have is a fallen angel, Kenneth had said. The proper version of him, not that twisted mockery of The Mountain.


    In those three dreams, the black lights must have been fallen angels. Or near as I¡¯d ever seen. The red rust color reminded me of the men in armor that giant wolf had fought. I wanted to trust the visions and that they were explaining events. But I liked to think being thrown into The Mountain had made me a bit warier and less trusting.


    I¡¯d watch the dreams and judge for myself. That¡¯s what a man would do. Children were told to follow orders and I liked to think I¡¯d grown past blindly doing what others ordered. Maybe I didn¡¯t need to get momma to safety, but rather, keep her safe here instead.


    That thought lulled me back to sleep despite the knots by my shoulder that wouldn¡¯t loosen.


    The next night, after walking around and building up my strength, I had another dream.


    This time there were nearly no golden birds left flying around. Rust crawled and heaved itself into staggering shapes that roamed the land. Other creatures made of black fought the rust monsters. I watched it all from above like God must look down on everyone else.


    The final few golden birds gathered together. They spun in a circle until a new creature appeared. Not some being made of black crawling across the landscape to fight rust monsters. As the newest creation came to life, all the golden ones fell to join the dirty red monsters.


    In their place was something else. A small mix of colors that resembled a dog. It sniffed at the dirt and ran across the land. Monsters of both type tried to kill it but it were fast. It stopped in a quiet area to continue searching for something.


    Then it died.


    Another one were born from the landscape. It too ran from monsters, fought others, and searched.


    Then it died.


    They kept coming. The circle continued like the lightning strikes and golden orbs had before it. A never ending battle that looped through the three sides and one creature trying to find a prize.


    It grew larger. As if my lofty perch had fallen out from under me. The land rose to meet me. Or I fell without a hint of dropping reaching my stomach. I, and the ground, crashed together.


    My heartbeat jumped. I glanced around to find the sun had risen. Momma were padding my damp head with a cloth. She stared at me.


    ¡°Lord have mercy Chase. You¡¯re getting nightmares, aren¡¯t you? Your daddy did. Used to wake up with the sweats. Never could tell me what they were about though. Said he couldn¡¯t remember. Not sure if I ever believed him but it weren¡¯t my place to ask. You are, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Do you remember anything?¡±


    I nodded again then choked up because God help me, I knew what a Hound were meant to do. If that vision were to be believed, Hounds were meant to find whatever those fallen angels had stolen. That which had caused the sky to rain down lightning and golden drops to find until death. An object that might have created The Mountain and every other gateway to hell like it.


    I didn¡¯t know how, but being a Hound meant I could find the source of all this trouble and stop it. That¡¯d free momma, Jenn, and everyone from this cycle of servitude.


    Or I¡¯d die trying.

 27 - Hound of The Mountain

    There were problems with having questions and suspicions. None of them were answers. In that the wolf man from the field had once again been right to say "deal with what is". I''d been struggling to turn that advice into practice over the last few days but quiet time came with too many thoughts. Soon though, soon there''d be answers.


    As the next day approached, Jenn and Momma got ready for a trek while I grew increasingly nervous. They insisted I didn''t pack anything. We were going on a day trip this time, not an overnight on The Mountain. I wondered what might happen up there. The revelations to come could be mind numbing, or a let down.


    Parts of me prayed that I''d imagined all these recent events. That someone would come pat me on the head and say "It''s okay Chase. Ain''t nothing bad out there out to kill everyone you love and care for. There¡¯s no war. The mountain ain¡¯t a living monster eating men. It ain¡¯t your job to find it¡¯s hidden orb of untold power that caused deaths of angels.¡± I also knew such wishing were for children and I''d long stepped away from being a child.


    I''d spent months hoping one day daddy would walk back into our home and everything would be alright again. Here I were, physically in the same place I''d been when I''d learned of his death. Mentally and emotionally, I''d traveled miles. If trials were what a made a man, then by any measure I felt grown up.


    But still just as lost. Being an adult didn¡¯t come with all the answers and learning that made me shake. I kept righting my mind, telling myself we were headed off to get the information needed to move forward.


    Losing my voice took it¡¯s toll. Communicating took too much work. Jenn hadn''t been too into talking ever since her change and most of the conversation that came out of her mouth involved derision of men in general. Momma prattled and not a lick of it meant anything deep.


    Still, I wrote down questions, mostly as notes to myself. Those jotted scribbles helped me focus on what I wanted to know from Cassandra and the others. Hound, Fallen Angels, Searching for?, visions, and others. I got the feeling momma had the same questions because of whatever happened to daddy, and this time momma would beat the answers out of anyone within eyesight.


    Jenn arrived with a trio of mules. We rode them to the crossroads then marched up the winding path. By carriage and flaming horse, this path had taken hours. It''d take us longer by foot. We were lucky that The Mountain would be mostly clear based on the moon''s phase. Though I kept an eye out for monsters using both Eyes of a Man and the Heartseeker splattering.


    Momma and Jenn moved on like women possessed. I followed slowly, feeling exhausted but happy to be out and about. Something about roaming the fields made me shiver. Hair stood on end and goosebumps formed each time I sensed a small ink beast. There were a few smaller critters but they''d stayed far into the tree line.


    There were human figures wandering the woods. I pointed one out to momma and she flipped off the bushes.


    "Don''t think I don''t know you''re out there Wan! I still remember what you and Ash did to Becky Watermen. Poor girl, being stranded in the woods like that. You''re a prick!"


    "I was twelve, ain''t fair to hold that against me after all these years!"


    "You ain''t changed none," momma yelled. She frowned then shook her head. ¡°But I live for the day you prove me wrong.¡±


    Wan laughed loud enough to carry through the trees. I hadn''t ever heard him do that any time during our testing.


    "Pleasure to have you back, Widow Craig!" Wan shouted.


    I hadn''t known which person were out there, but apparently momma knew right away. It made me wonder why she could pick them out when even my various methods of sight hadn''t been able to tell.


    "Don''t think this means I''m returning to you lot." Momma muttered. She waved a hand dismissively but never once slowed down her trek through the trees and up toward the top. Were she really so mad today that she could venture up this path, when she hadn''t been able to go after daddy died?


    She kept on babbling away. "It''s always Wan. Him and Ash comb this path every day. Always have. Rangers got their assignments, you''ll see."


    "Obsidian roams near town," Jenn said. "Hardwood always follows the carriages. Normally at a distance or a few hours before. Can always smell her first. Then I''d know you''d be by."


    Momma paused and stared at Jenn. Her chest deflated for a moment then momma turned and marched back up the path while muttering.  "Should never have left you out in the woods to rot like that. Shame on me for not thinking straight." I couldn''t tell if she were apologizing or simply chastising herself for all that time she''d locked herself in a room and shut out the world.


    "Chase helped," the Flop said. "He''s stupid, but not bad." Jenn''s volume lowered further as she continued with, "and warm."


    I flushed red and pretended she''d said nothing. Her comment reminded me that I needed money more than ever. If nothing else, we could build a proper room for the Flop. After all this other nonsense got straightened out.


    Momma cupped her hands and hollered toward the woods, "You let that witch know I''m coming!"


    "Ranger Ash is already on his way. They''ll roll out the red carpet I''m sure."


    "I''m sure they won''t." Momma shook her head.


    We continued on the path up the hill, walking the long path that normally were used by Hell Steed¡¯s and their carriages. It gave us plenty of time to think. Though momma had no such thing as an inside voice. She continued to complain about the trek up the hill, the damned Rangers, and proceeded to give us a history lesson on every Ranger she''d ever met.


    Not a useful kind of history. We learned that Hardwood had become a Ranger after Tawny. He''d only become one after nearly dying and taking on a series of yellow markings that apparently made him even more sickly. Momma didn''t know what the markings did or how they helped him qualify as a Ranger, only that his gaunt features had gotten worse after joining Obsidian.


    Obsidian she didn''t like at all. Momma went on to explain that he''d used to be a peeping Tom as a child. He''d snuck around Bell Town looking for ladies changing rooms to view. Though momma didn''t know that first hand. She''d been told that by another gossip in Chandler''s Field.


    The stories went on and by the end of our climb, I almost felt like the Rangers were real people. Hardwood had a home out in the woods that had cats. Apparently she''d once killed one of Cassandra''s hounds for killing her litter of kittens. They still worked together but there were no love lost between the women. Momma thought they were both stubborn as mules. Jenn snorted at that, then proceeded to explain that mules were all stubborn as idiot men, even the ladies.


    I let all the knowledge wash over me then fade away. It wouldn''t mean much in light of what came next. What had been building ever since that day months ago when I''d decided to ask for a marking. Maybe before that, when Lily had left and I realized it were time to move on with my own life.


    "Almost there. Cassandra will be waiting above the heart. She''s flashy like that. All those colors in her robes. Like a god damn peacock. Never seen a woman so obsessed with being flashy. Not even them girls working the docks. Think it''s fools the lot of us and none of us see her for what she is." Momma''s head shook. She walked slower than before. Whatever steam she''d had at the beginning of our forced march had faded as we hiked up the painfully long trails.


    I didn''t tell momma that those swirling colors had hypnotized me before.


    Jenn paused then shivered head to toe. "Almost there."


    The temple at the top were impressive in the daylight. Last time I hadn''t been in the right frame of mind to notice the work that went into it. The building were almost as a big as Poss''s mansion but reverent with rounded edges and a pointed steeple, where Poss''s home were posh and decadent with carefully twisted ironwork and metal polished window frames.


    We walked through a garden that had overgrown with rose bushes. The pathway were the only thing with any sort of clearance. Under the bushes were thick solid bricks that made up a wall of sorts. A spicy smell hung in the air. I got the impression that the plants hadn''t been touched in an age, but the paths were so clean that they must have been scrubbed recently. Around a corner the actual wide area to the mountain''s heart came into view.


    There were no liquids. No bubbling mass. I stopped and stared at the spot where I''d fallen. What did coming back here mean? Why did we even need to return to this location?


    I''d die happy if I never needed to see this hellhole again. Only then I''d never get answers. It were unlikely Hounds could spend all their time in the sunshine in a place safe away from The Mountain.


    Cassandra and three other Rangers were waiting for us. I recognized Hardwood, Obsidian, and Tawny. They''d been there when I got my first marking too. That meant they''d known all along where this might end up.


    Jenn grabbed the back of my shirt and tightened a clump in her fist. It felt even smaller than before. I''d finally grown into my daddy''s clothes and I weren''t sure I liked it. They felt stuffy.


    "Should be clerics," Jenn muttered. "Never seen this place without any. Should be all over."


    There hadn''t been anyone at Kenneth''s little church either. They might have been related but what could cause that to happen? What possible event might have caused both spots to be emptied out?


    "Cassandra ain''t one to let clerics tell her what to do. She may have others fooled into thinking she''s only a tattooist, but I''ve been around enough to know who holds the real power out here. It''s been that witch for generations. A schemer. That''s what she is. A viperous one who''s set her fangs on my boy. Shouted have gutted her in the night all those years ago."


    Momma''s voice carried. She weren''t being shy about letting the others know we were here.


    I didn''t know how to put all that into perspective. Momma had alluded to lots of knowledge from the years gone by, but her distaste of Cassandra ran deep. Deeper than I''d ever expected, and ignorant me had run to the tattooist for my first real marking. If I''d known, would anything have changed?


    We stood at the edge of the garden path, staring across at the other four. They faced us in a strange half circle with Cassandra in the middle. She smiled while staring at me. I''d seen Felines that were less feral with their expressions. Hungry. Happy. Excited. Cassandra were a girl who''d been brought a treat that she''d worked hard to earn.


    Momma took deep breathes to steady herself. Despite the fire she''d demonstrated charging up the path these last few hours, she needed a moment to get herself steady. I could ese traces of exhaustion pinching at momma''s eyes. It might have been age wearing paths along her skin.


    It felt like forever since I''d really studied her for changes. Somehow the younger woman from my memories blurred into an older figure that had been held down by the weight of history. The others were much the same. Old. Set. I could see the inking sitting calm on the skin. Hardwood''s leather jerkin didn''t block my eyes. Briar patches lined her sides. Roes spun out of them. It made me imagine her body as a sort of garden, wild like the one behind us. Aged.


    "Don''t like it up here," Jenn said. "Too quiet. Too close."


    "You''re  a brave girl and no one''d think twice if you wanted to go home. Been stronger than anyone has the right to ask. Lord knows my boy gave you a scare enough when came to." Momma kept finding new reasons to frown. Her expression would lighten for only a moment before both lips curled into a scowl that would have made the devil hisself think twice about backtalking.


    Momma took the lead and strode forward. One hand waved at the others.


    "Come on you four! Always been you. A little cabal in a special order of monsters. Every time something wrong happened around here, who do I find out''s in the middle? You all. " Momma walked over until she stood a dozen paces away from the others. She crossed her arms over her chest, sucked in a lungful of air then let it out slowly. The hissing as her chest deflated itched my hearing like a scratch on a toe.


    "Don''t like this," Jenn said. She stood beside me but I felt her body shift slightly. Her furry toes slid along the ground, grating like a cow might shift in a hay field.


    I patted her hand and walked up slowly. It felt smoother than I''d expected to be. My gaze kept shifting to the empty well that would dip down to the mountain''s heart.


    Had I really been down there? I wondered, followed by, How had I survived?


    It simply weren''t possible for every single changed creature to jump into the top like that. Wildlings, as an example, cast themselves into the depths, seeking death and a return to the mountain. Jenn hadn''t though. Likely Poss''s Feline servants had been given a quiet room. Delvers were all changed somewhere in the mines. It didn''t matter how they changed. What mattered is that I had. I remembered falling down into that hole.


    I stopped short of where momma stood and stared downward. It looked peaceful but endlessly deep. A faint hint of rainbow drops could be seen a few dozen feet below. I held up my hand and let the tattoo that hid my markings slip. The rainbow drop spidering across my palm faded into view. Blackened fingertips shown on the other one.


    Behind me I Jenn gasped then backed up. I could hear her heartbeat speed. If my fingers moved right, I could tell exactly where she stood behind me. I thought about it briefly and realized that her body were half rabbit. Or something of the sort.


    Hound, I thought. They were hunters to her. Hounds were used to herd sheep, dig out small game, protect the home. It weren''t simply a role or a title. It were everything in between. How could I keep going if what I''d become scared Jenn?


    "You''re going to tell me exactly what happened to my boy."


    "I don''t have to tell you anything," Cassandra said.


    The other Rangers stayed quiet. I turned to study the lot of them then walked up closer to momma. Obsidian didn''t watch me. Hardwood glared every so often but her puckered face seemed a moment away from spitting in disgust. Tawny looked like a strong breeze might blow him into the mountain''s heart.


    "The hell you don''t. I''m calling in every favor you owe me. All of them, including repayment for killing my husband."


    "I didn''t kill him," Cassandra responded.


    "Damn well did. You all but put a gun in his hand and pointed it at his head. Filled his noggin with tails of grandness. Played your game upon his love for his dead daddy. I''d say you did the same to my boy but I know you weren''t stupid enough to try that twice."


    Cassandra put up her hands in mock surrender and smiled. "He came to me.¡±


    "Course he did. Should have known and kept an eye out and warned him but we''re past that now."


    "Of course we are. By the time you would have noticed, we were already set on this path."


    "Don''t I wish it were otherwise," momma said quietly.


    My head jerked to the side abruptly. The two women were glaring at each other. Hardwood frowned at me then spit at the ground. Obsidian stared off into space as if nothing being said mattered to him in the slightest. Only Tawny showed a sign of being embarrassed, and that might have simply been sweat from standing up in this air, which apparently took a toll on his body.


    Cassandra might have looked ashamed to any other person. To me she simply looked bored, as if anything momma had said didn''t matter. Despite the passive expression, she nodded then motioned to a chair that had been sitting, unnoticed, nearby.


    "Well?" Momma said. "What happened this time that means he won''t end up like his daddy?"


    Cassandra caved first and my jaw dropped. "That''s a fair question. I need to look and see how deep the change took. How far it reached and what became of the offerings before him." She pulled me to the side.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Offerings?" Jenn asked.


    I''d wanted to ask the same question but all that came out were a rough whimper of noise. Not fully formed, like my throat couldn''t make normal sounds anymore. Tawny came up with a chair and set it nearby.


    "You should know girl." Cassandra pushed me toward the chair. "You were there. You brought up the dead pup and tossed it in with him."


    Jenn stepped back away from the lot of them and didn¡¯t respond.


    "They did the same to his daddy, only something made it worse. Made him toss in a wolf pup they''d stolen from the east. Said his grandpa had to hunt down the wolf himself for his offering." Momma''s jaw tightened and she glared at the Rangers.


    Jenn''s toes tapped then her legs shivered abruptly. I could imagine it making her body wave in interesting ways, but now weren''t the time to give a care for a woman''s backside. Likely it''d only serve as further proof that Jenn needed newer clothes. Everything took money that I didn''t have.


    This is the wrong time to think about money.


    "Why?" Jenn asked after some time.


    Cassandra continued to urge me toward a chair while Tawny answered, "The stories say that the first changes for any place like the mountain, here, Lake of Galahad, the devils triangle, they''re all based on the types of creatures that are first put in. Out here, it''s said rabbits, a bobcat, and a mole, were the first to cross over. Breaking that pattern ain''t easy. Creating something different new ain''t easy."


    "It''s dangerous and always has a cost," Cassandra added.


    "The Mountain wants to create certain patterns. Things it, controls." Tawny''s eyes shifted toward Jenn. ¡°Remember what I told you boy? That one day The Mountain would reach out and touch you back?¡± He pointed to the gapping hole below. ¡°Here we are.¡±


    Jenn''s large toes wiggled uneasily under his endless glare. Her discomfort reminded me why I''d even started on this path. It weren''t to hunt down some mythical orb from a dream. Valor and dreams of heroes fighting back the monsters weren''t my motivation. I''d taken my first marking with the goal of earning money. This were for momma, and Jenn, who I''d slowly come to realize needed the support as well.


    They needed more.


    I buckled against Cassandra''s pushing.


    "What?" she asked.


    I rubbed my fingers together at Cassandra. Her gaze winnowed and an eyebrow lowered  I took that to mean she didn''t have a clue what I meant or why I didn''t simply bow down to her wishes. There''d been a time I might have done anything due to the sweetness of her voice, but I were too tired to even properly look at the woman. Exhaustion served as strange purpose in making it harder for her swirling dress to bewitch me again.


    "What''s that gesture mean?" Cassandra asked.


    Funny how I no barely thought of her as a tattooist. Something about the ventures I''d been on served to make them more human. As if they were no longer stations to be peered up at, but simply people. Maybe their roles no longer mattered to me.


    "Money," Hardwood interrupted.


    "Money?" Obsidian echoed. He pushed up from the platform wench he''d been leaning against and slowly walked toward me.


    I nodded then made the motion again. None of this information meant a damned thing if I couldn''t get enough money to give momma live a better life. If she couldn¡¯t go, or I couldn¡¯t, then we needed more than a run down farmhouse with barely enough room. I needed money to afford better clothes for Jenn and food enough to help fill everyone''s belly. Daddy had supported us. I considered a man to be someone that could provide for family.


    Obsidian''s head tilted toward me and he asked again, "Money? This lot threw you into the mountain''s heart, exposed you to the purest form of ink we''ve ever seen, and you''re asking about money?"


    My head nodded then shook. If we were all stuck here for reasons that had more to do with God then Country, I¡¯d claw my way up to Poss¡¯s level. Never again would I let her look down on me over money. I''d be damned if I ever heard Poss look down at me again, telling me I didn''t make enough coin to those around me.


    For the first time I could recall, the shadow shrouded man laughed. His body shook with mirth so out of place that even momma''s stern glare couldn''t make him stop. He put up a hand, waving at us as his body doubled at the waist.


    "He''s not a Hound, he''s a mercenary!" Obsidian resumed laughing.


    I''d worked in the mines for months, risking life and limb for a wage. If they''d been paying attention for any measure of time, they''d know that I''d always been a bit of a mercenary. Other''s, like Ducky, wanted to join the Rangers to be heroes or prove their valor. I''d never been such a man.


    Cassandra stepped toward me. Obsidian shut up almost immediately but couldn''t stop mild laughter from shaking his body. The tattooist said, "If money''s your motivation, then there''s plenty to be found. But nothing will come until we see what changes took. Sit here."


    "And if you don''t, we''ll throw you back in. Dead this time," Hardwood said. She had a hand over one of her markings, though I couldn''t tell which one without switching my vision around.


    Now didn''t seem like the time to question. Momma stomped a food on the ground but said nothing. I took that as a cue that no matter what the outcome might be, even momma agreed that Cassandra should have a look. I sat down on the stool, there on a small platform that overlooked the mountain''s heart.


    But I''d come back to money eventually. God, The Mountain, and these damn Rangers may have their plans, but plans of almighty powers couldn''t stop bills from needing to be paid.


    "Shirt," she said.


    I took off the hand-me-down from daddy and let Cassandra see whatever she cared to. My back felt strange, being exposed to the air like it were now. Something about the afternoon light and the emptiness below me made skin crawl. It might have been how her finger traced along my flesh almost immediately. She used both hands, following lines I couldn''t see without a mirror.


    A sudden breeze across the mountain''s top made me shiver. The sudden motion repeated. A chill from the open air crawled into my bones and refused to get out no matter how hard I shook. My teeth chattered.


    "Hold still. I need to see what''s happened to your body."


    "Ain''t nothing that happened to him that ain''t your fault. Of course, that''s assuming you even knew what would happen. Poking around in a person''s soul like that. Acting like he''s some fancy alchemists potion."


    "Now. Be civil. And you and I both know that the alchemists of Witchwoods have a lot to teach us about the powers."


    I''d never heard of the Witchwoods, thought it were likely another source of ink like The Mountain or the Lake of Galahad.


    "I''ll civil," momma''s words were cut off as Hardwood and Tawny stepped closer. "You two agree with this nonsense? Ain''t bad enough you killed my husband, but you put my boy at risk too? You ought to be ashamed!"


    "What else would you have us do Connie? We need a Hound. Always have, always will until The Mountain''s done and gone."


    "Like hell. You survived for years aplenty without one," momma said.


    I frowned in the same manner as momma. It''d been an age since anyone used her first name. Town¡¯s folk called her Missus Craig while daddy were alive. After that it''d been changed to Widow Craig. Almost like her name and existence didn''t matter beyond a position.


    "Trying to tell me you needed another sacrifice for your fool''s quest is like telling fish they should learn to fly. It don''t make sense and never will to any idiot with sense enough to know what''s what."


    As momma prattled on, defending me against something passed done, I wondered what might happened. What would she be called in the future? They people around town might start referring to her as "Chase''s momma" and nothing else. It made me wonder if she had any real friends. I''d never seen her talk to anyone outside myself and Jenn recently, though she certain had ways of getting gossip.


    I started to say something but all that came out were a harsh barking sound. Not a yip like puppies might, but one where my throat felt parched and phlegm filled.


    Throughout their entire conversation the tattooist kept prodding my back. She traced fingers down one side then up and across the other. A ripple passed under my skin. I activated one of the Eyes and could see as ink trailed along under the surface of flesh. All sorts of colors. A twisting rainbow that swirled and drowned under black before shimmering into another part of the rainbow.


    "Knew it," Cassandra said. She tapped on my back and the ink under my skin rippled, as if someone had touched the surface of a puddle and all the water were busy rocking back and forth.


    I felt sick. The sight of all that nastiness flowing along my body, like a regular man might have blood, made my scalp numb and stomach crawl upwards. It kept on crawling no matter how many times I told myself that everything would be alright. This were simply a new part of my life that I¡¯d have to learn to live with.


    "Knew what?" Momma demanded.


    "You know what. I''d told your husband he''d have a better chance with the eyes but that fool didn''t want to take them."


    They argued and I told myself that what''d been done couldn''t be undone no matter how hard I cursed the powers above.  Or on the other side, where ever they''d tucked themselves away.


    "That''s because eyes are a first or not at all marking! You taught me that yourself. Then you gave him those damn fool paw prints," momma said.


    I sucked in a fresh lungful of air and held it tightly. Momma had learned about tattoos, from Cassandra of all people. Suddenly more details started to make sense. Momma didn''t have markings. Tattooist Cassandra didn''t have any either, but she''d held a certain power for sure. Had momma been training to be a tattooist? From Cassandra of all people?


    "He could have still taken them," momma said.


    "You know damn well that would have pushed him over!"


    During all this Jenn stayed rooted where she''d been. Not one step closer since we ventured out of the garden. I turned a bit to get a good view of her but the Flop weren''t looking at me. Her eyes were cast toward the giant hole in the ground while her mouth hung open in half muted terror.


    "But your boy saw the visions. He knows. He remembers. Didn''t you Chase? I can see the marks of the truth, clear as the nose on your face." She pressed a spot on my back that might have been near my heart. When she touched it, a vision of the golden birds chasing down that black winged creature flooded my vision.


    I craned my neck to glare her. Whatever she''d touched, it brought back the dreams. It weren''t right for anyone to be able to force me to see things. Imagines from inside the mountain had been bad enough. Her having the power to mess with my brain weren''t right.


    Momma kept on talking. "Doesn''t matter. You gave him something he thought he wanted. He got something he didn''t want and lost what he never knew he''d miss. That''s how it always is and not a one of you had the sense to tell him."


    Hardwood''s feet shuffled. They were rougher than the other Rangers. The way she stepped were more like a slide across the wooden platform. "And where were you  during all this? Come on Connie. You''re his mother. You knew what happened to your husband. You saw it all! Don''t have the gall to stand here and judge us because you weren''t hard enough to do what needed to be done."


    I kept them in sight with my head partial turned.


    Momma sniffed, jutted out her chin, and said, "Lose Tawny and tell me I ain''t hard enough. Go on. Lose your niece. Lose family and see if you can crawl your leathery ass out of a bottle for the next month."


    "I don''t have the luxury of going to a bar in the first place you milksop. We lose Rangers every year and do our duty."


    "Lose someone who means more," momma said. Her jaw locked and eyes were wet with unshed tears. ¡°You all are such assholes to each other it¡¯s no wonder you don¡¯t miss each other when your dead.¡±


    "Chase is right there," Jenn muttered from the garden entrance. Her words weren''t a whisper at all, but certainly loud enough to make everyone else pause for a moment. "You idiots. Talking like he can''t hear. Mute. Not deaf."


    I wanted to pat Jenn on the head. She probably wouldn''t like that. Our relationship had entered strange territory and I hadn''t put enough thought into where we were going. She were like a little sister at times. I wanted to take care of her. I had been in my own underfunded way. At the same time, I''d have pursued her for a more personal relationship, were she to show a remote interest in men.


    I''d put aside that confusing perspective for later. The others had all shushed but I could still hear them shuffling about. My hearing excelled since coming out of The Mountain''s test. Cassandra''s fingers kept on roaming across my skin. Down one arm as she trailed a stream of twisting ink. What she read there, I didn''t know, but that were the impression I got. She read the ink my body and what it did as easily as I might have read a shopping list.


    "Here," she poked. "Then there. A nexus at each joint. This is nothing like the major twists."


    "And the hands. Don''t think I''m blind. His hands are practically two pieces of the same puzzle." Momma uncrossed and crossed her arms uneasily.


    "A happy accident, but maybe part of the reason it succeeded."


    "You mean you don''t know for sure?"


    Cassandra¡¯s hair fluttered softly as her head shook. "Despite your anger, I don''t know everything. That''s part of the problem."


    "If we knew everything, then this hole, and every other one, would be closed. Or better controlled at least," Tawny added.


    My fingers curled into question bouncing question marks.


    Tawny sighed and waved a hand at Cassandra. "And despite seeing what you said he¡¯s seen, he knows nothing."


    "That''s not special. We wouldn''t tell recruits the truth for at least two years. Only after they''ve taken the first heart and learned enough to handle them without turning." Cassndra¡¯s dress were loud as it ruffled with her shrug. ¡°Even that Lake boy only knows as much as he does because his father told him.¡±


    "You''re ignoring Chase," Jenn repeated quietly. ¡°Again.¡±


    "No. We''re talking. Chase is listening. I can see here, and here. His neck and ears are all changed. Like a Feline, but under the surface." Cassandra poked soft spots behind either ear. I yawned abruptly and listened to them pop. My neck ached and body felt stiff.


    "What''s next? How do we know that''ll he''ll survive this between change? His daddy didn¡¯t. Died two months in.¡± Momma shuddered uneasily then kicked a rock in our direction. ¡°Bad enough I left Chase to take care of the house all on his own. Bad enough I let him dream of being a Ranger.¡±


    Momma stepped closer while wagging a finger at Cassandra. ¡°So help me, if there''s a chance he''ll go the same way as his daddy, that''ll be the end of it. I swear. I don''t care what vow''s we''ve made Cassandra, I''ll see us both drown in The Mountain''s heart before I let him die.¡±


    I stopped being able to process their conversation. It were too much too fast. Answers, I''d expected. But one at a time with enough room between for me to breathe. Yet I''d been stormed by a deluge of information without even a moment to do more than piece bits together. Momma knew what had happened. It''d happened to my daddy. Jenn were caught in all this because I''d invited her to the family home. Those Rangers simply stood there.


    It were too much.


    Cassandra placed a warm hand on my back. My skin crawled and I heard the world distort like I''d fired off a gun next to my ear. "Now," Cassandra said from somewhere close by and miles away, "We fully wake the hound in him."


    Then she pressed her hand into me. Or near enough that I couldn''t tell the difference, and by the time I processed that though, my chest burned impossibly cold.


    Breath escaped. I shot up from the seat and waved my arms to grab at the air. It refused to return where it should have been. Block spots appeared and swirled. Both legs buckled. Down I fell, hands grabbing the edge of the platform I''d been placed on.


    The bottom were out of sight but for a moment, only a moment, I wondered if I might find air down in the depths of that endless hole. Below, I could breathe in blue ink, even while encased. I''d breathed for days, or weeks, or time untold. It would be natural to swim in that mixed blood of creation.


    The spots grew. My head rocked without any permission. Side to side it went and the walls of the mountain''s pit warped. I pushed myself backwards and heard a snap. My brain tried to process the distant sound then another piece of bone crunched. It reminded me of those slobbering, chewing, twisted version of Delvers. My chest heaved and bent awkwardly. I almost got fresh air.


    Itched spiraled down one arm, too fast for me to register entirely. I grabbed the limb and felt bristly material poke at my hands. I opened my mouth but still couldn''t find enough air to scream. More cracked, pain caught up with me, and I saw fur spouting all along my skin.


    My mouth hung open but nothing came out. Momma yelled in outrage and lifted an arm. Jenn ran toward me but one of the Ranger''s held her back. My body arched abruptly making the world seem inverted. I wanted to see what were happening to the girls but couldn''t.


    Everything moved in spurts. White swallowed black spots as pain blotted out any other form of thought. People were shouting but their words were a dull roar compared to the agony riding my mind like a cowboy on a bucking horse.


    "Move him!" a woman shouted.


    Someone grabbed me. Muscles spasmed and continued to pop. Dirt clumped under fingernails that felt bowed and hooked.


    Oh god, I thought between bursts of pain. Both legs were longer then they had been by a mile, and covered in fur, same as my arms. I had a moment of frozen wonder. Did that man in the field feel this much agony? How¡¯d he done it?


    A fresh wave drove the question away. I found myself staring at the garden we''d trekked through moments ago. Words were clearer, but at the same point, too loud for me to process. The hurt came still, pushing at me in smaller, tighter bursts. I worked to get myself up on all fours. Someone''s muddy boots were planted nearby. My eyes couldn''t travel far upward enough up to see who¡¯s they belonged to.


    Muscles in my neck felt wrong. Nothing bent or turned how it should. My legs kicked and down I went again. I couldn''t even remember standing.


    Something were singing.


    "Way down we''ll go," the voices sang. "Where the ink''s our foe, foe, foe."


    I could hear Harold. His voice carried through the dirt and earth, up the heart of the mountain, and itched at my ears. The humming noise made my head heavy. Slowly I got lost, remembering what they''d said about chasing away the monsters with their song. Did those creatures of ink feel the same way I did when hearing the song? Sleepy perhaps, tired, relaxed and ready to lay down.


    "What happened to Chase?" Jenn asked quietly.


    My head shook slowly.


    My legs vibrated with energy. One jerked, then the other. They dug into the ground until I managed to push myself up right.


    Standing felt wrong. My body bowed and head hung lower than both shoulders. Even with bowed back, I stood a foot or two taller than momma. Jenn were a tiny girl who might have come up to my chest, if she weren''t busy cowering behind someone.


    "God above," momma said.


    It took me a moment to register the tone. It sounded lighter than it¡¯d been. Thinner. Fairer too, if that were possible. Momma''s voice had always been an annoying prattle but with those two words she sounded like an angel should sound.


    I tried to say something, anything that might let her know it''d be okay. Though I felt anything but right and still couldn¡¯t talk. At least the pain had started to recede.


    "Is it forever?" Momma asked.


    Is what forever? I wondered. My fingers started to curl to question marks only they refused to work right either. They were hardly even fingers anymore. My arms lifted poorly and were locked at the shoulders from coming too far up.


    "Hard to say. The eyes should allow him to hide it, but his great grandfather had different markings that worked in another manner. No accounting for how the soul will twist each tattoo. Even then, we¡¯re told no two hounds are the same."


    Momm reached a hand up to my face. It felt wrong. Too long for her tiny hand. She kept staring at me like I were an impossible monster. "You said me there''s only ever been three."


    Cassandra¡¯s voice came from behind. "We¡¯ve only had three here. All from your husbands line. But out there? At the other fonts? Some have had hundreds of hounds, or something similar enough. Sometimes they have so many searching that they send their extras toward our places. That''s why we had the last war with the Sacreons."


    Hound, I thought. That¡¯s a good name for what I¡¯d become. As much a Hound as any Flop were a rabbit. My colorings weren¡¯t right for a wolf though. Not like the man I¡¯d seen in that other place. These patterns were softer, dirtier, and reminded me of the endless dogs that Cassandra had at her homestead.


    "Listen to you weave a tale. You must be happy." Momma sniffed and reached out toward me. I held still, because my body still felt wrong and hyped up.


    Cassandra walked around us in a slow circle, studying my new form. She shook her head. "I ain''t happy. We were too weak for this game. Too weak by far, and those governments can only think about lining their pockets. But with a Hound? One that can blend in with those untouched by the source. One that can sense and hunt down our foes. One that might find us the key to truly controlling this font.¡±


    Momma put her hand down and stomped a foot at Cassandra. ¡°What of it? You think controlling this will change anything for us? That somehow we¡¯ll storm the gates of the White House, charge across the seas to conquer King and country? Perhaps you want to march upon Heaven¡¯s door.¡±


    "Perhaps I do. But this is our chance," Cassandra said with a half smile. ¡°And a chance is far more than we had playing to the whims of other powers.¡±


    I felt foggy headed and heavy, but there were a nagging vision plaguing me. One that¡¯d I¡¯d slowly started to realize as the pain pulled back far enough for me to breathe


    Beyond my own form, the cowering of Jenn, and how the Rangers stood passively to the sides watching me, there were another item of note. At Cassandras heart were a blackened empty spot, round like the orb from my dreams. Behind her back were something stranger. Large black wings spouting to either side that reminded me of a crows. I could see them, stiff and wide, glowing briefly like ghosts before hey faded.


    Momma had a pair too.


    What, I wondered, do those wings mean? Followed by another thought.


    What comes next?

 1 - Teacher on the Hill

    What came next were a lot of hard work and no answers. Momma insisted I get rest before they threw me in the deep end. Rangers insisted I be trained to use my head now and then. Cassandra simply smiled like it were all part of her plans.


    Momma and the Rangers reached a compromise. For three months I¡¯d been forced to work with the grumpiest man I¡¯d ever met outside the mines, and that meant something considering everyone near Chandler¡¯s field were surly. But I¡¯d learned a bit about my markings. I felt better and worse than ever, and my body had gotten a heap stronger.


    ¡°One day maybe, you¡¯ll measure up to a real soldier.¡±


    I frowned but couldn¡¯t talk back. Instead, I ran through the same nasty thoughts I¡¯d been having for weeks.


    Rangers, the lot of them, were a standoffish bunch of assholes. They didn¡¯t like me, and I felt silly for ever wanting to be in their ranks. Had life taken a different turn on the river of choices, then maybe we wouldn¡¯t be at odds. Yet here I were, slaving away in a field under the gaze of The Mountain.


    Ranger Obsidian had me bent in a crouch he called Horse Stance holding a blade in front of me and making it change colors like a rainbow. The small dagger in my hands glowed a bright orange that would burn near anything it touched. This had been the first sort of markings I¡¯d gained over the last year let me channel different types of energy into an item held by that hand. My other hand hadn¡¯t added anything to blade or bullet despite practicing.


    But it would tingle with a sort chill when pointed at an ink-touched monster. That it reacted when facing Flops and Rangers and the like told me much about what they¡¯d become.


    ¡°You¡¯re controlling that color well enough,¡± Obsidian said. ¡°Fast. Stable. Got a lot of anger in you. That makes reds. Rage.¡±


    That were as close to a compliment as the Ranger got. He also repeated himself a lot. Red were anger until blind. Blue were a calm absence. Green were full of energy. They had other sides to them too, like coins. Red were passion. Blue were frozen moment before a storm. Green were sickness and rot.


    Emotions tainted the colors, making them shift from pure expressions to muddled bits of art. I felt like I¡¯d need a canvas and all the paint in the world to really understand inks.


    ¡°You remember have to shift it to another hue? Focus the emotion. Without constraints from your thoughts the Wilding Touch will be random. You¡¯ll get anything, like when you shot that cougar.¡±


    I nodded to show I¡¯d been listening then adjusted a leg. My knees were close to giving out but Obsidian said this were the critical point. When a boy felt like quitting is when a man would persevere.


    The stance served as form of strengthening. Working the mines for months had left me sturdy but not outright strong. Obsidian believed all power came from the legs, for every single marking. I didn¡¯t know enough to prove him wrong.


    ¡°Blue now,¡± he said.


    I nodded but couldn¡¯t get the damned metal to coat in a new color.


    ¡°Chase. Blue now. Focus on a soothing image. Or clouds. Wind. All are variations that bring on blue. A river, hell, Sterling used to focus on the sound of pissing on rocks. Said it reminded him of a babbling brook.¡±


    Changing it to blue proved difficult. For each color I¡¯d need a concept, an image to hold onto. Orange proved easy. Obsidian said that hot summers day, hiding in a shadow while staring out at a field of cooked hey could do the trick. A lazy day where nothing could be done about the world.


    He had an emotion for every color. Even though he were spare with compliments, Obsidian had a lot of knowledge. He pratically spouted it in my ear at every turn, after letting me get frustrated trying to sort out the problem on my own.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done this one before. Reds to blues are hard switches for anyone, but try. Ash¡¯s staffs for example. He can¡¯t change between them in a blink like Hardwood does with her weapons. It takes a few seconds so don¡¯t get frustrated. Change your mind, change the color.¡± He gestured then his chest heaved. The chair he sat on rocked as he fought to control himself. The other man coughed frequently. Obsidian, a ranger who almost always seemed shrouded in darkness, had been declining in health for the last month. The smell of rot hung off him no matter which way the wind blew.


    I grunted softly, a hard sound to make when my voice refused to work. It hadn¡¯t since I¡¯d been reborn from The Mountain¡¯s depths. That¡¯d been my price.


    ¡°Wish we could pull you back enough to get that voice to work. Handling the physical forms has been easy enough. Which makes you a sight luckier than the others that come out twisted. Maybe Hounds are like that. I¡¯d never seen your grandfather in action, before my time,¡± Obsidian said. He spit a gob of snot onto the ground with a wet pop.


    These three months my life had been the same cycle of events. Wake up, do what Obsidian told me to do, go home to a house that no longer felt big enough. I still couldn¡¯t force the Wildling Mark to shift colors quickly. Apparently no one could. Rainbow drops were wild for a reason. I think Obsidian hoped my Hound status would break the rules.


    On the gruff man went, ¡°Your grandfather taken on a wolf, which should mean more instinct than your other half. Dogs are trained, taught, rewarded and punished until they learn. Wolves study and learn by seeing what other¡¯s get away with. Remember what I told you, markings have meanings. Shape has meaning.¡±


    We¡¯d been at this crash course in Ranger school for awhile. It included his grumpy explanations at how markings worked, fighting monsters inside and outside the mines, and a lot of stuff most of us at Wellbrook already knew. Rock Snakes, Dirt Rats, and Blink Hounds were the most common type to make it above ground. People living around the mines could take out one on their own, even those unmarked by a tattoo. Though a single Rock Snake could bring down an army of unwary if they walked into it¡¯s dugouts.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± Ranger Obsidian said. He broke into a coughing fit before finishing his next sentence. ¡°Let it go before you get a backlash.¡±


    The blade dropped and heat raced up my arm. My mind shut down and focused inward. A cool spiral tingled toward my heart, starting from the other hand. Both legs buckled and down I fell. Knees slammed into the dirt and I rolled to one side. Holding any mark took a lot of energy. My body still couldn¡¯t handle more than a minute or two at most of channeling the rainbow drop.


    At least using the blade proved easier than bullets. Two rounds of bullets from daddy¡¯s gun and I¡¯d be turned into a sopping mess of sweat and jumbled emotions. I¡¯d made progress, even if the gruff Ranger¡¯s tone implied otherwise at times.


    Obsidian coughed and bowed at the middle. His head shook and one leg slipped. Helping him only irritated the man so I¡¯d stopped a week back. I weren¡¯t sure how a Ranger could be dying, but I felt like Obsidian had one foot in the grave and the other in a barrel of poison.


    He finished coughing and I managed to find the energy to get off my knees. He pushed upright and glared at me with dark watering eyes. Shadows at his back danced around briefly then froze.


    ¡°Watch where you¡¯re keepin your eyes,¡± he said.


    I nodded.


    ¡°Quiz time. Your three touches. They¡¯re about the same as a battle marking and obvious in their powers. Anyone with a brain will know your eyes do something. So, if someone knows your markings, they can fool you. Imagine fighting an enemy who knows everything you can do. How do you stop them?¡±


    I didn¡¯t know.


    ¡°Say they¡¯ve got battle marks like you. Ones you can see but don¡¯t know about. Take Ash and his fragmenting, say you¡¯ve got to stop him. What do you do?¡±


    He coughed and shivered. Despite that, I still didn¡¯t know. He acted like fighting against marked people might be commonplace for me, but I¡¯d never met anyone with battle tattoos that weren¡¯t a Ranger.


    ¡°Think.¡± Obsidian stomped his foot. ¡°Ash. When damaged his body flakes to Ash. That¡¯s where his name came from. Subject him to water. Won¡¯t come back together right. Counters his flame staff. If you could use your Wildling,¡± he devolved into a fit then finished weakly. ¡°But Ash¡¯s prepared. He¡¯s got a staff of ice to make up for his short coming. Takes him time to switch though, so bait him to the fire one, counter him, then while he switches, go for the kill.¡±


    I pretended not to notice his coughing and thought about his words. The benefit to my rainbow drop lay in it¡¯s adaptability. Other people weren¡¯t as lucky. There were a few levels of marks that people could get using the mine¡¯s ink. Battle markings, or Ranger marks, were often used only for Rangers, who fought back the monsters, or some high end military personal. Even they only got one or two. Nearly everyone else could access basic tattoos that gave minor enhancements to strength or nimbleness.


    ¡°Hardwood¡¯s brier rose. Tawny¡¯s dead man¡¯s skull. My flickering shadows. The design means something. The color means something. What do you do? How do you stop my shadows?¡±


    I lifted the dagger and jabbed it forward, pantomiming a fight.


    Obsidian shook his head.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t always easy. Rarely simple. Light though. If you had enough daylight. A sunrise mark, stars. The north star if it were done by the right tattooist. But then I counter with the new moon mark on my thigh.¡±


    He had the right of it. Many tattoos were specialized, like having a strong power to make plants grow. They came with side effects. Growing plants would be the power, but a soul might lose their eyesight. Worse still, a few markings like that and the body might be transformed into a Flop. Then there were raw marks, untouched by a tattooist. Those were the most dangerous kind.


    ¡°Then there¡¯s wildlings. What if you have to fight them? It¡¯s a test boy. Listen. Think. God damn you, think.¡±


    Raw marks made Wildlings, or made becoming one easier. I still weren¡¯t entirely sure on how it all worked. They were near impossible to fight according to Obsidian, mostly because their abilities were utterly random.


    ¡°You¡¯re a lucky sort. The eyes work without needing to be touched, because they¡¯re eyes. See?¡± He snorted weakly. ¡°But the Heart Seeker only ties to one hand. The Wildling Touch on the other hand? Only works on what you hold. Your foes will have limitations too.¡±


    His tone stretched and thinned as he fought back the endless coughing. I nodded and reconciled his reminder with what I¡¯d been learning these last few months.


    It weren¡¯t all standing out here in a field and practicing. Like today, Ranger Obsidian had been telling me what different markings meant followed by something contrary like ¡°Markings ain¡¯t always what they look like¡±, which made little sense.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t what I wanted boy,¡± Obsidian said. ¡°But I got little say. You¡¯re a Hound. Much as I don¡¯t like the idea of putting that on one man, but Hounds have a purpose I¡¯m told. One that means being ready to fight anything. Us. Them. Saracons. Everyone.¡±


    He hadn¡¯t liked me when I¡¯d first wanted to be a Ranger. He¡¯d liked me even less when I¡¯d been named. Obsidian seemed content to detest everything in eyesight. Judgments were all he issued, reminders on how I¡¯d failed and been doomed from the start.


    At least he¡¯s stopped preaching about asking for help, I thought.


    ¡°You think on what I¡¯ve said. Might be easier for you, with no voice. All you¡¯ve got are your thoughts.¡±


    I nodded yet again.


    ¡°Cassandra¡¯ll see you tomorrow,¡± he said then grunted. ¡°Got words for you. As for us, we¡¯re done. Your momma got her promised time and I¡¯ve got work to do. Don¡¯t know what more I could set you to learn anyway. It¡¯ll be trail by fire.¡±


    I nodded, took dismissal at face value, then headed home.


    The path home lay away from The Mountain¡¯s peak. Halfway between the crossroads and Chandler¡¯s Field lay the homestead my daddy had laid claim to. We were behind on the bills, and the government wanted it¡¯s taxes, but they¡¯d stopped calling since I¡¯d been named Hound.


    Who do I owe for that? I wondered. Favors didn¡¯t come free. The Mountain¡¯s ink extracted a price equal to every bucket pulled from it¡¯s depths, and in the end all of us touched would be sent below. Returned to where we¡¯d come from.


    Kenneth had said it, or a twisted version of him. Our souls were Gods, but our bodies belonged to The Mountain.


    I stepped a half mile away from Obsidian and set my clothes carefully to one side. In the old days, I¡¯d hop on a Wellbrook mine stage coach and be home well after dark. It¡¯d take almost as long if I were to walk. I had no intention of being late home. Momma had started cooking again and food had become an important facet of my life.


    It felt strange, being naked. Not that being without clothes bothered me, but more than it exited me. Goosebumps crawled along my legs and arms.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    My clothes were still worn in spots. Most were hand-me-downs but the pants were newer. They hadn¡¯t yet worn at the knees like the ones I¡¯d had from daddy¡¯s collection. His shirts still fit and the jacket were a bit too small. Momma had yanked the shoulders out and hemming up the sides leaving me with a vest of sorts. It weren¡¯t as snazzy as the ones worn by Mister Proctor or other well-t-do¡¯s around


    I folded the pants carefully. The worn shirt and vest went around that. If only to keep my newest piece of clothing in decent shape for as long as possible. Those were bound with a bit of twine. A thick monkey¡¯s knot were placed on the end.


    What I had, I cared for, but I wished I¡¯d been able to afford better clothes at the least. It seemed all I could do were think of the things I didn¡¯t have.


    My soul is mine, I thought. Though I couldn¡¯t say it. Once I¡¯d had dreams too, but those were taken over by visions of the past. Fragmented pieces of what had been. They might have been nightmares.


    Where once I¡¯d dreamed of silver, now I thought of black feathers and winged birds. Visions were one problem, on top of The Mountain and it¡¯s deep pit of endlessly spewing magic ink. Obsidian¡¯s rants about how I didn¡¯t think enough. That said nothing of momma, Jenn, or the rest of life¡¯s woes.


    I¡¯d had plenty of time to ponder but grown no closer to an answer on how to solve it all. Obsidian had said it, patience, be ready, and changes were coming. He¡¯d preached that for our first month together.


    One problem at a time. I¡¯d get food and rest my legs. Everything wrong with life would seem less troublesome with a full stomach and time to heal from Obsidians wearing exercises. I¡¯d get home on four legs instead of two.


    It weren¡¯t hard to trigger the change. I only had to close my eyes. Not the physical ones, but those on my back. The eyes of a man that Cassandra had carved into my flesh using black ink from the mines. The Hidden Soul. The Watchful. The Darkness Ward. Three eyes that let me see past the regular sights of the world and into something deeper.


    Their location across my shoulders made it hard to see what they looked like. Harder still to see what they did while I were using them. I¡¯d studied using rough polished metal that Jenn¡¯d shined up and put in the bathroom.


    Two deep breathes. Both feet wiggled uneasily. I¡¯d shift soon enough but the moments before hand always unnerved me. Changing brought on twisted memories. Mixed moments that rode high in the back of my mind. That¡¯s how ink worked, it dug deep into who we were and anchored to the past.


    For me, changing into this other beast always brought up rushes from the past. Moments where I¡¯d been eager and stupid. High on life and free to play. Sometimes it dredged up the bad blood of those days gone by. I¡¯d felt them all.


    My feet stretched and cracked. Pain hit then spiked outward, fading into my body like a lightning bolt. On came a bit of distorted history.


    There were two ponds around Chandler¡¯s field. Most days of the year we avoided them, as monsters of one sort or another often hung out at them. But on nights of the new moon, when the tides were at their thinnest, Greg, Lily, and I had snuck into the darkness for a night swim.


    They¡¯d been different times. When the absence of light above and any town lamps hide everything from view. Dangerous, but that excitement had made it worth venturing out.


    I¡¯d gone for Lily. Greg had gone because that¡¯s the sort of boy he¡¯d been. Lily had gone to feel free, or so she¡¯d said. I¡¯d thought of my first crush too much over these last few months. She¡¯d been there when I first started, but left to find her greener pastures. Somewhere out of The Mountain¡¯s sight.


    The vision shifted quickly. Still the lake existed, but it didn¡¯t. We were in a bedroom of POss¡¯s on Greg¡¯s going away party.


    ¡°Once more,¡± Lily said in the dark lake water. ¡°Gentle like.¡± The waves rode us away.


    Greg burst in the door and pointed. Only he hadn¡¯t, but he did. My head shook and I felt fur spirking across my body. Bristling in a way that no man should feel.


    ¡°Caught in my wake!¡± Greg said then fell over laughing. I could barely see him in the darkness but his presence were like cider tasted. Bubbly. The water of the lake spun around me and bled with a sudden swirl of colors.


    Then came another face. One closer to my age than Greg¡¯s boyish grin. Ducky¡¯s features, hard and sour. Both lips puckered while one of his arms twitched. Ink threatened to swallow his limb. ¡°Quack quack mutie!¡± Ducky yelled. ¡°Quack quack!¡±


    The sudden mash-up of my past tilted sideways. Water rushed over my head like a tide and everything popped.


    Then the change were over.


    My legs felt stiff despite being remade. Obsidian¡¯s exercises stuck with me even thought my body had shifted into a new form. My front legs supported a chunk of weight now and reduced the strain.


    The ground¡¯s nearness made me pause. I¡¯d pressed my face against the dirt more than once climbing through the mines, but this felt natural. I stopped and sniffed the earth for any hints of other creatures. Mice. I could smell mice. They had a musky sharpness of urine that lingered along the trails they scooted.


    Mice wouldn¡¯t get me home. I shook my head and caused a swirl in the dusting around me. A dozen other partial scents attached to my nose and refused to let go. A sneeze erupted. It took me a moment to shake that off and pick up my bundled clothes.


    Off I went, on four legs instead of two.


    Momma didn¡¯t always cook a dinner. She¡¯d been gone from home for days at a time. I¡¯d grown no closer to knowing why she had black wings. Part of me believed a bit of delirium left over from changing into this other body.


    It¡¯s not even one simple form. In truth there were two. With the first change I became this dog. Near as I could tell in wavering pools of water, I looked like a slightly larger version of one of Cassandra¡¯s mutts. An almost literal hound, save for retaining my brain and thoughts.


    The other had been much different. Somewhere closer to a canine version of a Feline. They called me a Hound, but if there were more of me, we¡¯d be Canines. Then we¡¯d have a racial name. But there were no others like me.


    On I continued, trotting at a much faster speed than tired human me could travel.


    Fields went on for miles. There were farm houses out in the distance. Most were circled by thick fences that had build over a generation. Smarter people lived closer to town. Populated areas were better protected.


    I kept an eye to the fields. There were a few smaller monsters laying in the grass but they¡¯d stay quiet until sundown. Then they¡¯d mill about, searching for trouble. I debated trying to take them down myself but Obsidian¡¯s exercises had left me drained mentally and physically. Despite telling myself it weren¡¯t problem, that I¡¯d never actually become a Ranger, and that everything hurt, I circled back around to a pit of three Rock Snakes. They¡¯d dug themselves a place to hide from daylight.


    How do I kill them?


    Obsidian would tell me to think. I¡¯d learned a lot about them but hadn¡¯t had much experience killing monsters while in this dog-like body. Everything had a weakness of some sort and mine were opposable thumbs.


    Rock Snakes were one of the slowest monsters. They were also tough. Their twisted forms had been turned into something like literal rocks. A mixture of dung brown and slippery green.


    It¡¯d be easier as a man.


    Shifting back took a bit more than simply closing my eyes or opening them.


    I will die a man, I told myself. Over and over I repeated the thought until the pain from earlier went in reverse. It were a weird way to picture the hurt of having my body rearranged, but that were the truth of it. Changing into a hound hurt. Become a man felt like being set to rights.


    That¡¯s how I still knew that no matter how deep The Mountain¡¯s hooks went, I were still a man.


    And I will die one, I repeated.


    The breeze hit me. Panic at being naked around a nest of Rock Snakes got shoved into a dark hole where it belonged. Ranger Hardwood, the orneriest woman I¡¯d ever met, would tell me that fear served only as a warning and did little else of any good.


    Rocks on Rock Snakes might simply make them irate. Then they¡¯d chase after me in their slow ponderous wind. I¡¯d do that anyway. They were easier to kill at a distance.


    I grabbed a few sizable rocks from the nearby field and a stick or two. Channeling my markings would only drain me more, and one of the lessons I¡¯d been learning were about energy conservation. Obsidian said it¡¯d do no good if I caused myself to suffer another backlash. Especially if I were on my own, in the middle of nowhere, with monsters about.


    With one eye attuned to the Watchful, and better aim than I¡¯d had months ago, the first two rocks went in and conked one of the snakes. It didn¡¯t move, but the other two wound up and slowly poked their heads out of the pit.


    I beat the first one with a stick. The second¡¯s head moved slowly in my direction and I hit it too. It¡¯s mouth opened in an exaggerated hiss. It sprung before I could get a bead on it. Dirt went everywhere, small rocks the size of peas flew all over my clothes. I dove back, scraping my bare ass against brush. The first one to poke it¡¯s head out lashed around but showed signs of slowing.


    The second turned to run away. I felt confused at the creature¡¯s flight only for a moment, then set about hitting it with rocks before getting close. Repeated pummeling with a stick put the small monster down. I hit the first one, then checked the initially dazed Rock Snake in the small pit. It didn¡¯t move either.


    They were hardly a challenge, even without markings. People with strength, typically bull based tattoos, could often pummel a monster blindly with more speed than I did. My advantage were being able to see where their bodies were, and the concentrations of ink. If they¡¯d been anything tougher, I could have lit the stick up with whatever random color came to mind and carve into them.


    I beat at them a few more times to ensure they weren¡¯t playing dead. Rock Snakes greatest strength, aside from durability compared to normal monsters, were their habit of not moving. They were stiff enough that I¡¯d confused them with an actual club and swung one at Dirt Rats, moments before it turned on me.


    Or maybe that hadn¡¯t been real. I still hadn¡¯t sorted out how much of my visions while in The Mountain¡¯s depths were actual events, as opposed to fevered imaginings brought on by being encased in ink.


    I contemplated what to do with the dead bodies. Leaving out monsters were frowned upon, but this weren¡¯t the mines. Delvers were near zealous about putting these critters back where they¡¯d come from. I only cared that they were dead.


    Once again I shifted. Lily¡¯s face flashed by, a younger girl who¡¯d yet to put on her first bra. Her smile captivated me. Then her body swirled and the sun dress around her turned into a thick red lace. A corset pushed up her bosom.


    ¡°That¡¯ll be ten dollars mister,¡± she said. Lily leaned in, providing a scandalous view that made me pant. ¡°And for an extra five I¡¯ll show you all the delights a lonely man might wish for on a winter¡¯s night.¡±


    I shook it off. Lily were gone from my life, whore or not. My original dream of getting momma away from The Mountain seemed further with every full moon, and I¡¯d lost myself to it¡¯s mechanisms.


    For a moment I fought the urge to howl.


    It¡¯d do no good. No one would hear me. I turned to pick up my clothes. They were a mess due to the Rock Snakes flailings.


    Momma would have my hide once I got home. Never mind that I¡¯d made Chandler¡¯s Field a bit safer, and likely saved someone¡¯s livestock. Fighting those creatures a few months ago would have taken more energy and planning. A hint of desperation and proper weapons. And I¡¯d bought these pants with my own funds.


    On I ambled, with less energy than before. My legs were killing me and it¡¯d take a day or two for them to get back to working order. Obsidian¡¯s damned exercises had been putting me to test.


    A time later I¡¯d made it to my dimly lit home. A single candle in the window by the porch served as a beacon to my weary body.


    ¡°How¡¯s your head?¡± momma asked.


    I put out a flattened hand and wobbled it back and forth.


    ¡°No good comes of losing yourself. What are we going to do if you can¡¯t undo that change one day? There¡¯s no marking tied to it. No way to control the power and turn it off and on.¡±


    One finger pressed deep into my forearm, causing a deep depression. I poked other spots on my body. This tattoo, marking, or whatever, weren¡¯t on the outside like most inks. This had been laced into my bones, deep down with hooks that went somewhere beyond the marrow.


    Momma shook her head then changed the subject by way of a wave at the bundle of clothes at my side.


    ¡°You take those mud riddled shirts and set them to one side. I¡¯ll have that girl of yours do the laundry when she gets back. Lord knows my fingers aren¡¯t what they used to be and it¡¯s getting cold out. She¡¯s got to earn her keep.¡±


    I frowned. Jenn weren¡¯t my girl. She¡¯d been avoiding me since I¡¯d started to shift. One day I¡¯d ask why, assuming she stayed around long enough for me to write out my query.


    ¡°I know she tends the field and the chickens, but she can¡¯t sew worth a damn and eats as much as she grows. Straight out of the field no less! We could have had twice the crop if she¡¯d simply stop chewing the new growth before it¡¯s had a chance to come up. Guess she can¡¯t help it being what she is.¡±


    The frown deepened. I¡¯d thought momma moved past the nonsense with hating changed races. Though I¡¯d come to suspect it had more to do with what daddy had almost been, rather than the races themselves. Where I¡¯d stayed functional and able to switch between forms, daddy hadn¡¯t.


    And apparently it¡¯d gone terribly wrong. Though every time I tried to get a complete story about it out of anyone, they hushed up. As if it somehow it were a taboo no one dared speak about.


    ¡°Oh hush,¡± momma said to my disapproving gaze. She waved. ¡°I swear, you can¡¯t say a lick and still talk to much. I¡¯ll be damned if I can figure out where my sweet boy went. You used to be such a kind child. Loved pies. Now you hardly look at them.¡±


    Then daddy died under now questionable circumstances. Then momma went into a mental comma and had been all but dead weight. Then I were throw into the mountain¡¯s heart and reborn as a half man half wolf creature.


    But here we were. Changed by a fate that I hadn¡¯t realized were unavoidable.


    Even now, I could see the faint outline of those black wings behind momma¡¯s back. Like a crow¡¯s, spread out all wide and stiff. Blown about only by the wind. They rarely moved and were near ghosts in their own right.


    ¡°Come on. We had enough change to buy some lamb from the Henders. Nice folks. Their daughter¡¯s been looking for a suitor. Maybe if you¡¯re,¡± momma turned away and walked inside. The door¡¯s swing open caused air to waft out, bringing with it a spice meat I hadn¡¯t tasted in ages.


    If I¡¯d had a tail still, it¡¯d be wagging.Whatever momma said became unimportant as I got my clothes in order and brushed the shoes off. Meat sounded delicious.


    I got myself cleaned quickly. Running about on four legs had left me with mud spots. We¡¯d be getting more rains soon, possibly some snow, being this close to Butcher Hills. The clouds got stuck up on those mountain tops and made it seem like God hisself were pissing down on The Mountain.


    This time of year had always been my favorite. The monsters were fewer due to the cold. They huddled inside Wellbrook, where heat and cold knew no reason but their own.


    I sat at the table in a loose pair of clothes. Momma prattled on and I spent most of the meal tuning her out. She told me about the towns folks, though they¡¯d hardly changed. Told me I¡¯d gotten some post at City Hall to come pick up, which I only vaguely cared about. Then she went on about how we¡¯d need more provisions for the upcoming winter. All of which went in one ear and out the other, until she hit on a subject that pulled me in.


    ¡°Now you listen to me. I know more than that shrew Cassandra would ever admit. I paid attention. Had to with my husband¡¯s life on the line, for all the good it did. But I knew things then and I know more now than ever.¡±


    My eyebrow lifted slowly.


    ¡°You think you¡¯re the only one who¡¯s been putting in time these last few months? Ever since I saw what they did to you. Made you into that hairy beast. But I¡¯ll tell you, we¡¯ve only ever had three hounds. All from your father¡¯s line.¡±


    I nodded then stared at an empty plate. There¡¯d been food there moments ago. Bits of lamb stuck between my teeth and I struggled to pick them out with a tongue.


    ¡°Your granddaddy, I¡¯d never met the man, but he¡¯d been onto something. But to hear your daddy talk about it, whatever it were had been too dangerous for his family to stick around. That¡¯s how I met your daddy. He¡¯d been sent to college on the coast, same year I¡¯d been.¡±


    The damn bit of meat wouldn¡¯t come out. I almost whimpered but oculdn¡¯t rightly make the sound.


    ¡°Listen up!¡± Momma slammed the table.


    My body jumped at the sudden noise. One ear began ringing.


    ¡°Not this time. I don¡¯t care what fool idea your daddy put in your head. I ain¡¯t being sent away. Not like what happened to your grandmomma. And if you have a boy, you raise him right and make sure he knows. Too much that your daddy didn¡¯t tell us, what because his daddy didn¡¯t tell him.¡±


    My eyes went out of focus as I tried to keep it all straight. She had a point. I wondered briefly about the man I¡¯d seen in that other place. The gruff fellow on the plains, fighting his endless war. The more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed that he¡¯d been my granddaddy.


    ¡°You hear me Chase?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Good.¡± Momma nodded back.


    I weren¡¯t entirely sure what I¡±d just agreed to. Momma grabbed the dishes while I replayed the conversation in my head. She¡¯d been saying that no matter what, I couldn¡¯t send her or anyone else away. That went against the promise I¡¯d made to daddy on his death bed.


    It also meant I¡¯d be stuck providing for her, thought that seemed like less of a concern now than it had been half a year ago. Momma were driven and focused. Whatever had happened to me, had lit a fire under momma to do her part. Whatever that part were.


    I¡¯d think more on it later. My stomach bugled from a hot meal. My legs were worn and head throbbed from the day¡¯s practice. I crawled into bed and ignored the messy state of my room.


    As my eyes closed, I held the blade and focused on green. Not the sickly dirt green of poisons that went with fresh beasts from the mine¡¯s depths. I dreamed of open fields, lush plants, and tall towering trees casting canopies that protected road weary souls from the overbearing sun.

 2 - Fire on the Farm

    My body jerked with a sudden abrupt sneeze. Blankets tangled around both legs and a dozen half jumbled thoughts displaced me from the room. I sneezed again before fully registering the third.


    ¡°Chase!¡± someone shouted.


    I rocked to one side and jerked a leg out of the twisted cloth.


    ¡°Chase, something¡¯s burning!¡± Momma¡¯s voice faded. A second later the door slammed hard enough to rock the house.


    Fire. Exhaustion pulled at me and I almost passed out on the floor. Each breath took serious effort. The air in my tiny room felt thick and heavy. A tingle crawled along my spine as the thought registered again.


    Fire. Something¡¯s burning.


    Weak hands pulled up for the window. I cracked it wider and a roar of heat seemed to reach across the fields toward my face. The world were too bright. Dark night sky bled into a orange ground. It were a familiar sight but I couldn¡¯t figure out why.


    I took slow breathes took measure of the problem. The flames were far enough away that we weren¡¯t in immediate danger. Jenn¡¯s garden and the livestock were on the other side of the house. We didn¡¯t have a river near enough and the well wouldn¡¯t supply enough water to stop the damage. At most it might save the side of our house if the fire got this far. We¡¯d been lucky to have rain the night before. Our summer had been long and dry.


    We¡¯d likely be fine but whatever lay in that direction might not fare as well. On the front door I went. On went the still muddy vest. I couldn¡¯t waste more time to figure out proper attire for a field aflame.


    I¡¯d hoped that we might be able to get some real livestock. More than a few chickens. I¡¯d hoped to one day complete the half built fence left behind by daddy. We could have fortified it and surely got a cow.


    Thinking of all the things that fire might take away filled my time. I ran, catching up with momma. She wore a night dress and her hair were already starting to mat from sweat.


    ¡°That¡¯s Jenn¡¯s old home. Sure it is. That fire¡¯s the exact same one that burned down her house before. We should be okay. It won¡¯t reach us here. There¡¯s that gully over there,¡± momma pointed to a long ditch that ran between our homes. ¡°That¡¯s the property line. Near as we ever got. Fire couldn¡¯t jump it last time. Won¡¯t jump it this time either.¡±


    Momma must not have believed that. She started breaking branches all along the small ravine. I stopped and helped her remove some brush. Anything that seemed like it might be used for a roaring fire to leap over to us were removed as quick as we could.


    I felt thankful that even in sleep I hadn¡¯t been able to drop the knife. Momma didn¡¯t even ask, and I didn¡¯t have the heart to explain that I kept it for comfort. Dreaming of a purer green and silver at night helped. I¡¯d never seen silver on my blade, but I believed one day I might.


    ¡°That one over there. Then those. That should be good enough. It took a few hours for the flame to burn over this far last go. When your daddy,¡± she drifted off.


    The last few bushes were hacked to pieces and the castoffs tossed as far onto our property as I could manage. Momma stood there, staring into the distance.


    ¡°I know what happened,¡± she said.


    I didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Go find that girl. Jenny.¡± My heart started to pound louder. Momma kept on going, ¡°Sure enough she¡¯ll be hiding out in the shed again. Whatever¡¯s left of the old thing. That¡¯s where she hid last time. Don¡¯t know why she¡¯d feel safe there, knowing what happened. Maybe she couldn¡¯t.¡±


    The rest of her prattling were lost as I leapt across the small gully. My ankle hit wrong and I rolled to one side. It didn¡¯t stop me. I got back up and activated the two Eyes. Darkness Ward and The Watchful. Whatever darkness survived the fire¡¯s light became useless. There were small critters running away. None of them had ink in their blood or bones.


    Jenn, I thought.


    The Flop had been avoiding me. She¡¯d burned down her house again. Those were related somehow. I knew it, sure as I knew that I¡¯d been lost in my own world since this whole mess began. But this, I remembered. That¡¯s why the fire looked familiar from my bedroom window. It¡¯d been the same years ago.


    Where¡¯s the shed? I couldn¡¯t remember. My marking would let me find Jenn without needing to know.


    I ran, as much as I could along uneven ground. Wilted grass gave way. The fire in the distance cracked. Sparks flew off, catching new growth aflame. The fire ate slowly grew.


    If Jenn had survived the first fire, then daddy had got to her fast enough or it were far enough away to be safe. I couldn¡¯t risk it and the extra light kept interfering with my other sights. Switching back and forth while  being exhausted made my head spin. Dreaming of green hadn¡¯t helped.


    Overgrown fields were all around. Fruit trees hung in awkward clumps. Dead apples littered the grass from a late season. The bones of the house that had overgrown with ivy served as tinder for the bonfire. It looked like someone had piled even more broken boards into the home to make the spectacle even larger.


    None of that helped me find Jenn. I circled around the house in hopes that she¡¯d be a nearby. Sure enough, on the other side of the house I found the Flop screaming. Rust fur flickered a sharper red than normal as the final remains of a dilapidated home continued to burn.


    She stared at the mess that had been her childhood home. I stopped a few dozen feet away and wondered what the hell to do next. Jenn weren¡¯t in immediate danger, but this fire might get out of hand soon. Momma had been wrong. There were bushes and shrubs everywhere. The reason this fire might have been okay last time were more about a farmer tending his land.


    Closer to the still Flop I went. Her body had frozen, like a statue of herself. I lifted my fingers and wiggled them. Jenn¡¯s gaze lifted in dead jerks. Like a puppet without strings or some sightless beast from The Mountain.


    She stared at me.


    Both forefingers crooked to question her.


    Her nose twitched. I couldn¡¯t figure out how to ask if she were okay, but I pointed slowly to her then the fire and between the two.


    Jenn simply stared.


    I checked the damage to see if it were encroaching on us. We had minutes, maybe. The speed of fire were outside my understanding. I¡¯d only seen a few near the mines and those were controlled.


    My throat felt drier than at home. I coughed then pointed at her. She continued to gaze at me without even a twitch.


    One foot lifted and forward I stepped. Wood crackled then burst into splinters.


    Jenn shuddered violently, turned toward the fire, and screamed. My shoulders bunched. ¡°I burned it. I¡¯d burn it down a dozen times more! With him in it! That stupid fool. His foul smell. His drunken breathe. I can¡¯t get it out of my head!¡±


    She spit an endless stream at the house until I¡¯d felt sure she¡¯d have nothing left.


    The fire grew closer. I took another step forward, intent on picking up the tiny woman and dragging her away if needed.


    She turned toward me.


    ¡°I fucking hate you!¡± she stomped her feet back and forth in a rapid pitter-patter of useless defiance. ¡°I hate you. I hate you.¡±


    Down to her knees she went. I stepped closer because nothing else made a lick of sense. Jenn¡¯s were still lifeless but her voice cracked.


    ¡°I hate you, Chase. I hate you.¡±


    Life¡¯d never taught me how to respond to that. Even if my voice worked, there were no words. All I could think were that momma would have my hide over this, on top of the ruined clothes. Assuming our house didn¡¯t burn to the ground.


    ¡°I hate you, but you¡¯re all I have.¡±


    Jenn fell on me, sobbing wildly. My hands went slowly around her back. She had on a bare slip of a shirt and pants that felt like they¡¯d burn quickly if that heat got to us. I turned her slightly so that no sparks would jump over and destroy what little she had.


    ¡°Why do you get to go back? Why can¡¯t I be me again?¡±


    There it were. What she¡¯d been upset over. Flops were stuck as monsters, along with Delvers and Felines. But not me. I¡¯d told Cassandra once before that Flops and the other races didn¡¯t bother me. Not from a dislike sort of meaning. But they made me sad. They couldn¡¯t help what they¡¯d been made.


    She kept on blubbering, repeating herself uselessly.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t right,¡± she said at last, before going silent.


    Jenn¡¯s eyes were still dead. Her face a mess. I picked her up, gentle as I could and didn¡¯t get a kick in the balls. Jenn hardly weighed anything, and Obsidians exercises over the last few months had helped me build some muscle. Enough to carry a waif back to bed.


    My ankle hurt but we cleared the fire well enough. Jenn hadn¡¯t been out of her mind entirely. There were signs that she¡¯d made breakpoints to keep it controlled, though where she¡¯d learned to do so I didn¡¯t recall. I barely could get a fire going before working with Obsidian, and even now it took me a moment.


    The trip back were less rushed. Momma said nothing but stared at the tiny girl in my arms. Or woman, depending on how one remembered her. Jenn.


    I stared at momma and wiggled a finger in a questioning crook.


    She shook her head. There were no answers to the works I couldn¡¯t ask and the dead of night couldn¡¯t be the right time. Maybe there were a way to help her. Maybe there weren¡¯t. We had all the magic in the world but nothing seemed capable of removing The Mountain¡¯s taint.


    Back I went, carefully setting down the exhausted Flop onto the bed. I pulled the blanket I¡¯d had trapped around my legs over her then went back to keep an eye on the burning home. Momma stared off, arms around her sides to fight the cold.


    I couldn¡¯t bring myself to send her back to the house. It weren¡¯t my place to tell her what to do.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    With enough dirt, time, and a lucky rainfall, the remains of Jenn¡¯s home sputtered out. I kicked over ashes and ground out embers. By the end of the night I had even less energy than before, but felt sure that nothing else would happen.


    Momma stayed through it all, ignoring the rain and keeping an out.


    I pulled off the vest and passed it over. She barely noticed.


    ¡°So much has changed,¡± she said.


    Home we went, and I put aside my questions for a time when we both rested and could see. Starlight made writing down questions difficult, and reading them more so.


    Jenn snored and kicked one foot. I put the kicked off blanket over her then found a chair to nap in. By the time I woke up, both girls were gone and my chance for questions had passed.


    Typical.


    I¡¯d woken up later in the day than expected. Obsidian had told me to go see Cassandra today, which meant I¡¯d need to get a move on. My clothes were cleaned, which meant they¡¯d seen me and decided to let me rest. Likely Jenn didn¡¯t want to deal with my fingers wiggling at her, and momma had to be out in the same place she¡¯d been vanishing to for months, where ever that were.


    Fresh clothes went on. My old ones were set aside. I surveyed the damage from last night and found that one of our other neighbors a mile away had also stopped to visit. I couldn¡¯t remember his name. The man had a gut that bulged out a mile and arms that were even thicker.


    ¡°Chase.¡± He tipped a wide brimmed hat at me.


    I waved back.


    ¡°Some fire last night. Saw you had it under control. Thanks for that.¡±


    A fire that large wouldn¡¯t be completely ignored. Not out here. Brush fires to clear land were advertised to ensure everyone wouldn¡¯t panic. Especially within sight of The Mountain, where a burning field might cause monsters to run amok.


    ¡°Saw you carrying Jennifer out. This was her folks home right? Seen her squatting out here sometimes.¡± He glanced at me then back to the fire. Both arms crossed as he pondered what to say next. ¡°She okay?¡±


    I shrugged then bobbed my head. Jenn¡¯s physical wellbeing seemed fine. Her mind though, I¡¯d worried about that off and on for years.


    ¡°None of my business I suppose. Mister Craig told me that it was an accident last time. Suppose it was an accident this time too.¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°We were lucky. You tell little Jennifer to be careful with the next accident. I like my fields as they are and a wildfire won¡¯t do anyone any good. Or at least give us a bit of warning. Sent my horses into a near fit. Thought we had a bobcat on the loss, or worse.¡±


    He had a point.


    I nodded then gave my best reassuring smile.


    The neighbor left and I felt thankful I¡¯d stayed up most of the night to make sure the fire went out for good. It also helped that other people nearby seemed concerned for Jenn¡¯s wellbeing. Though I suspected this event would end up being the gossip of the town for at least a week.


    I did a lap around the home again to make sure nothing had been missed. The floorboards were utterly destroyed, both by the first fire, years of exposure, then the second. It said something of the craftsmanship that it¡¯d survived this long. I wondered if my own home would withstand the same level of damage, should it come to that.


    A problem for another time. One where I might have the luxery of time to build a proper fence, money to spare, and God knew what else.


    On I went to town, moving slowly but steadily. It wouldn¡¯t do to run there on all fours with a bundle of clothes, and truthfully I weren¡¯t up to that much hustling around. My legs hurt worse today than yesterday. Pain lanced up from my foot with every other step.


    Chandler¡¯s Field were hours away by foot. I made it as the sun started it¡¯s decent. Cassandra¡¯s homested were a bit north of the town. I¡¯d hoped to find a cart headed out that way and save myself walking.


    Instead, Derek Lake, a man who mostly thought of as Ducky, found me.


    Ducky had become and official Ranger. Or a trainee, because they apparently didn¡¯t consider anyone full fledged until they¡¯d survived a year or two of doing the job. Rangers like Hardwood probably wouldn¡¯t consider someone like Ducky to be a real Ranger, even if he died as the hardest man to ever delve The Mountain¡¯s depths.


    I turned my path away from town, straight toward Cassandra¡¯s homestead. Finding a ride played second fiddle to escaping Ducky.


    Of course not, I thought as Ducky jogged over. He wore a smirk that only stuck up pricks and rich lords from the Empire wore, though I¡¯d never seen real nobles before. I suspected they looked like Ducky but with finer clothes and puffed up chests.


    ¡°Where you headed Chase?¡± Ducky asked.


    I¡¯d hated speaking to Ducky before losing my voice. Derek Lake had never been on my list of friend,s even when I¡¯d been little and the world felt full of possibilities.


    I pointed off toward the crossroads.


    ¡°Off to see the Tattooist then?¡±


    Hiding what I knew were different than lying. Plus if I said yes, maybe Ducky would shut up and leave me be.


    I nodded.


    ¡°I just came from there. Cassandra told me I¡¯m going to go back east. Traveling with some of the Rangers to gather the dead from New York.¡± He threw up his hands in joy. ¡°You believe it? Me, going to the biggest city we got. Ain¡¯t never been further then down the Mississippi. That asshole Obsidian said I¡¯d make a fool of myself, but to hell with him.¡±


    Ducky turned out to be as chatty as momma. I tried not to imagine him quacking away happily but couldn¡¯t stop myself from interjecting the noise.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be taking the rail back. There¡¯ll be less Ranger¡¯s here on the full moon next week. You¡¯ll have to actually do some work.¡±


    I wanted to walk quicker but couldn¡¯t find the energy. Desperation to get away from Ducky¡¯s prattling couldn¡¯t outweigh the dire need for rest. I¡¯d have to ask about getting a real green marking soon, and what the possible side effects might be. Assuming anyone actually knew what markings might do on a Hound. Apparently there were no guidebooks.


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll even find a real woman there.¡±


    My eyes fluttered briefly.


    ¡°You ain¡¯t one to talk. Not that you could. Hah, I should call myself a prophet. The great mute Hound of Butcher Hills. All bite, no bark.¡±


    I stopped and lifted a fist. My back twitched and The Watchful activated, showing me every inch of his markings. Three now, along with a twisted arm that were like my Rainbow drop, but worse. Ducky had his own tattoo and it felt like ages since we¡¯d fought.


    He smiled that asshole smile and kept talking.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean anything by it. No point in us feuding up and down the mines anymore. We¡¯ve both moved on to better things. Besides, you wouldn¡¯t be here if men from the mountain didn¡¯t go out to find fresh blood.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t figure out Ducky were being crude or simply factual. Probably a mixture of both. It didn¡¯t matter. He¡¯d said he were leaving for weeks at least, that meant I¡¯d be freer of his prattle than normal.


    The truth of it were simple. Despite my desire to send Ducky on his way with a black eye, the best answer would be not to fight at all. He hadn¡¯t insulted me, spoken the truth. My parents had taught me a lot over the years. Much of it proved useless, but I felt sure that neither one would approve of me fighting a man because he were right.


    Ducky¡¯s smirk faded briefly and he backed up. I took that a sign of retreat and felt somewhat better.


    ¡°You remember my parents?¡± he asked.


    I did, in a sense. Though we¡¯d never been officially introduced. I¡¯d seen two folks that I assumed to be his family. They were Wildlings, leaders of their group or something close. They¡¯d been the first to tell me what the black swirls on my fingertips meant.


    Heartseeker. I wonder if they ever told Ducky what that means.


    ¡°They been telling me stories. When I can see them. The other Rangers don¡¯t like that I consort with Wildlings but my pop has so much information. Stuff that not even Cassandra knows about. Secret ways into The Mountain. Knowledge of the inks.¡±


    The other Rangers didn¡¯t seem to like of anything. They were a disapproving lot, but hard workers. Still, Rangers were a far cry from the heroes I¡¯d been told about as a child.


    ¡°My pop, says he has something for you too. Wanted me to tell you to come visit on a new moon. When you can.¡±


    I nodded. The message had been delivered. Now I had yet another errand to find time for. Though maybe a twisted Wildling who knew my granddaddy might have something useful to tell me. Cassandra might too, if I dared ask her. Something about the Tattooist worried me though.


    Those black wings, for one. I didn¡¯t feel safe sharing everything I knew with her. That meant I couldn¡¯t share with the Rangers, since they were close knit despite arguments. It also meant I couldn¡¯t share everything with momma, since she somehow had been tied to Cassandra.


    Too many damn questions. Not enough answers.


    ¡°Anyway. Glad to finally catch you. Cassandra said you¡¯d be by today, and I¡¯ll be gone tomorrow, so this worked out. Next stop Bell Town, then down to the river. I haven¡¯t been on a boat in years!¡±


    I glared at Ducky. He smiled like a self righteous lord who got candy while the rest of us peasants were stuck with salt. Or they smiled like him. I¡¯d find out one day and probably still detest his face.


    ¡°Be seeing you Chase!¡± Off Ducky went.


    My chest heaved in a slow sigh. Holding a grudge against him were pointless, and he¡¯d delivered me a possible ray of hop. On top of that, my dislike for him had become nearly one sided. Since being kicked into the Mountain by Kenneth, and he¡¯d become a Ranger and I a Hound, Derek were disturbingly friendly. Like he¡¯d gotten what he wanted, I¡¯d gotten something good, and there were no reason to fight or be jealous.


    I envied him the ability to move on. That ability served as yet another blessing that other people had and I didn¡¯t. Feeling upset about that got chased by another thought.


    Why do you get to go back? Jenn had asked.


    For all the things I didn¡¯t have, there were plunety I¡¯d been given without expecting. Markings that could let me see monsters. A higher calling I still didn¡¯t rightfully understand. The ability to look and pass for human.


    Jenn didn¡¯t have that.


    I pulled out my paper and scrawled a question across it. I wrote. Can we do anything to change people back?


    That¡¯s what I really wanted to know. Enough to actually ask the question instead of simply watching and waiting for answers. Daddy had been a man of action, and I¡¯d been one at times too, but becoming a Hound, learning my markings, figuring out a place in with the Rangers had taken time. Especially upon becoming a hairy dog creature.


    I felt sure enough about my place and abilities to move past that. Last night with Jenn told me I¡¯d been past due to go forward with life. It¡¯d taken her burning down her house a second time and Obsidian being near dead.


    Ducky clearly were moving on.


    On I went, toward Cassandra¡¯s. Once I knew what she wanted, I¡¯d have a better idea on what to do next.


    Somewhat north of the crossroads were a line of trees with colored ribbons bound around them. They served as Cassandra¡¯s flag on the road, and anyone in the know could follow them in to find the Tattooist¡¯s house.


    A half mile in her dogs found me, well before I caught sight of the house. They wove a circle around me and yipped excitedly. I kept both hands off my weapons and scratched any mutts coming close. They fought each other and licked wildly.


    Wading through the dogs had taken courage the first few times. Now, I were practically one of them.


    In a way, that¡¯s exactly what the truth had been. I¡¯d wondered and attempted to clearly ask Cassandra multiple times about using one of her Hounds as a sort of sacrifice. She¡¯d refused to illuminate the issue beyond that first night where she¡¯d all but spilled her guts to momma.


    And I couldn¡¯t help but get distracted. Cassandra had a way about her where focusing on anything but what she wanted to talk about proved difficult. Jenn had called her a siren. Said I¡¯d been charmed.


    I blamed the dress and her voice. It might have been something about her control over the ink. Maybe it were more about not having been with a woman since Lily left.


    A spicy mixture made my nose tingle. She smelled like ground sour apple. It hung in the air, overpowering scores of near wild dogs. I narrowed my eyes and relied on a sense of smell and hearing to figure out Cassandra¡¯s position. The tattooist laughed lightly then moved steadily closer.


    ¡°Chase Craig. Still a funny boy.¡±


    The question had to be asked before her dress or voice caught me with it¡¯s hypnotic powers. I held up the note in her direction then let my opens open the rest of the way. Momma would call it rude, but I didn¡¯t care.


    She glanced at the words then lifted her eyes to meet my gaze. Cassandra stared at me.


    Seemed like folks were doing that a lot. Holding their thoughts tightly behind clasped lips and an unblinked gaze. Everyone knew more than they¡¯d ever say, and asking even a single question took work. I couldn¡¯t let muteness stop me.


    Well fuck them. They had their plans and wants. I had my own.


    If I couldn¡¯t get momma away from The Mountain because of some higher calling. If life had conspired to put me on a fools quest for some bit of magic, then so be it. But I¡¯d help Jenn. That were my decision, with whatever power remained to me as a main with too many masters.


    ¡°You want to free someone from the mountain?¡±


    I nodded then swayed as her dress fluttered. The dogs knocked it around making the swaying motion more pronounced. My eyes felt heavy and tongue dry.


    ¡°Silver. That¡¯s what the stories say, from the Tower of Night, to the Lake of Galahad, down south and up north, the answer¡¯s always the same. Silver, only silver, releases us from where we¡¯ve been touched.¡±


    Silver, I thought. That were an answer.


    Only she¡¯d sent me chasing a legend. No one had ever seen silver, and I¡¯d only seen it once in my life. When lowering my daddy down into The Mountain¡¯s heart. The day he returned to where we¡¯d all have to go.


    Silver. Of course it¡¯d be silver.


    The Delvers might know. Harold had been in the mines as long as anyone still alive. If there were any truth to finding such an elusive color, he¡¯d know.


    ¡°You intent on finding some?¡± she asked. The dogs yipped and ran in a circle that were dizzying.


    I nodded.


    ¡°You want to be free of being our Hound?¡±


    I nodded then shook my head slowly. Then it registered I¡¯d answered her questions without so much as a second thought. Were her mutts moving around us of their own volition or had she hypnotized them too? My body rocked slowly as they surged about us.


    Cassandra smiled. ¡°No. Not you. Not our little Mercenary Hound. Men who fight for money always have someone to send it to. You want someone else to be free.¡±


    I said nothing and managed to hold myself still. My eyes were locked on hers. I couldn¡¯t quiet figure out their color. Her dress, the dogs, that scent in my nose, yet how did she do that without a lick of ink on her skin?


    Is it the wings?


    There they sat around her shoulders, spread wide like a stuffed crow. What then, could momma do if she tried?


    The question chilled me.

 3 - Ink on the Dead

    ¡°A goal is good to have,¡± she said then turned away but continued speaking. ¡°Goals focus the mind. Clears away the muck. There¡¯s enough dirt between people¡¯s ears as it is.¡±


    The dogs charged off into the distance. Both legs surged with energy and I almost lost myself chasing with them. One hand locked against a tree and kept me upright.


    I fought to regain breath. My chest worked slowly and sweat dripped down the nap of my neck. Cassandra ignored it all, headed back to her home and likely expecting me to follow.


    Fool I, went after her. Thoughts muddled together like they always did in her presence. Before becoming a Hound, it had been her dress and voice. Now it were the smell. Apples. Honey suckle. Field flowers in full bloom, sweet and enticing.


    Would silver free me from her mechanisms? If inks¡¯ magic is based on color, then what on Earth could a hue said to be purer than any other, do?


    Asking the question I had, and getting an answer, were more than enough risk with Cassandra. Until I understood what those wings were all about, and how it related to my dream of flying hawks stealing treasures from heaven, I¡¯d keep my few secrets close.


    ¡°Well, come on.¡±


    I¡¯d been going after her already, but apparently not fast enough.


    The home itself had been assembled from simple wood. There were storerooms outside that I knew housed dried inks of all colors. The tattooist didn¡¯t seem to fear anyone trying to rob her, and with a mess of well trained dogs and a hypnotic presence, she had security few could measure up to.


    ¡°We¡¯re having a sit down inside,¡± Cassandra said.


    The kitchen had a few dishes and a running water that must have come from below the house somehow. I could see tings of blue inks mixed with a bit of green somehow being used as plumbing. I had half a mind to figure out such a setup in my own home, but the cost of using ink as plumbing would be more than any simple marking. It¡¯d taken me an age to save up for one, which had also turned out to be pointless.


    Turned out, Cassandra also had another guest. One of the other Ranger¡¯s I¡¯m come to know over the last few months stood inside her house sipping a spiced tea.


    ¡°Brat,¡± Tawny said.


    My head dipped in a nod.


    I liked him more than Obsidian, but that meant little. He¡¯d disapproved me me joining their ranks in any form, or being privy to the secrets of The Mountain. I suspected Rangers as a whole hated anyone new.


    Tawny¡¯s body took sunken to a new level. His gaunt skin pulled over sharp bones. Under his clothes were markings made of skulls and gravestones. What they did I¡¯d still never learned, aside from keeping him frail. Despite limbs that seemed like they could snap at any moment, Tawny were capable of handling himself against monsters.


    I¡¯d seen him raise the corpses and make them fight their comrades once. I hoped one day to unsee it. There were things in this world that weren¡¯t right, and knowing the dead could be controlled after their expiration were one of them.


    ¡°Done staring?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Curiosity is good for a Hound.¡±


    ¡°Curiosity gets a Ranger killed. We value preparation.¡±


    I snorted which made Tawny¡¯s gaze go flatter than normal. He shook it off then sighed.


    ¡°Suppose it¡¯s for the best that it¡¯s not my say so. Obsidian says you¡¯re denser than a cow with rocks for brains.¡±


    My lip pulled back. Cassandra handed me a teacup. I held onto it, savoring the warmth but not sipping. The smells from earlier came from this tea. I lifted an eyebrow and hoped they¡¯d get on with their reason for this conversation. So far we¡¯d started with hypnosis, an answer, and an insult.


    ¡°Your companion Derek is headed to New York to pick up some returnees. The problem will be on the way back.¡±


    ¡°People have been intercepting the dead,¡± she clarified for Tawny.


    Dead Flops, Felines, and Delvers all had to come back to The Mountain for their burial. Though it were less a burial and more like throwing them back into an ink pool on the full moon. Most of those dead were deposited without regard for the person they¡¯d been in life. Humans with markings had to come back too. Some were treated with respect, as I¡¯d tried to do for my daddy after he passed. It also served as the only time I remembered seeing silver as an ink.


    ¡°We can¡¯t have that,¡± Cassandra said.


    I nodded, then shook my head. It were hard to guess how they¡¯d take either response.


    Tawny set down his cup. ¡°What¡¯s that mean?¡±


    Messing with the dead ain¡¯t right, I thought then wrote it down.


    He didn¡¯t bother reading my scrawl. ¡°Pah.¡± Tawny waved me off then turned to Cassandra. ¡°You got any markings in that Bible of yours that might fix his voice?¡±


    ¡°None you¡¯d want him to have,¡± she said with a smile.


    His lips curled.


    ¡°No I suppose not. How about any of the other tattooists? Unke. Or Blair at Bell Town? What about that fool from Mississipi, Tom, Thomas.¡± He snapped his fingers and gazed out a window in thought.  ¡°Timothy?¡±


    ¡°Tibbers,¡± Cassandra said. ¡°And no. Other¡¯s are all too noisy. They¡¯d ask why, or insist on doing the markings personally. Then they¡¯d know we¡¯ve got ourselves a Hound again. Bad enough we have to rely on them to watch the port towns.¡±


    ¡°Right. We wouldn¡¯t be in this mess if it weren¡¯t for them failing to do their jobs.¡±


    I didn¡¯t entirely follow the conversation. Over the last few months and from mutterings, I got the impression that not every Tattooist or Ranger were on the same team. Which went contrary to what I¡¯d been raised to believe as a child. That Rangers fought back the monsters and Tattooists gave them the magic to do so.


    Life, it turned out, were rarely black and white.


    Tawny sighed. ¡°Even if we did find something, he¡¯d end up with another cost. But what¡¯s the use of a mutt that can¡¯t bark?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re wife is less a fool than you. She knows a dog that can¡¯t bark is the best kind. No one ever hears them. Not surprising she saw the voice effect coming a mile away.¡±


    ¡°That Lake brat saw it.¡±


    Ducky had seen nothing.


    ¡°He has an advantage,¡± Cassandra defended me.


    I wanted to know why but felt that interrupting their conversation might make her take longer to get to the point. She wanted me to do something, involving the dead bodies that came back. They¡¯d wanted Ducky to do the same. Were it because we were special?


    It felt obvious after a moment of thought.


    It¡¯s because we¡¯re new.


    ¡°That why you sent him with the others?¡±


    Cassandra said nothing to Tawny¡¯s question, but her eyes flickered toward me then back to him. He took the hint and went back to his tea.


    I wanted to know more but decided to save some questions for Derek¡¯s father. It¡¯d likely all make more sense once I asked someone outside of Cassandra¡¯s circle. Though clearly she also know about the secrets Ducky had. I filed away the other tattooist names, along with the rest of their conversation, as pieces to a larger puzzle.


    Puzzles like this were annoying. I didn¡¯t want to pick at them. I didn¡¯t want to dwell on all the maybes and missed details that I¡¯d been too distracted to get. For me, I functioned best with orders. Go to the mines. Earn money. Go kill monsters. Earn more money. Reality were simpler if I focused on what needed to be done and nothing more.


    What do you need me to do? I wrote.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be going to Bell Town. There you¡¯ll get a job on the docks. Get to know Corso. Check the whore houses. Anything seedy down there is likely part of the problem.¡±


    I wrinkled my forehead.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to be a thug. You¡¯re going down there to have the lay of the land and simply be a set of eyes no one knows about.¡± Tawny almost looked cheerful. A skull under his shirt, made of yellow ink, did shift to a toothless smile. I found myself forcing my eyes away from the grinning tattoo that any normal person wouldn¡¯t be able to see.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have two months. You¡¯ll come back on the full moons. New moons too. Excuse is you¡¯ve failed the Ranger test, quit the mines, and are looking for regular work closer to home. All for Widow Craig.¡±


    That wouldn¡¯t be too far from the truth. I nodded.


    ¡°The best lies are ones that don¡¯t require a ounce of fibbing. You aren¡¯t a Ranger. You aren¡¯t working at the mines anymore. And you¡¯ll need to earn some money. We can¡¯t keep paying for your expenses. Not even trainee Rangers get us to pay their bills for them.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s been earning money by fighting the spawn. That¡¯s enough for a first year.¡±


    ¡°He was given a warriors mark. He used half a pristine heart, which could have been fed into a dozen other markings. Plus he stole a rainbow drop.¡±


    Cassandra smiled at Tawny. ¡°He earned the mark. For three favors. And only after his test. And anyone could have been touched by a drop.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re excuses to test him are nothing. And don¡¯t get my started on your bullshit favors. Even Connie knows they¡¯re a ruse.¡±


    I blinked slowly. It hadn¡¯t felt like a ploy at the time. It¡¯d felt like I¡¯d owe her my life and then some. Maybe it¡¯d been a bit of hypnosis like everything else about Cassandra.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. He owes me two more,¡± Cassandra said.


    Her words didn¡¯t stop the scrawny man. He lifted a finger then wagged it. ¡°And those that touch the drops normally die. He should be happy enough to live after that. Bad enough I had to talk the Clerics down. They wanted to take his hand.¡±


    That were the first I¡¯d heard of that. To my knowledge, I¡¯d gotten away without a lick of trouble aside from the chaotic marking and frequently feeling like my arm were on fire.


    ¡°Why are you so set on making this difficult?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Because we don¡¯t need a Hound!¡± Tawny shouted. The teacup banged on the table and a chip of porcelain cracked off the rim. ¡°You and my fool wife think we need to pull continue some archaic tradition that hasn¡¯t worked for the empire. It hasn¡¯t worked for our last two Hounds, and even if it does, God will strike this place down!¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Silence engulfed the room. My heart thudded louder than either of them breathing. For a moment the marking on my hand warmed up and I were reliving the dream. One where angelic birds of black stole from the heavens. Down poured lightning, scarring the landscape. Down came the other birds, made of gold.


    ¡°We need a Hound. Not just for the source, but because others aren¡¯t doing their jobs.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t need them.¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll agree to disagree, and you¡¯ll abide by my decision beucase you¡¯ve got no right to argue.¡±


    Tawny¡¯s lips tightened and he fingered the cup¡¯s broken edge. ¡°A quirk of blood. That¡¯s all you are. That¡¯s all he is. Blood don¡¯t make you better than us.¡±


    ¡°Makes us what we need to be.¡±


    I fought to keep my fingers from flexing with question marks. They¡¯d done well enough carrying on the conversation without me. I checked my markings briefly and realized that I¡¯d habitually activated the Hidden Soul eye.


    Does that somehow make me harder to notice?


    I knew it helped me avoid monsters of ink, or at least, it had during my time of changing.


    Tawny stared at me, dispelling the nonsensical idea. They¡¯d known I were here the whole time, but chose to bring up a clearly ongoing disagreement.


    ¡°A few days from now, well after your friend¡¯s got on the boat across the river and on his train, you¡¯ll go to Bell Town. You¡¯ll find a job on the docks. And you¡¯ll work your ass off to get onto any crew that unloads cargo. You¡¯ll need to Corso for that, he runs most of the rackets down there, including smuggling. If anyone¡¯s diverting dead bodies, Corso will know. If he ain¡¯t doing it himself.¡±


    I nodded slowly.


    Tawny left the room without finishing the rest of his tea.


    Mine drink grew cold. I stared at the chair long after he¡¯d gone and wondered exactly how all this had been put on my shoulders. The Ranger¡¯s views on me had shifted slowly over the last few months. Tawny started apologetic, upset, and turned into a bundle of anger that I¡¯d even become a Hound. Cassandra seemed focused upon my use to her, and every other word out of her mouth were suspect.


    ¡°May need another mark for you.¡± She glanced at the teacup that Tawny left behind. Her head shook slowly. ¡°May not be a good idea. What you had before hasn¡¯t changed much, but anything after?¡±


    My shoulders lifted. I didn¡¯t know what else to do about the situation. There were a mile more markings that anyone could get, and in theory they¡¯d eventually be overloaded then transform into one of the other races. I didn¡¯t know what would happen if I overloaded as a Hound.


    Might be nothing. Maybe I could wear every marking known to man, though each would come with aside effect. Or one more would make me unable to return to being human. Momma had given me a list of terrible possibilities and becoming a mutt permanently were one of the major ones.


    ¡°Connie given you any ideas?¡±


    Connie were my momma¡¯s first name. Hardly anyone but Cassandra used it. Nearly everyone called her Widow Craig, on account of my daddy being dead. Momma has once said my hands were practically two pieces of the same puzzle, whatever that meant.


    Both hands came up and rocked back and forth until they found an equilibrium.


    ¡°Balance. Of course. That¡¯s why the eyes worked. That¡¯s why the Heart Seeker and Wildling Touch haven¡¯t broken you yet. But I have to wonder if your body knew and shaped it, fate played a part, or we just got lucky?¡±


    Lucky. I wrote on the pad of paper.


    She read it then snorted.


    ¡°Live long enough Chase, and you¡¯ll learn there¡¯s no such thing.¡± She¡¯d been the one to say luck first, not me. Felt stupid for her to contradict herself but maybe Cassandra weren¡¯t all-knowing either. ¡°Everything¡¯s up to fate. Ordained if you will, though I don¡¯t like the thought.¡±


    What did that say about me then? Cassandra might be foolish enough to believe a higher power had plans, and given my visions, she might be right. But being a Hound didn¡¯t seem like a planned thing, at least not by some higher power. It were more like some people got together and said ¡°let¡¯s try it¡±. I¡¯d seen miners do the same thing a dozen times with their dice games. It were all a roll.


    ¡°Balance then. Something with two points. Or three. Doesn¡¯t leave us much to work with. Could do the staffs like Ash. Fire and ice. Might be more powerful if we align them with their extremes. Or they might go wild.¡±


    I hated markings. I¡¯d grown up thinking there were a sort of science to them, which had been a wrong assumption. They were literally an art. But in design and application. That, along with my old black and white view of the world, were slowly being replaced by reality. Daddy were a failed Hound. Momma knew more about markings that I¡¯d ever suspected.


    And Jenn hates me.


    The last thought rung in my ears long enough to miss what Cassandra were on about. She had a book down from her a shelf.


    ¡°With a hint of azure we could enhance the eyes. Maybe something a bit more eastern. A pyramid? Been an age since I¡¯ve made one of those markings.¡± She shook her head. ¡°No, no good¡¯s ever come out of them. Cursed marks, every one. With your line¡¯s twist, it¡¯d be worse I¡¯m sure. Unless you¡¯re secretly a king. You a king?¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°Course not. A strange kid, but not royalty.¡±


    She continued musing over her book, flipping through page after page then discarding the item presented. On she went to the next book.


    Green, I wrote.


    ¡°That¡¯s a thought. Maybe somethings with a hint of endurance. Something paired? Or we could mix two. One gives, one takes away. Though those are a danger to the user.¡±


    She swirled the dressed and sat down with her latest book, flipping through a list of weapons. I sat down too and flipped through the pages. I¡¯d never actually pursued a open listing of markings like this before. There were all sorts, and the notes written along the edges were tiny and hard to read.


    ¡°Be careful with that. It¡¯s almost worth more than you.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know how much that meant it were actually worth in dollars. I¡¯d been paid by the barrel in my prior job and Cassandra seemed to value Hounds at a high premium. I carefully turned the pages. At least Cassandra had an edge over Poss, she¡¯d likely demand I put the book down then go wash my hands.


    This section had a bunch of faces. Expressions that changed the users mood. Smiles, smirks, frowns, angry growls. There were some formulas up on the sides that might have meant something to an actual tattooist. I skipped a chunk of pages to another section. These were all sorts of flowers. Some of the flowers would create scents that played different roles. One enticed flies to the user. On the opposite page were a plant with sharp teeth and a fat head. The scrawled notes said this one would keep all sorts of bugs away from the user. There were notes about ink amounts and bars on the bottom. If I were reading it right, they were a sort of mixture.


    ¡°Here. See these?¡±


    Cassandra leaned over and pointed a two spots on either page.


    ¡°These bars show how much of a serving each marking can take. There¡¯s a bit of wiggle room there depending on the size of the person. Bigger markings will draw more power. Same sized markings on two people of different builds will put them toward thresholds at different times. But I¡¯ve seen short people get a herd of oxen on their back and walk away.¡±


    My eyebrows tightened. That sounded awfully complicated.


    ¡°Your momma could tell you. Got her own book somewhere, with her own studies. She started learning an age ago, back when she first came back with your dad.¡±


    I wondered why Cassandra were being forthcoming. She¡¯d always struck me as woman who kept her secrets close to her chest. I looked up at her. She seemed to read my mind or expression and smiled. It were the kindest smile I¡¯d ever seen out of the devious woman.


    ¡°Not a secret. Not exactly. But since your marks are, harder, it¡¯ll help for you to know some of the basic. But the truth is no matter how much I¡¯ve measured, me or any other, it¡¯s never exact. There¡¯s something more we can¡¯t pin down that impacts how each mark twists.¡±


    My head bobbed like it made sense. It sort of did, but at the same point this were all utterly new. Cassandra went back to her perusing while I flipped through, searching for pictures that were at least interesting.


    There were one of a Blink Hound.


    ¡°Spirit animals. Won¡¯t work for you though on account of you needing a balance. Unless we put a two headed dog on your ass,¡± she laughed at her own joke.


    I didn¡¯t share her amusement. The idea of dog heads on my butt cheeks were revolting.


    ¡°Could do two smaller ones. But all spirits are big marks. Or heavy. They have to be to get a lick of sense out of them. Though Unke, she¡¯s down the river a ways, makes a living giving people tiny pets. Small handheld spirit animals that can hardly lift up a sheet of paper. Charges a premium to make them a bit smarter. Can you imagine? A cat that fits in your palm. A dog that¡¯ll never grow bigger.¡±


    Cassandra had more than enough dogs. Puppies were cute and all but I imagine that after the tenth or twelfth litter that dogs would be a headache. I had yet to divine why she kept so many of them around.


    ¡°Best part is they don¡¯t shit. See all these dogs around? Takes an age to train them to shit in the woods well away from here, but between that and all the dead beasts, I¡¯m safe enough.¡±


    That must be her secret to surviving out here. Dog shit and burned beasts. I¡¯d only recently learned that burning the dead bodies served as a way to drive off other monsters. It served as a warning, though I weren¡¯t sure why.


    I should have burned those Rock Snakes.


    There were dozens of animals across the pages. Each one peered out of the book as if alive and watching my every move. I lifted the page and tilted it slightly, staring as their creepy eyes followed me. Cassandra ignored my confusion and kept scanning through her own pages, making notes on a small piece of paper she¡¯d picked up at some point.


    It were kind of nice to simply pass time looking at artwork. My first markings had been so strange and out of the blue. This felt more like how a tattooist should work. They¡¯d have an office and a table. They¡¯d have a wall of pictures for people to chose from. They¡¯d discuss the art and what it might do. That¡¯s what I¡¯d expected.


    Instead I¡¯d been bent over a rock and had my back worked on, after being exhausted. That were a ritual of sorts. This, this were more like business. Not something I¡¯d ever expected from Cassandra.


    I wrote a note down on my crammed piece of paper.


    Do I have a limit?


    ¡°Likely. Your line may be different, but they¡¯re not exempt from the rules. A soul can only bear so much. Or so I¡¯ve found.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t stop from scrawling out another poorly written question. Different. Family, or Hounds?


    ¡°Either. Here¡¯s a puzzle for you to sort out in your idle time. Why is when we found The Mountain, your family were here first? What does that mean? I¡¯ve pondered it since you popped up. Your grandfather could work the ink like no one I¡¯d ever met. He said his father had even more skill. Though he died before my time.¡± Cassandra smiled as she handed me a bundle of confusion. The town weren¡¯t that old, but The Mountain couldn¡¯t be that old either, could it? How old were this place? I couldn¡¯t picture a world without The Mountain, but if there¡¯d been no Rangers, no people mining the ink, then this place had it¡¯s own balance that didn¡¯t need any of us to be around.


    Then there were that other idea. That my family traced itself back before her time. Momma had implied that Cassandra had more than her share of years. That she¡¯d looked much the same for almost two decades. Momma showed some signs of aging but she didn¡¯t seem to be a forty year old either. She almost had skin like Poss, especially now that she¡¯d started taking better care of herself. I wondered if physical looks were somehow held tight by the wings but didn¡¯t know enough. That gave me a new goal. I flipped through the book looking for winged creatures.


    It were that or dwell on something useless, like Cassandra¡¯s ageless features. I¡¯d been brave enough to ask her about my family and a limit because those concerned my life. Her living longer than any woman ought to, especially in light of all the markings she had access to, meant nothing. I¡¯d be better served by continuing to roam through her books while she didn¡¯t care. Knowing my luck Cassandra would never let me see them again. Even if my momma had a book, it probably didn¡¯t measure up to these.


    I wondered about starting my own notes. It might be worth looking into given time to write. Plus nights would be quiet. Obsidian had told me to think about how to counter markings so m


    There were no obvious notes in here regarding immortality. None of them mentioned a marking that hid marks, but she might have something like the Eyes of a Man.


    ¡°Wait,¡± she went back to the first book that had the pyramids. Back through the pages she went, flipping along looking for something specific. She stopped on a page with snakes. ¡°A combination, perhaps. Something that might translate to a stronger Hound, in every form. Weapons of a sort, claws, of a sort, green, but with a give and take balance.¡±


    Another book were propped open to a page with the weapons. Some were daggers, others staffs like what Wan used. Long tips that showed focuses of different colors up on the top or bottom. Most of them seemed to have high requirements, based on what I understood of the bars along the bottom. There were one that had a maul of some sort, a huge item that required intense strength to use.


    She flipped through the pages some more, landing near the end, where some strange sort of gauntlets were lined up. Cassandra¡¯s face lit up. She nodded repeatedly then took a sip of tea.


    ¡°Oh this¡¯ll be good. It¡¯s sure enough to fit, I can feel it.¡±


    I wiggled my forefingers.


    Cassandra looked up like I were a ghost. She frowned suddenly and all traces of pleasantness vanished. Up she stood, waving me away. ¡°Go away! Go, do whatever it is boys like you do with your spare time. I¡¯ve got to find Connie, she¡¯s the only one I¡¯d trust to even begin to second guess me. Don¡¯t tell her I said that. You¡¯re moms enough of a blabber mouth. Bit of a thief too. Don¡¯t tell her I said that either.¡±


    Seemed to me that Cassandra were being enough of a blabber mouth for the two of them. Talking about markings really got her excited.


    She grinned at me, and for once I saw Cassandra without the charms and siren¡¯s call. She were excited. The ghostly raven wings at her back practically vibrated with energy. They were, somehow a bit more real, then they faded.


    ¡°Get going! You¡¯ve your role. I¡¯ve mine. And if I design these right, that fool Corso will think you¡¯re a spy from another country. He won¡¯t even begin to suspect that you¡¯re from us.¡± Dogs barked in the distance. Cassandra tiled her head as if listening to a conversation. ¡°And tell that other fool Wan to come right on in.¡±


    The animals made little sense to me despite my recent abilities. Turning into a dog part of the time didn¡¯t give me a mystical connection to suddenly understand their barks and woofs of noise. Though I gathered one of the other Rangers, Wan, were outside somewhere.


    I flipped another page or two then stood up before the tattooist could get too upset. She frowned at me over her teacup then pulled the book away. The horde of dogs flew toward the door as it opened, jumping at my hands and trying to knock me over.


    Cassandra¡¯s voice reached me, despite the dogs braying and my own footsteps. She said, ¡°Wait until those idiot Saracons see this.¡±


    Get going, I thought while waving at the dogs. Moving around were hard enough on my own two feet some days, especially when both thighs still ached from yesterdays practice. Didn¡¯t help that my head felt heavy and eyes blurred from reading all that chicken scratch written into the lines by markings. Studying had never been my strong point but I¡¯d need to do better.


    It¡¯d be worth getting a notebook of my own to jot down all the possible ways to counter people.


    Sure enough, Wan, a thin man, stood at the edge of Cassandra¡¯s property. He nodded to me then smiled a grin that reminded me of cats.


    ¡°Got a moment?¡± Wan asked.


    Will today never end? But since I couldn¡¯t answer, I nodded then waited for Wan to move on with his useful idea.

 4 - Voice on the Air

    I¡¯d marked Ash and Wan as a bit of a creepy pair. Always skulking about in the woods. Momma didn¡¯t seem to like either one, and from the impressions I¡¯d gathered, they¡¯d all grown up together, or at least they¡¯d come from the same place as my momma. I¡¯d yet to reconcile her childhood in a rich family and time on a coastal collage with knowing about their childhood. Maybe she¡¯d simply gotten the stories out of other people from around the town.


    That had to be it. She¡¯d told me she belonged to a rich family on the coast before daddy swept her away. I¡¯d have to ask about our real history and see if momma said anything to clear it up.


    Wan were normally the quieter of the pair. Not shy by any means, just content to let others do the talking.


    That wouldn¡¯t serve him well with me. The Ranger in front of me chewed on his inner cheek, then spit. We stared at each other for a bit before he jerked.


    ¡°Right. Voice.¡± He pointed to his thin throat.


    I nodded.


    ¡°That¡¯s a shit cost for anything.¡±


    Both shoulders lifted in a shrug. There weren¡¯t anything that could be done about losing my voice, yet.


    ¡°Heard you in there with the miss.¡±


    My eyes fluttered for a moment then I put the idea together. He hadn¡¯t been close to the house. Wan had a number of markings though. Which one gave him the ability to hear at a distance? The mess of ink formed under his clothes made a bit more sense, but before I could align any of his pictures with the ones from Cassandra¡¯s book, Wan turned to the side.


    He lifted his eyebrow.


    I realized my spying had been caught. I¡¯d need to find another mirror and double check my own markings to see if anything happened when using the eye. That or all the Rangers were familiar with my abilities and prepared to deal with it. That further proved my own need to think ahead.


    How could I spy on someone without their notice?


    ¡°Figured the miss be getting you something innate. Weapon to carry with you. Every Ranger gets them in short order, that way we¡¯re never caught off guard. Hardwood has her gun. Ash has his staff.¡±


    I pointed at him.


    ¡°Oh I use anything, means getting one specific weapon is useless.¡±


    My nose twitched. Him being a scout sounded like horse shit. Wan had put down another man during the trails, or whatever those were, and choked the life out of him. Though there were a possibility his abilities were more about sneaking around.


    ¡°Obsidian can¡¯t teach you how to use whatever the miss gets you, but I can.¡±


    I pointed at him.


    ¡°Yes, me.¡±


    My head shook. It didn¡¯t matter if he could teach me or not. I didn¡¯t disbelieve him so much as wonder what he wanted. Everyone wanted something out of me. Even Cassandra¡¯s nonsense mission likely came with strings. They were right though, going back into the mine wouldn¡¯t work. Being a Ranger were exclusive with being a Ranger, and going to Bell Town in general would let me see more of the world.


    My heart jumped. I hadn¡¯t been that far in ages. Not since well before daddy passed away.


    ¡°Surprised Obsidian hadn¡¯t beat you with a stick for getting distracted.¡±


    I blamed it on exhaustion but realized that excuse wouldn¡¯t last me long.


    ¡°You¡¯re headed to Bell Town. I¡¯ll ask the miss to be your contact. But you¡¯ve got to do me a favor.¡±


    Now we were getting back to the right part of the conversation, what exactly it were that Wan wanted.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be bringing packages to another person I trust.¡±


    My fingers wiggled in question.


    ¡°Well, trust is a strong word. He¡¯ll make deliveries without snooping.¡±


    That weren¡¯t my question. My piece of paper for the day were running out of room. I wrote down me, and him, and what on it. Hopefully he¡¯d understand that I wanted to hear clearly what we both got out of this deal.


    ¡°You¡¯ll get a few lessons in weapon the miss gives you. My contact will help you too. I get someone no one suspects making my delivery.¡±


    What? I pointed to the word again and again. Wan pursed thin reedy lips then nodded.


    ¡°Money. Goes to family back east. My kids are there. But I can only send cash as I make it and they need clothes and food. Proper school costs a penny too.


    Money. It always came back to proper funds. Wan had enough or he wouldn¡¯t be able to spare any to send off to the coast. It did help me a bit, to know that had I become a Ranger and not been caught up in this other nonsense, then there¡¯d be enough funds to keep momma supported. Though Wan had brought up a problem I hadn¡¯t even considered. How did one get money back to family somewhere else?


    Trust were a hard thing.


    I nodded slowly. The deal seemed without strings. I suspected that if this Corso guy were really as unfriendly with the Rangers as Tawny and Cassandra implied, then every Ranger showing up in town would be watched. It¡¯d only take one back ally stabbing to kill someone carrying funds. Mail in Chandler¡¯s Field had never been under lock and key and I got the impression that Bell Town were lawless on a good day.


    I didn¡¯t used to think so badly of folks.


    ¡°So we have a deal? Once a weekend.¡± When I didn¡¯t say anything, Wan nervously kept going. ¡°You¡¯ll be coming home I assume, to visit your family. We can make the trade then. You¡¯ll have a bag for supplies during the week and the package can be hid in there. No one will ever have to see me in Bell Town, and no one will suspect you.¡±


    I nodded faster this time.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you a few hours and some exercises every weekend. Your Flop can watch too. She¡¯ll need to learn some self defense.¡±


    Jenn, I wrote. Calling her that Flop were disrespectful.


    Wan shook his head and gave a wary smile. He didn¡¯t apologize, which made my eyes flutter in annoyance.


    ¡°I¡¯ll let you go then. The miss expects me in. To report. I¡¯ll tell her about our deal too, that¡¯ll make her happy and get Mister Tawny off your case.¡±


    Off he went, and back to town I headed, mulling over all the information that had been shoved at me recently.


    There were too many markings in the world. I¡¯d only seen some of the mainstream and cheaper ones on mine workers. We, they, didn¡¯t have a surplus of funds to be spending on the fancier ones. There were also the possibility that tattooists like Cassandra simply never advertised the more complicated ones, or worked in a bit of extra here and there while no one noticed.


    I¡¯d need to keep a journal on me. A notebook to jot down all the artwork I¡¯d seen, compare that to the books that Cassandra had, or momma¡¯s if I ever got to see them. Then I could write down counters. With the Wildling Mark I might be able to use most elements in small doses, which gave me options.


    Though truthfully, a knife in the dark often worked just as well as a full on war between one power and another. Obsidian drove that into my head repeatedly during our last few months together. There were no substitute for a simple stabbing when a man weren¡¯t looking. Unless that man had a green focused on self healing, or a blue that let them detect enemies.


    Ink were a giant mystery. How one item could lead to so many methods of use were nearly insane. A man could be locked up in a loony bin trying to wrap their head around every option out there. I¡¯d have to sort through it bits at a time while trying to ingrain myself into Bell Town¡¯s questionable side.


    What struck me most, were that Csassandra implied my family line, on daddy¡¯s side, had a lot of power over ink. Or at least in shaping in somehow. Making it useful. Then there were those wings, if momma were a tattooist like Cassandra, then maybe there were something that came down from that end too.


    Does working the ink have anything to do with that other place? With these visions?


    Everything from my time in the cocoon and being throw in the mine¡¯s top were suspect still. The only confirmation I had were Poss¡¯s feline companion, but even that didn¡¯t mean the rest of it were real. It only meant I¡¯d learned a bit of information from a dead woman. Given some of the markings in Cassandra¡¯s book, such a thing were easily possible without even needing to be in The Mountain. There were a mark of this faceless man over a grave called a ¡°Dead Talker¡±.


    Along side that were a dozen others of the same vein. Dead Visions. Visions of Death. Eyes of the Unliving. Animal Talker. All of them focused on speaking to something other than a human. Cassandra might have one of those marks that let her work with the dogs. It might be her presence.


    Fuck.


    I almost drove myself mad during the walk to Chandler Field. From there I quickly wove a path home, stopping only to get some supplies from the store. Two pocket journals were ordered too, but those would take a week to come in from Bell Town as the general store were out of supplies. I¡¯d use one for communication with others, and another to write down what markings I witnessed around town.


    What a mission.


    Someone were stealing the dead and what, repurposing their inks? That were almost like grave robbing. Having my own abilities would likely make me a target, but that meant my Hidden Soul would need to be on nearly all the time. I¡¯d gotten used to hiding the blotches of rainbow and blackened swirls on either hand. Whatever additional mark Cassandra gave me would mean more to hide.


    A thought occurred to me, an exercise in control that Obsidian had never suggested. But maybe I could use the Hidden Soul to only hide some of the marks. It wouldn¡¯t be like Wan turning slightly to cause my vision to go wonky, or Obsidian who could somehow see when I were peering at his abilities.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    I made it home and went about handling what chores didn¡¯t make my legs hurt. Dishes, feeding the chickens, and staring off the back porch toward the looming mountain range.


    Saracons.


    Boogieman of the frontier. They¡¯d been there when we first pushed west. They were still there, somewhere over the hills. I¡¯d once heard stories about a larger settlement, further south along the Mississippi where our armies rallied every other day. They¡¯d gather in great squadrons and march off to keep our enemies back, throttling their ability to push the far north. The theory went, that if we kept them south, they couldn¡¯t come up and attack the mines.


    And Cassandra wanted me to pose as one of them, in a way. Worse still, she wanted me to pose as one of them while pretending to be a simple man searching for work. That¡¯d likely make no sense because anyone with half a brain could ask around. Unless Bell Town were so much bigger compared to Chandler¡¯s Field.


    I barely recalled the city from my childhood. The one time I¡¯d been there, there had been a lot of buildings. Farm more than our spread out town and scattered homesteads. Brick and mortar compared to our wooden homes. Plumbing and electricity all around, compared to Poss¡¯s one mansion on the hill which claimed all the posh amenities.


    The thought of Poss worried me. I hadn¡¯t seen her more than once or twice since confronting her about the Feline named Charity. I hoped she¡¯d been holding up okay, but we were in different social circles, especially now that Greg and Lily were gone.


    I wondered what they might think of this Hound nonsense. Greg would go on for ages about it. He¡¯d ramble about all the things he wanted to know and he¡¯d be foolish enough to ask without regard for who knew what.


    At nightfall, neither Jenn or momma had returned. I washed up and put myself to bed.


    In the morning the house were still empty. My questions for momma and concerns for Jenn would have to sit. I felt good enough to pick myself up then bundled up all the clothes. From there, I made ready to shift back to the hound body. Everything got twined together along with a small oiled sack I¡¯d borrowed from Wellbrook mine. It¡¯d hold raw ink as well as anything else and shouldn¡¯t stain.


    Practice. That¡¯s what it were, endless practice. Part of me also enjoyed the newness to everything about me. Smells were intense on a level I¡¯d never expected. Exciting sounds jumped out at me from every bush. It were the memories twisting together as I changed that bothered me.


    It were the twisted meshing of a dozen different memories that dug at me. They came in a rush, blending together moments that hadn¡¯t happened with ones that did.


    As they had been lately, these memories were of Lily. Flowers. That¡¯s what I smelled.  A field of tulips that Lily¡¯s family had tended for decades. Their sweet scent hung in the air. I¡¯d swear I¡¯d become a man watching Lily bend over to pick up fresh blooms for bouquets.


    Poss sat with her arms wrapped around her knees and stared off toward the lake. She¡¯d never been one to venture out with us children, but she talked to Lily all the time. Every week for years she¡¯d been buying flowers. Whatever were in season.


    Poss spoke. ¡°I¡¯m getting married next month. A late spring, but still spring wedding. Like we always talked about.¡±


    I pretended to be invisible. That¡¯s what the girls wanted. I¡¯d shown up to play with Lily, then Poss had shown up to talk. At some point we¡¯d moved away from being friends from across town. Lily had a real grown up woman to speak with. One with curves who¡¯d fill out a dress.


    ¡°Spring? Lovely. I¡¯ll get the flowers ready. Of course, my dad won¡¯t let me give them away for free.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. The Proctors can afford the best.¡± She turned and smiled. I pretended not notice them ten feet away.


    Lily smiled and my world went fuzzy. ¡°Okay. When I grow up, I¡¯ll get married in the spring too. To some man rich enough to sweep me off my feet.¡±


    I fought to keep my mind straight. This couldn¡¯t have been how the conversation went. Lily had been kinder back then. Full of dreams but always willing to talk and play.


    ¡°But don¡¯t hang out with Chase anymore. He¡¯s got fleas.¡± Poss said. She handed Lily a dress that had barely any fabric up top. ¡°Here. Wear this. It¡¯s sure to get the men¡¯s attention.¡±


    I went to scream but found myself hoarse. Even the words I¡¯d spoken back then were blocked by my mute lips.


    Dog again. All four legs functioned. I picked up my package and ambled off through the fields toward where I¡¯d left the dead Rock Snakes. I gathered them up and put their drying carcasses into the oiled pouch. They¡¯d preserve fine in there until I could figure out how to grind them down to make a repellent. With my extended absences, I wanted to leave behind something to help Jenn keep safe.


    Assuming I ever see her again.


    That were an annoyance I¡¯d never expected. In the wild, a rabbit being afraid of a dog made sense. Rabbits typically cowed away from everything. She¡¯d skipped right over that unease, sort of. Jenn were upset because I could go back. To what?


    At an empty home, with my two bags badly being lugged behind me, I returned to human shape. The images of Poss and Lily chatting together hung in my mind. I pushed them aside as I abruptly realized.


    I could be fully human looking. Jenn couldn¡¯t. She was stuck as what her daddy made her to be. A pleasure slave. A little girl who hadn¡¯t known any better were stuck with the constant reminder of her kin¡¯s violations.


    I felt like the stupidest man this side of Butcher Hills.


    Silver. That¡¯s the cure.


    Working with ink were beyond me. Even if I stumbled across an endless seam of silver ink somewhere in the mine¡¯s depths, how would I use it? It might require another tattoo. I¡¯d have better luck reworking their original markings while walking widdershins and sacrificing a calf. Witchery were near enough to folklore though. Legend said all the real witches came from back across the water, with the Empire.


    I¡¯d been practicing controlling my own markings. I¡¯d also been told countless times working at Wellbrook, not to touch raw ink.


    Cassandra had also said my family had a strange relationship with ink. Would it be possible I could learn some of her abilities? Momma had been able to. Or so I suspected since they both had those ghostly black wings.


    Too many mysteries. I fought back the urge to tear open my sack of dead Rock Snakes and play with what ink remained in their bodies. There were the possibility I¡¯d discover something about myself, but I might also cause irreparable damage and become a Wildling. If I even could.


    What I really needed, were something with my knowledge about being a Hound.


    There were that giant wolf on The Field. A place he¡¯d named like it were the only one in the world. A place where he said all the dead touched by ink went to fight eternally. There he¡¯d battled one of those tin cans made of rust. That red rust had been the same as in my dreams.


    It all fit together. I could see what were happening by comparing what he¡¯d told me against the dreams I¡¯d had upon first becoming an Hound. I just didn¡¯t understand how to use my knowledge of what happened an age ago, in the here and now.


    I walked to my room and straightened, as if that might help my cluttered mind. It didn¡¯t. I put the Rock Snakes out on a drying rack outside that momma used for clothes. They hung from clothes pins. One of the porch chairs were pulled up and I stared at the carcasses.


    Rock Snakes were made of a few dirty colors. Mostly brown and black. A hint of dark green. That should mean they were tougher and could carry poison. I thought back on that other place I¡±d been. There, according to a Feline I¡¯d met, everything were made of the ink. Everything held that power of creation given an outline.


    If I could use it there, ride it like that old wolf-man had said, then it might be possible to use it here too. Being immersed in a cocoon made of the muck and using ink were different than being alive and trying to wrest control of it.


    The real line would be how much I¡¯d changed since being reborn as a Hound. Since clawing my way out of that darkness past the visions of not-Harold and not-Kenneth. Since I¡¯d discovered those damn wings.


    Did I have any? Were they from a family trait like some people had sharp noses?


    I¡¯d survived a huge pool of ink. I¡¯d bathed in The damn Mountain¡¯s heart. I should be able to handle a little raw ink without problems.


    Something about that idea felt wrong.


    Despite any reservations, I needed to know what would happen. Momma might have clues based on my daddy¡¯s past, but he¡¯d also been half a failure. Word were that he¡¯d died before even a few months had passed.


    I¡¯d survived the change longer. I were younger and had different markings. Having eyes to see by made a huge difference according to Cassandra. Though I couldn¡¯t say how, unless somehow being able to see the ink played a part in the transformation process. That suspicion hadn¡¯t been proved one way or the other and likely never would be. Unless I had a dozen brothers and sisters out there that no one knew about.


    I felt fairly certain that daddy had been faithful to a fault. From the sounds of it, my granddaddy had been a one woman sort of man as well, though she¡¯d died during childbirth.


    But I hadn¡¯t known daddy were a Hound, a failure of one, until he¡¯d been dead and buried for a year. Who could say what other surprises might be out there waiting to rear their heads.


    Deal with what you know.


    I reminded myself that speculation were as useless as tits on a bull. Only results and what had happened mattered. Even if I now existed in a world of potential dangers.


    First, Pull out a clump of ink from the dead monster. See if it had a heart like the larger beasts. I¡¯d never personally checked or done either despite being trained by Obsidian to an extent. Then figure out how I reacted to raw ink. If nothing else I¡¯d remember my exercises to refuse to let anything take hold.


    God help me. I¡¯m talking myself into touching raw ink.


    The idea hadn¡¯t let loose. I¡¯d likely not find much alone time in the future. Bell Town probably had too many people. It felt like a fitting cap on today¡¯s nonsense.


    I reached out slowly for the Rock Snake. My hand wavered a bit as I realized I had no clue what to do. The refiners up on The Mountain were a secretive lot and I¡¯d never seen much besides the drying racks they used for fresher ink.


    This weren¡¯t even fresh. It were twined into a dead monster.


    Jenn would call me stupid no matter what choice I made. Obsidian would tell me to think and figure out what might happen. Momma would want me a million miles away form this nonsense but still let me walk into danger. Or at least, that¡¯s what she¡¯d done.


    I were going in circles once again.


    No one could live life guessing all the time. The real question were if I should dig through the dead bodies or not. I used the bag and knife to carve one of the dead monsters apart. It¡¯s skin were like a week old bread, stale and hard despite the knife¡¯s sharpness.


    There were one lump, maybe the size of a marble, that reminded me of the bear¡¯s heart. I cut it from the rest of the ink and stared at the material. This, if my studies were right, is what made the markings gain their abilities and lose the wild edge. Raw ink brought up memories along with it¡¯s power. The tempered material would be ground together with a color or ten and be usable.


    I poked at it. The heart felt warm to the touch but otherwise sat inert. No beat or pulse and even the murky black surface were dull compared to the last heart I¡¯d seen. That one had spun with every color at center, sinking and swirling together.


    This one were a useless lump.


    Emboldened by the lack of impact from the heart, I moved onto the remaining ink I¡¯d filleted from the snakes. Ugly green felt sour and make my tongue numb but didn¡¯t bring on any memories. The brown were thick, almost like poking real dirt that were half slime. My throat dried.


    It did nothing. It didn¡¯t hurt or overwhelm me like the rainbow drop had when it¡¯d first touched me. With that one dropped I¡¯d been sent to my knees and flopped around mumbling that I¡¯d die a man. Maybe this were simply nothing compared to the deep pool that transformed me into a Hound.


    Hardwood could hold a much bigger heart and never care one whit about the results. I¡¯d watched Ash wade through guts of transformed monsters without batting an eye. I¡¯d killed more than a few of the lesser ones myself without problem.


    I simply never stopped to really study the problem before.


    After that first change I¡¯d slept for nearly a week. After each one my mind crawled back from the brink of a dozen different memories. Now it were simply another minor inconvenience.


    I rolled the ink together and studied the goop. The sour smell intensified. Thoughts of pissing on rocks as a child were swiftly buried.


    Could this be used to make a new marking? If someone took a dead human, Flop, or any other race then drained it until nothing else remained, they¡¯d easily get enough mark for a handful of markings. That¡¯d be worth a horse or two per dead body. Corso, if he were really involved in this mess, could turn returning dead into a money mill.


    I thought of how I¡¯d sifted through the Rock Snakes body and realized that it¡¯d be even worse than suspected. They could gut Felines, take arms off dead soldiers, and no one would know because a body had been returned.


    My back tensed. It took me a moment to realize that there were this feeling that continued despite the rambling in my head. Like something sat in the air just out of sight. The setting sun cast shadows that couldn¡¯t be right. I smelled dampness and felt something clinging to my skin. It hummed and twisted and writhed. My stomach felt sick. I couldn¡¯t even see the thing but I didn¡¯t feel alone.


    ¡°Tsk, Tsk. Tsk.¡±


    My skin crawled on it¡¯s own. Goosebumps lifted. Something else were right here with me. In my own yard. The other presence chuckled. A low hum that vibrated my eardrums until they threatened to pop. ¡°Ah, my little Hound.¡±


    I hastily dropped the snake onto the ground. There the gutted remains sizzled in afternoon light.


    The other voice didn¡¯t return. Hairs on my neck stayed stiff. I whipped my head around and activated the Watchful Eye to see what might be about.


    There were nothing and no one but me and the dead Rock Snakes.


    Now I have reasons not to touch raw ink.


    I¡¯d also been given a whole host of questions. It¡¯d been months since I¡¯d heard that voice. It¡¯d been almost that long since I¡¯d had a vision of them winged creatures flying over the land. Here I¡¯d mourned the lack of direction on how to proceed with this Hound business. Sure they¡¯d ask me to watch the docks at Bell Town, but that didn¡¯t help in the grand scheme of things.


    If I saw not-Harold by holding the monster¡¯s body long enough, could I see that old man from The Field? Lord knew I needed answers and he¡¯d said that there were always someone older and wiser the first time.


    I grabbed the ink again.

 5 - Death on the Wind

    At first, there were nothing. Then presence solidified. Right out of the corner of my eye. Something huge and impossibly sideways.


    That presence chewed wetly in my ear. ¡°Ants. Little ants marching one by one to their doom. That¡¯s what your kind are.¡±


    The tendril of brown slowly wove a path around my arm and anchored on like ivy. My arm crawled. Skin wriggled and warped. I jerked, dropped the guts of ink then tore off the bits sinking their way into my flesh. Blood gushed from where my nails dug in too hard.


    Leftover Rock Snake hit the dirt, sizzling under the afternoon sun.


    Hell.


    My arm bled freely. I eyed them and moved the skin around a bit to gauge how badly I¡¯d been hurt. The wounds were small but deeper expected. Watchful Eye let me see the normal trails of ink down in my bones that went with being a Hound. There were no signs of anything strange left behind.


    That had been foolish. I¡¯d also learned something. The Mountain, or whatever fat-assed angel dwelt in it¡¯s depths, were tied to the dead monsters. Specifically their ink. That lent credibility to that old man I¡¯d met on The Field. He¡¯d said they sent people out into the world to kill.


    It also made the mystery of heart¡¯s all the stranger. I¡¯d felt nothing at all when handling the smaller marble. Were it an actual heart of some sort that somehow bound with the ink and changed it? If so, how exactly had it shifted from the other material? There were more to it than a disembodied voice.


    I¡¯d need to test that again, but not right now. I¡¯d had enough excitement for the moment.


    The sun¡¯s further down.


    How much time had I lost? Based on the new placement of shadow and an ache in my legs, I¡¯d been standing a fair bit longer than I could remember. It would have freaked me out, but I remember being told I¡¯d been in The Mountain for weeks upon becoming a Hound, when it only felt like days at most.


    I were smart enough to put two and two together. Time warped unevenly when I handled ink. It had done much the same when Cassandra put the Eyes of a Man on my back.


    ¡°Chase. Where are you son?¡± Momma¡¯s shouts came from the back end of the house.


    She¡¯d be out the door in a second. I turned to cover up my carcasses a second too late. The back door slammed opened. Wood banged onto the back porch and I dreaded thinking of the damage to the hinges. It were a silly thing to care about.


    ¡°Dear lord. What in God¡¯s name have you brought out here son?¡±


    My eyes drifted to one side. Hiding were useless, so I went about gathering up the dead ink piles and putting them back into the bag.


    ¡°Tell me that isn¡¯t a dead beast. Tell me you didn¡¯t bring it back here and carve it up like a chicken.¡±


    Plucked it first, I thought dryly. That hadn¡¯t exactly been true but momma¡¯s question were silly. Of course I¡¯d brought it back and carved it up.


    ¡°What¡¯s the point of all that? Dead things should go back to the pits they came from. It¡¯s for the best.¡±


    I pointed at my eyes then toward the bag.


    ¡°You wanted to see something?¡±


    My head bobbed.


    ¡°See what? There ain¡¯t nothing to see. Only things that ought to be wiped from the face of the Earth. Lord knows that this world would be better off without such rot running around everywhere ruining things. Then you¡¯d daddy would be alive, and that wicked witch Cassandra would have both feet in the grave. She wouldn¡¯t be around mocking my attempts at figuring out the,¡± momma drifted off.


    My mind still whirled at the connection between dead monsters, their ink, and that voice from The Mountain. It felt like if I simply lay all my cards on the table, everyone else would be able to make the connections. They¡¯d know exactly what it all meant and we¡¯d have an answer to the greatest puzzle ever.


    It also felt like that none of them would think it were my business. Nevermind me being this stupid Hound thing. Or half a Ranger. Or Cassandra¡¯s pet project. They were all keeping their secrets.


    What had momma said?


    The back door banged again.


    ¡°Get all that cleaned up! Might as well make use of the carcasses. I¡¯ll show that girl of yours how to turn them into a warding powder. Never mind that she probably already knows. That girl kept herself alive in the wild for years so she¡¯s must have a few tricks up her sleeve, but might be she just ran away.¡±


    The bag went up on a hook under the rafters to keep dry. Having dead bodies inside the house wouldn¡¯t go well. Though we¡¯d have to get it cleaned up before the next full moon. There¡¯d be no sense in risking creatures coming down this far on the feeding frenzy.


    ¡°Not too hard a thing. A little bit of one with the other. The hearts are the keys. They¡¯ve told you that right? I know when you were up at Wellbrook they probably didn¡¯t tell you any such thing. No one ever does. Those poor boys up there slaving away without a clue of the riches they¡¯re tossing back in. But I suppose that¡¯s fair.¡±


    I wandered inside and continued to listen to momm¡¯a prattling.


    ¡°It¡¯d be like telling them that they can get rich playing with dynamite. The only ones who know are Rangers, Tattooists, and the odd person in the know. You¡¯d be one, of course, being what you are. I heard Cassandra tell that she¡¯d let you see some of the books. That¡¯s always a good idea. Learning. That¡¯s what you need to do.¡±


    Momma jumped from topic to topic in rapid order.  I followed after her trying to keep up, but even after years I¡¯d never managed to get a handle on her speed. She left little room to interject.


    ¡°Not like that idiot Neb. Can¡¯t believe they made both him and Derek into Rangers. Or trainees. Assuming either one has a lick of sense and managers to survive a few years. Though Neb¡¯s likely to be the next Sterling. Never a good end those Sterlings. Born of fools on a fool¡¯s quest. Seen five or six come and go like the wind.¡± Momma paused by the kitchen table then leaned toward me while wagging a finger. ¡°Don¡¯t expect anyone that names themselves after a silver to survive.¡±


    I nodded quickly.


    Silver¡¯s the cure though.


    Momma didn¡¯t read my mind. She bustled around the house straightening up objects that didn¡¯t need it. The house had been untouched for the most part during the last week. I barely had time at home and Jenn spent most of her awake time outside in the garden. Jenn loved chickens for reasons beyond me.


    ¡°That boy Derek though. He¡¯ll get something fancier. Azure or some other high blue. If he survives. His arm¡¯s as likely to kill him as anything else. Cassandra confirmed as much, saying he¡¯d been touched by a rainbow drop like you had. Though he¡¯d done a poorer job of keeping his mind still. Much as it pains me to admit it, that boy¡¯s got something special.¡±


    She turned abruptly. I bumped into her. Momma reached up and pinched my cheeks. ¡°Not like my son though.¡±


    There were a dozen more ideas to unpack in her ramblings. I struggled to keep sense of it and wish that my pocket journals had already been delivered. It¡¯d help to have notes for all these questions that kept popping into my head.


    Momma spun her way to a recliner in the front room and plopped down. Dust shot out. ¡°Dererk¡¯s problems aren¡¯t for me to share though. Shouldn¡¯t have said anything. Lord knows I ramble enough as it is. Worst still after talking to Cassie. Every time I talking to that witch I have to gag her with some rope just to get a word in edgewise.¡±


    My eyes blinked slowly. Cassandra had talked a lot more than I¡¯d ever experienced when it came to tattoos. The idea that she could somehow beat momma to the punch in a conversation were downright impossible. Of course, maybe those hypnotic dresses and tone played a part. I were also mute so my ability to put up a fight were limited.


    ¡°This Hound nonsense. Can¡¯t find a lick of lore about it anywhere. Doesn¡¯t matter what Cassie said. All over in Empire my ass. All over the south. She¡¯s either lying or pulling answers of a dream. Your uncle¡¯s never heard of them at all.¡±


    Uncle?


    My head shook. Momma had once again ended her ramble on a confusing detail. I swear it were natural. She simply picked a piece of information that would cause other people to be jumbled, and used that moment to take a breath before rambling onward.


    Family could wait a moment. Anyone she¡¯d talked to probably had to be by post. I¡¯d know if any uncle of mine were close by. So that left her side of the family. The rich ones we never spoke about until now.


    But I¡¯m a hound, I wrote. Momma read the note and shook her head.


    ¡°Dogs bark,¡± momma said dryly followed by, ¡°You ain¡¯t a hound. If you were a hound, you¡¯d bark. That¡¯s how magic works. Iconography converts energy into creations.¡± Her voice shifted a bit from it¡¯s normal rough pattern. The words were a bit softer and more refined. I¡¯d never heard momma used any sort of technical language at all and it threw me for a loop.


    One eyebrow went up. My fingers jerked a rapid question mark.


    ¡°Oh I know what they said. I know the clerics up top did their test, and Cassie did her sacrifice, but it don¡¯t line up. Something¡¯s different. It¡¯s not just that they gave you eyes, but you¡¯ve got more in you than you daddy ever did. I can see it down in your bones. Past them, if such a thing is possible.¡±


    She hadn¡¯t understood my question, but I hadn¡¯t had time to write down anything too detailed. It¡¯d be near impossible to formulate a proper way to ask all the questions occurring to me now anyway.


    Momma put her feet up on a small rocker and leaned back. She pulled up a thin knitted blanket. Her head tilted to one side as she continued to talk. ¡°Said too much for one day. You¡¯ve got your studies and I don¡¯t have the sanity to watch you scrawl out a wall of questions. That¡¯s what¡¯ll happen too. One question begets more questions until you tread on God¡¯s realm. If I were a betting woman, I¡¯d believe that¡¯s how this whole mess started. Someone asked a question, then couldn¡¯t take silence for an answer so they stole one instead.¡±


    What?


    Momma¡¯s tired eyes looked up enough to catch my mouthed word or confused expression. Her head dipped slowly but she brought it back to bear.


    ¡°I¡¯m tired son. Tired and my head¡¯s near to stuffed with too much information. I¡¯ve been in Bell Town reading, and elsewhere besides for days. I need to rest before I even try to keep up with your confusion. Confused enough myself.¡±


    What?


    She nodded and swooned. Whatever energy she¡¯d had to babble away like a raging brook had dwindled.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Write out your questions on a paper. Nicely. If you¡¯ve heart to ask, I¡¯ll try to answer. Though I don¡¯t know everything. Been trying to catch up on what I¡¯d neglected for too long since your daddy died.¡±


    I swallowed a lump then tried again. The stickiness in my throat stayed as my face felt chill. Her head swung slowly to a side. The chair she were in couldn¡¯t be comfortable. The blanket were too thin. I needed money to buy a properly thick one stuffed with cotton. With winter coming up the house would be colder.


    I put aside the thought of pestering her with questions or trying to get momma to wake up. Off I went to get a pillow and another blanket. They went over her first thinner blanket.


    She looked so dammed tiny. Not like Jenn, but nothing like the tall woman from my memories. A tear rolled down her cheek slowly leaving a glistening trail.


    ¡°I miss him,¡± she mumbled.


    I miss him too.


    Then I crept out of the house quietly and tried to get a grips on all the stuff she¡¯d said. Some of it I knew. Some of it I¡¯d guessed at, but in a way most of it didn¡¯t matter right now. Momma were clearly still torn about daddy¡¯s passing. But there were no markings to bring back the dead. Not for real. Animating a corpse were one thing, but those that had passed couldn¡¯t come back.


    I thought back to my confirmation of The Mountain having a voice. Being something more than a looming clump of bedrock. If that were real, then everything else would be too. I¡¯d suspected it with Poss¡¯s servant but had still felt unsure.


    Were daddy over there, fighting the war on that field? Another slave endlessly fighting against an encroaching evil? That giant gruff man might have been him but I¡¯d become certain that were my granddaddy at best.


    At least I knew momma were alright. As much as could be expected given our situation. She¡¯d likely sleep an age and be hungry beyond belief once she woke. I¡¯d need to keep the house together and make sure there were food. The garden had a few last vegetables to pull, from a late planting. The fruit trees were mostly barren and I hadn¡¯t enough to jar up for preserves. Nearly all of those supplies had been used during momma¡¯s moods after daddy¡¯s passing.


    Off I went, doing my best to keep the house in one piece. There were buckets to clear, outhouses to check, I walked the property line keeping an eye out for beasts made of ink or less insidious creatures. There weren¡¯t many predators to care about. I¡¯d heard stories of actual wolves''s back east that roamed in packs taking down livestock.


    While taking care of chores, I wondered about all the things momma had let spill in her heated rush. I¡¯d expected plenty of other people to confuse me in life, but never momma. She¡¯d simply been full of gossip about everyone else in town. I suspected it to be because she loved to talk but wanted to keep me away from this mess. Now though, I¡¯d entered the other side of my parent¡¯s world and the curtains on how clueless I¡¯d been were slowly being pulled back.


    Where then, were momma going to read all this information? It couldn¡¯t be Bell Town, not really. It didn¡¯t make sense to leave anything important or secret so far away. I had another choice. I could change into a dog again and try to follow momma¡¯s trail backwards. It might lead me somewhere useful, or simply to the carriages at town.


    Once my basic chores were completed, I set my clothes aside again.


    ¡°Stupid.¡±


    My body jerked upright and I reached for the clothes to cover myself up. I turned, modesty covered, and found Jenn sitting behind me on a thick log. She¡¯d seen me in worse state but whatever our relationship were, being naked in the woods probably existed outside the bounds of our agreement. Unstated as it were.


    The Flop¡¯s rust colored fire blended with the sunset behind her. Her eyes were hard to see under ears that she¡¯d pulled to the front. Holes at the knees made me disappointed in myself.


    I need to find her some better clothes for the garden.


    I needed to get my own trappings back on. Jenn stared at me, sniffing. Clothing got adjusted and I pointed at her then motioned for her to turn around.


    ¡°Nothing Jenn ain¡¯t seen before. You¡¯re not that special.¡±


    That were mean and utterly wrong. Apparently I were that special despite any desire to be otherwise.


    ¡°You walk around all puffed up just." Her words falttered then started again in a sullen tone. "Just cus you can become normal looking whenever you want to.¡±


    Today had all the markings of a day from hell. Yesterday hadn¡¯t been much better. All the world had simply bided it¡¯s time until dumping on me at once.


    Believing I were being conspired against had no point. I had to deal with what I knew. Jenn were mad at me, and we needed to talk about it. I sighed and decided waiting for her to spare me a bit of decency would take forever.


    I turned around. On went the pants. Jenn said nothing. When I turned, my cheeks were a bit flushed but the cold air balanced that out. It weren¡¯t most impressive display, but I¡¯d skinny dipped with Lily. My head shook at the thought. This and that were different, no matter how much they were alike.


    Jenn¡¯d left me enough room on the log to sit. Wood shifted and squished under me. I waited to see if she¡¯d say anything else, but not a peep came out of her. Only her ear twitched now and then.


    I couldn¡¯t figure out how to take that. Jenn were a girl, but some of her body language had been by the creature she¡¯d become years ago. Flops weren¡¯t rare, but they weren¡¯t common about town. Most preferred solitude, or being hidden away in their human like dens. They tended to be of two minds about Felines. Some they liked a lot, others they hated and avoided like the plague. There were no in betweens.


    The only real indication I had of her feelings, were Jenn¡¯s wiliness to sit next to me. Her hands were tightly clasped and one foot bobbed from a quick patter. The neck muscles stayed tight as her eyes locked on the distance, past where I¡¯d been standing, naked, a moment before.


    Keeping a pen and paper were handy. I folded the sheet carefully until all the old nonsense were tucked away.


    I¡¯m sorry, the note said.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be mad. Not your fault Jenn is what she is. Is a man¡¯s fault.¡± Her eyes darted around briefly. ¡°It¡¯s his fault. Dead old sad sack with his smelly butt hole.¡±


    She were back to talking about herself like some distant creature to be studied. Coupled with her drudging up the past, well it annoyed me. I poked at her shoulder but got no reaction.


    Down on the paper a new note went. Silver can cure you. With a finger I jabbed at the writing over and over until Jenn looked back to my pad. Her face twisted and nose wiggled.


    ¡°Silver¡¯s a myth. No such thing. Only idiots believe in it.¡±


    One slow finger pointed toward the distance mines. The fat mountain smiled back at us. A thick ring of red hung over it like a crown. The kind of devils hisself. He were surely laughing at my stupid attempts to find a cure to his plagues.


    ¡°There¡¯s no silver anywhere Chase. None for you. None for me. Only dumb men expect anything beyond death and being thrown in.¡±


    Where we¡¯ll be chewed on.


    That thought disgusted me. I half gagged then fought back the unease in my stomach. I remembered the first time I¡¯d seen not-Harold in the other world. He¡¯d chewed upon the flesh of the dead with a dozen other creatures that were somewhere between Delvers and Wildlings. Unbalanced bodies like someone had stitched mismatched grown men¡¯s limbs on children.


    We threw bodies into the heart every full moon. Were might well be sending him a meal.


    ¡°Jenn knows he¡¯s dead. Knows. Doesn¡¯t matter. I still see him in my dreams. Fat and disgusting. Grunting. I¡¯d kill him a million times over if I could.¡±


    What were it about people lately? I suspected it had to do something with me being mute. People simply filled the silence. Jenn didn¡¯t have anyone to talk to but my momma and neither one had been at home for any length of time.


    ¡°Why were you going to go? There¡¯s no reason. You¡¯ve only got a few days left before they want you to go. Idiot Rangers and their dead.¡±


    My body chilled. Jenn¡¯s head tilted toward me slowly then bobbed back. She lifted a finger and tapped her long earrs.


    ¡°They work better than that scary Wan¡¯s. He thinks he knows how to sneak around, but he¡¯s nothing. All my marks. All the ones that foul,¡± Jenn stopped speaking and shook briefly. I sat there, afraid to reach out and touch her in comfort, but unwilling to go further away. ¡°Jenn¡¯s markings were all to make her quiet. To make her hide. Most Flops get the same. But Jenn¡¯s dad wanted to keep her hidden away. So he asked for those marks.¡±


    They carried over a bit of their power to her Flop body. I nodded. It fit with everything else I¡¯d learned. When folks transformed into the other races, they got to keep some of what made them shift. I had my own marks from before the change. It made sense that somewhere under her rusty fur, she had some marks.


    ¡°What¡¯d you expect to find?¡±


    Momma¡¯s secret.


    Jenn shorted. ¡°Which one?¡±


    She had more than one? Better still, Jenn seemed to know about them.


    You know?


    ¡°No. Jenn doesn¡¯t know nothing. She thinks.¡± She took a deep breath and shivered a toe to head shake. ¡°I. I think all the time Chase. Not much else to do but think. That¡¯s why everyone else is stupid. They don¡¯t think. They run here. Run there. Don¡¯t watch. Don¡¯t look.¡±


    My finger tapped on the question again.


    ¡°Makes sense for her to have a secret. A place to get answers that ain¡¯t that siren. Not sure where she goes. Jenn.¡± She gulped and banged herself on the head abruptly. I put my hands up but Jenn pulled away. She swallowed again then continued, ¡°I follow, and it¡¯s like she becomes a ghost. I get tired. Fall asleep. Then she¡¯s gone somewhere. Never happened before when I was watching her. Never.¡±


    Momma did have secrets. In the few months since I¡¯d become a Hound, I never bothered trying to follow her around. I¡¯d been too caught up in my daily exercises and resting.


    I should have paid attention sooner.


    Regret were a useless rot that solved nothing. But thinking about what momma were keeping secret gave me another concern. Even if I did leave behind a sheet of questions for her to answer, who could say I¡¯d get an ounce of truth out of her? Momma might tell me a lot, or confuse the situation even more by prattling on. I suspected that where normal folks couldn¡¯t ramble on a sheet of paper, momma would find a way.


    I didn¡¯t know what else to do. Jenn turned mute as I were and showed no signs of leaving me alone to pursue scenting around for momma¡¯s trail. Shifting to that dog form would likely make her feel even worse, or madder, or whatever nonsense got in a woman¡¯s mind.


    That were my real problem. I didn¡¯t have anyone to talk to about my own woes. Jenn had too many problems and I considered a win that she slept indoors now most nights. Momma were too busy trying to make up for lost time and not let me go the same way daddy had, which were silly since I¡¯d already survived longer. Cassandra couldn¡¯t be trusted completely. None of the Rangers could either. Derek were a twit in need of an elbow to the face. Kenneth promised to lend his good ear, but I still felt unsure about him since being thrown into the mountain.


    I missed my friends. Lily had always made me feel at ease. Nervous as a butterfly, but without any other thoughts in my head but her. Greg had been a great guy. Full of energy that nothing seemed able to drain. An infectious smile and a way with people that I¡¯d never understand in a million lifetimes.


    Right as the sun dipped down the last inch, Jenn fell onto my shoulder and snored softly. I used an arm to steady her but kept my touch light. She flinched and groaned quietly but made no other move.


    A friend.


    Who did Jenn have? Momma and me. Who did momma have? All the other gossips in town, but I doubted any of them were privy to these secrets. She professed to talking with Cassandra but I suspected they were guarded with each other. They¡¯d certainly been standoffish up at the temple.


    I thought of striking up a conversation with Neb Lincoln. My body jerked with a muffled laugh. Neb and I, friends. He¡¯d tell me all about the others in his family, reminding me each time of their entire names. And I¡¯d be unable to escape until he wore himself out. Tears streamed down my face, from exhaustion, mirth, or stress. I couldn¡¯t rightly tell.


    Mean as it may be, I felt like the lot of us were too busy staring at our noses to do anything useful. That¡¯s what my last few months had been. Dwelling on inward crap while trying to get into what Rangers called ¡°Useful shape¡±.


    Ducky and Neb had it worse. They were out there shadowing real Rangers and working on the job daily. They patrolled Butcher Hills, the woods, Chandler¡¯s Field, Wellbrook Mines, and everything else between.


    I had a new job to do. Jenn needed time. Momma wanted to be asked questions. No thoughts I¡¯d have now, in the dark, would give me an answer.


    I lifted Jenn carefully and took her back inside. Into bed she went then I started penning a long letter to momma. Longer than any I¡¯d ever written, with every question I dared ask and a mile more besides. Then, when I were sure that everyone else in the house were still asleep, I slipped out and stripped off my clothes. My head hung low and sleep pulled my eyelids downward, but I needed to get more answers.


    The visions that came with changing were faint. Along the path I went on four legs, following a nearly dead scent of momma¡¯s path. Up it went, toward Butcher Hills, away from Cassandra¡¯s homestead. She¡¯d come along this path multiple times. There were broken branches and crushed leaves. Those were signs that Obsidian had taught me to look for, in case my Heart Seeker failed.


    Two hours brisk trotting away the scent of momma¡¯s travel come to a cave. A single light flickered inside, waving back and forth in defiance of the wind. I stared at the bit of illuminated darkness and took slow careful sniffs of the air.


    It smelled like rot. That and a hint of the berries that momma washed her skin with.


    The candle lifted up. A barely illuminated creature held the light up toward the tunnel. Forty feet away or more, but too close for comfort. I backed up one paw at time. Fur stood on end. The creature in there looked less human than a Wildling, and it were chewing on a thick bone.


    Is that Harold?


    I brushed the idea off as a fool¡¯s fancy. Harold still worked Wellbrook mine, and Delvers weren¡¯t that tall. This couldn¡¯t even be The Mountain that¡¯d spoke to me earlier. That had to be something further away.


    This were probably a wild man. A hermit of sorts that she¡¯d come out to talk to. Or it might be someone that didn¡¯t even know about momma¡¯s travels. If her travels made Jenn fall asleep, it might make this person pass out as well.


    What is momma doing here?


    I didn¡¯t have enough time to get it sorted. Cassandra and Tawny expected me to get leave by morning. I circled around the are a few times making sure I had a good idea of the landmarks. It wouldn¡¯t do to come back here later and become confused like Jenn said she¡¯d become.


    Once I felt sure I could find the place come rain or shine, I trotted away. It were too late at night to risk venturing into that unknown. Momma had come this way more than once, she had her ways to stay alive. I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if it had to do with her black wings, or learning from Cassandra, or daddy being a failed Hound.


    More confusing still was that man that smelled of dead flesh. Either what he¡¯d been eating were so rotten it stuck up the air, or a worse possibility.


    Who was that?


    I shook my tired head and walked the path home, double checking to make sure I¡¯d followed the right scent. It seemed right, but I had no way to know for sure without asking. The concern of the man in the cave went onto the letter as well.


    Momma had explaining to do.

 6 - Talk on the Road

    The paper were gone in the morning but Momma hadn¡¯t left me an answer to any of my questions. I hadn¡¯t expected them, not really. She¡¯d still been dead asleep by the time it came for me to leave but must have gotten up to steal a glance at the words I¡¯d spent time scrawling before passing back out. Meanwhile, I got dressed, packed myself clothes, and reminded myself of my goals.


    First, get to Bell Town and find a job. Anywhere there with employment, but ideally something at the docks. Then I¡¯d come home on the coach soon, hopefully in time to catch the new moon. Then I could go find Ducky¡¯s daddy and see what secrets he might know. Meanwhile I¡¯d practice using my Hidden Soul marking to obscure some markings at a time.


    By the time I got to town, my tiny bag were filled to the brim. I had a sack with two changes of clothes, daddy¡¯s gun, and a few other small supplies. There were enough money buried in the bottom to get me through the week plus Ranger Wan had shoved me a stuffed letter to hand over. He refused to pay me until I brought a receipt of some sort from the person he used for post.


    Wan came and went quickly.


    Tawny showed up a second later. He put one hand against a fencepost and huffed long tired breathes. His face were worn and skin pallid.


    ¡°Make sure to say nothing.¡± He swayed unsteadily. Tawny seemed a man who needed a month¡¯s worth of sleep to catch up. ¡°About any Ranger. About Cassandra. This first week has one goal only. You¡¯re searching for a safer, better paying job, nothing more, nothing less. Anything that isn¡¯t the mines.¡±


    I nodded. He exhausted me simply standing there, but I¡¯d also been carrying too many supplies. I hoped whatever marking Cassandra were cooking up came with strength as a side effect.


    ¡°If they ask about your time at Wellbrook, be honest. If they ask about the Ranger trials, tell them you failed on the full moon leg of the tests. Nothing more, nothing less. Anyone else who knows exactly what happened is smart enough to keep their mouths shut.¡±


    I doubted that held true for Neb, but could have been wrong.


    ¡°Be careful with your markings. Especially the Heart Seeker. No one outside the Rangers has one of those.¡± He frowned the glanced to one side. His lips twisted with a brief snarl. ¡°No one should. You see anyone there with a Heart Seeker, you be wary.¡± Briefly my vision flickered to see the marking on his chest. A skull face frowned then yawned.


    I didn¡¯t like that statement. The warning were appreciated, but the implications weren¡¯t. Bell Town sounded more dangerous with every statement Tawny made.


    ¡°One week. That¡¯s all. Come back with the supplies next week and go home. We¡¯ll have someone find you. Me, Hardwood, Obsidian. Don¡¯t trust anyone else to make your report. Not even Widow Craig.¡±


    My eyebrow lifted and out came my scrape of paper.


    Wan?


    Tawny read the one word question and shook his head.  ¡°I know he¡¯s got you running chores. That¡¯s fine, no one should care about a man asked to deliver a letter. But keep yourself to yourself when you can. Obsidian should have taught you a bit about that.¡±


    Wan also knew my goals from overhearing Cassandra talking. He¡¯d probably been able to hear Tawny¡¯s speech yesterday as well. My shoulders lifted in a shrug. That weren¡¯t my problem to sort. I¡¯d have time to ponder why they wanted to keep my momma out of the loop too. Likely because she and Cassandra didn¡¯t see eye to eye.


    ¡°Next week,¡± Tawny repeated.


    My head bobbed slowly.


    Tawny¡¯s thin lips puckered with distaste.


    ¡°Integration. That¡¯s the word for your mission. Visit the docks. Watch a boat. Visit the whore house. I don¡¯t care, but be seen exploring the town. Ask about work. Find a job.¡± He paused then huffed. ¡°You remember the inn?¡±


    Golden Gun.


    Tawny nodded at my note. ¡°Good. Rent a room for the week. They¡¯ll demand it up front, their beds might have lice, but make they don¡¯t charge more than two dollars a night and you¡¯ll need to look poor. Which shouldn¡¯t be hard, you will be. The best part is no one steals from the Golden Gun.¡±


    I¡¯d forgotten to take lodging into account. My money from working the mines had dried up. Momma and Jenn operated on a barter system for goods so had nothing to spare. I were set to go to another town a day¡¯s ride away, full of strangers, while being flat broke. Then I¡¯d have to hope to find employment to afford food. Life hadn¡¯t prepared me to handle such a task so far from home. At least with the mine, Wellbrook had advertised and took anyone that wanted to work.


    ¡°Use a bank if you¡¯ve need. Your mom¡¯s name should help build a reference.¡±


    Once again I nodded. Being mute made me feel like one of those dipping bird toys. A useless bobbing creature that had no brains.


    ¡°Worst case, stay healthy. Can¡¯t have you kicking the bucket on us.¡±


    I frowned then jotted down another note. Hound.


    Tawny sighed heavily then yawned. After fighting back the exhaustion he shook his head.


    Maybe it were my realization last night that I had no one to talk to. Maybe it were spilling out a wall of questions to momma in a letter. I dared an admission and scribbled a much longer message.


    No idea what to do as a Hound.


    He read it and nodded. ¡°Not just you. Cassandra is fool enough to believe it¡¯ll just come to you. That you¡¯ll stumble across the secret because Hounds are special. They see stuff that we can¡¯t. They hear things we can¡¯t. But no one knows how that¡¯ll work, and any of us that knew your grandfather, don¡¯t know how he did his job either.¡±


    Tawny stared directly at me. His body rocked unsteadily and he lifted an arm to poke my chest.


    ¡°What we know is that Hounds are dangerous, to everyone. They find stuff people want to be buried. They dig up secrets of The Mountain. Stories say they work ink in ways that normal people can¡¯t. The fact that you¡¯ve touched a heart that black and still can tie your own shoes is proof of it.¡± His shoulders lifted. ¡°Cassandra says some of that¡¯s from your line, and some from being a Hound.¡±


    I crooked an eyebrow. They¡¯d been talking about what I were behind my back. Of course.


    Someone shouted further down the line. I glanced over and say a pile of wagons along with military guards standing by. There were other passengers throwing luggage into the back of a wagon.


    ¡°Dammit.¡± Tawny scratched his head. ¡°No time to go into this. Leave it for next weekend. You¡¯ve got to get going before they leave without you! You¡¯ve got to arrive with this group or people might suspect you¡¯re lying. Stick to public transportation.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t afford my own horse anyway. The fees to stable it would be too high. Unless I stumbled into a field of monsters to kill for the hearts and somehow got them to the refinery, I¡¯d likely never be rich enough to afford a horse.


    Tawny stepped away and headed toward the general store. I go onto the back of a wagon filled full with people and dreamed of having my own steed. Something that gave me elbow room and made it easier to carry a pack of supplies.


    There were a few regular horses carrying our cart. The one ahead had Hell Steeds. They were stockier horses with hooves that could turn to small fire. Their eyes glowed in the dark and diet consisted of inked beasts. Hell Steeds were reserved for heavier loads or ones that needed protection.


    That cart held tightly locked chests that contained piles of refined ink. Every week at least one wagon of magical tattoo reagents went out, if not more. Every week, food and anything else people ordered came on back. That were the lifeline between Chandler¡¯s Field and Bell Town.


    Military guards stared with dead eyes at our crammed cart. I shrugged. They were there to make sure we didn¡¯t interfere with the shipment, but that were it. The wagon I¡¯d found a space on were simply trailing behind their escort. It were safer for us to go with the calvary rather than brave a monster filled wilderness alone. I¡¯d heard stories of people being ambushed between towns. Prayed upon by Saracon scouts and stray monsters from the mine. Other stories said that bandits lived out here, praying on those alone and leaving people with little more than their britches.


    The cart ventured onward. Clomping hooves and low conversation filled the air. I concentrated on my Hidden Soul marking and let it cover up everything. Sound and smells dimmed as whatever made me a Hound were muffled.


    Our first few miles were dull territory I¡¯d seen before. The road out to the crossroads came and went. I sat up straighter, excited to see where this branch of the road went.


    ¡°Cards?¡± a man near me asked.


    I shook my head.


    ¡°Your loss.¡± They turned away to find someone else for their game.


    An hour later, amid the snores of other riders, I realized that this stretch of land were like every other one in the area. Boring and without much wildlife besides the birds. By high noon we were all sweating. The men next to me smelled rip even with my nose being dulled. There were signs of old camp fires a few yards out, where people had stopped to hunker down when it got too dark. Still the horses clomped onward. The Hell Steeds wouldn¡¯t need an ounce of rest, and if we wanted to keep safe behind the soldiers, our horses couldn¡¯t afford to linger behind.


    Obsidian had been trying to force me to think and be prepared. I considered my weapons in the event of an attack. Three markings, that¡¯s what I had, and something that made me transform into two beast shapes. One part human, one all dog. That one probably couldn¡¯t be shown to simply anyone, Cassandra had told me that. What I couldn¡¯t figure out, were how Cassandra expected a fourth marking to confuse Corso, or anyone with half a brain. They could ask anyone else on this wagon about the people that came in. Hiding would be impossible.


    There¡¯d been two stops for restroom breaks but otherwise everyone ate while on the wagon. Those brave enough got down, pissed in a bush, then ran to catch up. I caught up on my sleep in between abrupt dips in the road. By nightfall we still hadn¡¯t reached town.


    Further than I remember.


    While I hadn¡¯t been to Bell Town since little, there were surely enough people about to recognize my face. One of the girl¡¯s who¡¯d done the Ranger trials knew Ducky. Everyone in the county knew Neb Lincoln, by reputation if not by sight. Surely they¡¯d know me too. Widow Craig¡¯s son.


    I replayed the terrible cover story in my head and wished they¡¯d never told me about Corso or the dead bodies. It were easier to act ignorant if I really didn¡¯t know. Not knowing had it¡¯s flaws too, because I could have found myself in deep waters without a clue why. They¡¯d told me because I needed to know what to watch for, but left it up to me on how to reach that goal. I suspected that if any Ranger had an actual solution, they would have applied it by now. That meant that they were banking on me being a Hound and somehow stumbling across the answer, or I were simply another set of eyes.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    A sharp voice cut through the din. ¡°Listen up!¡±


    Dozens of riders turned toward the front of the wagon. Our driver waited until everyone stopped talking.


    He nodded. ¡°We¡¯re a few hours away from Bell Town but the horses are overworked. I¡¯ll be stopping up ahead. The soldiers are going to pull ahead with their delivery. Anyone worried about robbery should keep walking, but we¡¯re safer in numbers.¡±


    ¡°What about those damned monsters?¡± the person who¡¯d asked to play cards said.


    ¡°You new here?¡±


    He nodded along with a few others.


    ¡°Alright, for those of you that were headed to Wellbrook but decided on the wiser path, you should know that monsters rarely make it out this far. Those that do are few and far between. Any you do see are tougher than normal so give them a wide birth and let soldiers solve it.¡±


    ¡°So we¡¯re on our own?¡± the card player asked.


    The driver¡¯s eyes rolled.


    ¡°You paid for passage. You¡¯ve had safe passage. You lot wore my horses out and they need to rest. If you¡¯ve got to be to the whores before sunup, then run. Otherwise wait until we¡¯ve a bit of rest. Got shit in the woods or have a meal, whatever does it for you, but we¡¯re here until right after sundown. Then we¡¯ll cover the last leg.¡±


    His sharp tone managed to make the entire speech sound mechanical. I stared at him briefly then looked along the road. Faint lights could be seen far away. There were a lot more than I remembered, spread across the distance.


    Even in the dark, I could tell that Bell Town were huge.


    I¡¯d sat enough. Going in on my own were fortitudes. There¡¯d be no one to question where I¡¯d arrived from. Given a choice I might even be able to lie and say I¡¯d come from further down the river.


    My stomach twisted at the thought. It hit me how hungry I were and waiting for the horses were no longer an option. I hopped off the back, nodded to the driver, and ambled off. He didn¡¯t even wave.


    A few others were already headed off ahead of me. I kept their feet in sight and pondered the next few steps. No one would believe me if I pretended to be from anywhere along the river. A liar I weren¡¯t. I¡¯d never even tried to be good at it. My parents had always known and called me out on fibbing. Knowing my luck I¡¯d also get caught. If Corso were half as dangerous as they¡¯d implied,azxed then I¡¯d better not give them reason to doubt me.


    If I even warranted attention in his mind. It seemed more likely I¡¯d get attention from Corso¡¯s thugs, a terrible name given to the collection of people under his control. I¡¯d heard nothing but rumors about how they took a piece of protection money from everyone along the docks. Rumor had it they tried to steal from the government shipments when they went out.


    Either they had more power than expected, or we were simply spread too thin. With an ongoing war against the Saracons it were likely we simply didn¡¯t have the manpower. That cart in front of us had been worth thousands of dollars, if not more, and it¡¯d been guarded by a handful of soldiers with weak markings.


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    I turned briefly to eye the person shouting. The loose shirt and green bag were familiar from that long ride. The card player had followed me.


    Great.


    The city ahead of me loomed like a giant creature spread across the river. If The Mountain were a fat king lording over the residents of Chandler¡¯s Field, then this place were it¡¯s gateway to the rest of the world.


    Braving the mine¡¯s entrance took a moment every single trip. It hadn¡¯t mattered how many times I¡¯d gone down there. Going here, a place that were dangerous because of the people, would be as bad for different reasons.


    It¡¯d help to have someone to talk to.


    My eyes rolled. I couldn¡¯t stop thinking of myself as able to talk when needed.


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    My pace slowed. The other man jogged up next to me. He smiled and I gave a fleeting grin back.


    ¡°You from the area?¡±


    A shoulder lifted in a noncommittal answer. He sniffed then shrugged back.


    ¡°Guess it doesn¡¯t matter. People coming and going every day for Wellbrook. That¡¯s where I was.¡±


    The man paused. My head dipped in a nod.


    ¡°From New York myself. Not upstate. No, parents come over on a boat for jobs, only to find that all the jobs there were taken too. So I came out here to find a place that had money, but I¡¯ll be buggered before I take a job with all those damn monsters.¡±


    I nodded again. Communicating like this were going to get tiring. In Chandler¡¯s Field everyone had known I didn¡¯t speak. Now I¡¯d have to deal with ever new face being confused.


    The man continued chattering nervously. I¡¯d seen it before in new miners. The seasoned ones always acted like near death were normal, but the new folks were a wreck. I¡¯d been one myself, but I¡¯d also been numb after daddy¡¯s passing.


    ¡°You feeling okay?¡± My head lulled to one side. He nodded then kept right on going. ¡°Tired. I get that. I can leave you be if you want. Just figured it¡¯d be easier to have company. Darkness, then thieves, or we¡¯ll end up in the gullet of some hamster from hell. Like those horses. Jesus Wept, I¡¯d never seen anything like that until I got across the Mississippi.¡±


    There¡¯s got to be a mark that will give me back my voice.


    ¡°Going a job lined up on the docks. They¡¯ll pay a pretty penny to unload the boats and there¡¯s always cargo moving. Though I¡¯d moved on from that because those thugs came around asking for a share of my earnings. Figured it might be greener pastures up at Wellbrook, but that went out the window. Couldn¡¯t even last a month up there. Can you believe it? Ther were miner¡¯s that had been going down into that hell for years. Decades even. And the Delvers?¡±


    He shuddered.


    ¡°Disgusting.¡±


    That almost made me hate him. Part of me understood how people could find Delvers weird. They had bug eyes and thick limbs. Their funny words and obsession with song might drive some folks mad. I¡¯d found it sort of comforting, until hearing a twisted reflection of their tunes.


    Still need to talk to Harold.


    There were miles to go. At the rate he walked, the wagon might catch up with us before we made it into town. I kept up Darkness Ward to see the ground easier. Lights in the distance were blurry. A giant wall ran north to south with torches every few yards.


    ¡°You don¡¯t talk much, do you.¡±


    My finger tapped on the throat. I opened my mouth and mouthed the word ¡°mute¡±.


    ¡°Damn. Really? Used to know a kid back home. Poor black kid whose parents had hit him once too many times. He¡¯d been cut up thought. Scars all up and down his neck. Kosh. That was the kid¡¯s name. Could only make faces. Think he died.¡±


    He chattered as much as momma. Apparently me being unable to talk made him want to speak more. He kept his bag huddled tight and stood too close. I couldn¡¯t see any signs of ink on his body and felt fairly sure he were simply scared. I stepped away to keep arm¡¯s length between us anyway. It¡¯d be a poor showing of my duty as a Hound to get stabbed before even reaching Bell Town.


    Momma would probably find a way to get some marking and yak my ear off in the afterlife too.


    ¡°Those horses though. My old man used to tell me about the dragons of the empire. Said they ate monsters for dinner and breathed fire. Thought that was a story until I saw them.¡±


    He yammered on about the wild stories his daddy had told him and how they measured up to what he¡¯d seen at Wellbrook. I half hoped for a horde of Dirt Rats to pop out of the soil and chew his leg off. There were none in sight as far as I could see, so I suffered his babble.


    ¡°Can¡¯t believe people do that every day. Go down into that shit hole and act like it¡¯s natural. I mean, we got some folks with tattoos back east, but nothing like here. Every thug in Bell Town is marked down to their assholes with one power or another. I heard that they get different marks based on what they do.¡±


    I could see houses built outside the wall. They were mostly dimmed but a few had candles or some other light in the windows. There were hope in sight. After we got through one of the gates I could ask a guard where the Golden Gun inn were. Hopefully it¡¯d be close because the day¡¯s trip had left me mentally worn.


    Obsidian would pitch a fit if I didn¡¯t keep up my exercises but that could be done in a room.


    Anyone who attacked us probably wouldn¡¯t have any extra powers. People with guns were dangerous enough. I¡¯d been in scraps in the mines but none of them were life and death. Not the ones against people. Monsters were something else entirely.


    Neb and Ducky had an advantage there. They¡¯d been training against the actual Rangers while handling their assigned areas. They¡¯d both likely be a bit faster in a fight with people if it came to a brawl. I fingered the Wilding Touch and wondered how fast I could channel fire into the weapon and stab someone, if I really had to. Monsters were easier. They looked nothing like people.


    Stabbing or shooting people took an edge I didn¡¯t know if I had.


    I couldn¡¯t imagine myself stabbing a person in the face. Shooting them with intent to kill.


    ¡°You ever worked up there?¡±


    My head bobbed.


    ¡°Man. So you couldn¡¯t take it either? All those monsters crawling around day and night. Thought it was a story but then I saw them swarming about on a full moon. Was in the refinery. I guess? That place is like a fortress and I could see why. Creatures of all sorts crawling up the sides. Those Ranger folks shooting them down. Then they tell me dead go up on the other side, all peaceful as can be. What the hell kind of place is that?¡±


    He shivered again then put his bag strap over the other shoulder.


    ¡°They gave me an ax. An ax! Like that would be the key to surviving. Got jumped by my first beast. Huddled in the infirmary for a day then went to get a ride back to town. Candy Field?¡± My head shook. ¡°Shindlers?¡± I shook my head again. ¡°Sorry. Been to so many towns this last year searching for work. Well, whatever it was, they wouldn¡¯t let me go because I¡¯d been wounded before the full moon. I spent nights up there watching those beasts outside. Saw one with a man¡¯s face on a pig¡¯s body.¡± He shuddered again and I frowned slight. ¡°You don¡¯t understand. It was eating the others!¡±


    Monsters eating each other were normal for The Mountain. They¡¯d eat anything living, including each other. Obsidian had taught me that they did that to grow stronger. It let them concentrate more ink into one body. Strangely, Hell Steeds were much the same, normal horses fed a bit at a time until they were put down for being too dangerous. Then those bits would be fed to other Hell Steeds. Their cycle of life had been twisted beyond recognition just so we wouldn¡¯t have to pull our own carts.


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯re used to it. You look like a local.¡±


    He had maybe a year or two on me tops. I gathered he¡¯d been all over searching for work but it sounded like he simply couldn¡¯t hack a real job. I¡¯d toughed it out in the mines. I¡¯d probably still be there if it weren¡¯t for how sideways the venture to become a Ranger had gone. I could have lived out of my life as a worker for Wellbrook until one day I became a Delver, or died to a monster that escaped the Ranger¡¯s lunar purges.


    The card player continued talk despite my stray thought process. ¡°Did dishes for a week just to afford food and a place to sleep, got enough saved up and I¡¯ll find a better job here in Bell Town. At least they¡¯ve got girls. Right?¡±


    I¡¯d heard that from more than one source over the years. Bell Town had three things, and they were the only things anyone found worh talking about. Whores, thugs, and a way out to the rest of the country. Momma had spoken the ocean once. I didn¡¯t know what a sea looked like. It could have been like the pond that Lily, Greg, and I had gone dipping in. It sounded bigger.


    ¡°We made it!¡± he shouted. ¡°Goodnight sir. Good luck finding a job. Unless it¡¯s one I want, then you know.¡± The other man shrugged then ran off. I stared as he practically fled toward the city.


    We¡¯d made it faster than expected. He¡¯d filled my head with useless drivel about stuff I already knew, but maybe to a traveler from the coast all this were new. The guards at the gate didn¡¯t bat an eyelash. They got a name, wrote it down in some log, then waved him in without an ounce of worry. I didn¡¯t know what they should be worried about but a wall that big and long around the main parts of the city implied a sense of fear. No one built a wall unless they needed to keep someone out.


    My lips tightened.


    Whores, thugs, and escape. A proper den of inequity with a wall around it to keep the real dangers outside. And I needed a job there to blend in.


    A Hound on the river. Chase Craig, Widow¡¯s son. Ranger washout.


    They¡¯d call me a coward for turning away from the mines to find work. They¡¯d be wrong but I couldn¡¯t even raise voice in my own defense.


    Assuming anyone gave two shits about another drifter coming into town for a buck. If the man who¡¯d ran ahead of me were to judge by, Bell Town had it¡¯s share of people simply passing through for a week or two. I had to believe I¡¯d blend in. Though God, if there were such a man sitting up there on a cloud somewhere, likely had plans to the contrary.


    Tawny had implied Hounds stumbled into trouble.


    I thought back to that strange vision. Golden winged birds, angels as I thought of them, circled around to create the first Hound. That implied a sort of higher power had a hand in making whatever I were. Momma thought that¡¯d been wrong because Hound¡¯s barked. It were strange to think of her as right on that front, even stranger to realize that Obsidian had agreed. Images and names meant something.


    My thoughts kept me entertained on the approach to town. One of the guards stepped in front of me, hand on his gun holster.


    ¡°Business or pleasure?¡±


    I reached for a pad of paper. The man reached for his gun faster and pulled it out.


    ¡°Careful,¡± he said slowly while lifting the weapon slightly.


    My forehead wrinkled in confusion. That other person hadn¡¯t been greeted with any sort of aggression.


    I put up a hand and tapped at my throat.


    ¡°Cat got your tongue?¡± the other guard asked.


    That were close enough. I nodded.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t seen a mute in a while. Except that Xavier. You know Xavier?¡±


    My lips pursed slowly then straightened. The assumption that I¡¯d know another mute simply because I couldn¡¯t speak had to be one of the stupidest I¡¯d ever heard. That were like assuming all Flops knew each other.


    ¡°Well?¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°He¡¯s fresh from Chandeys Field.¡±


    A man ran up next to me. The same person who¡¯d charged ahead to get into town without nary a thought. His bag slipped to the ground. He huffed unsteadily but managed to gasp, ¡°I came with him,¡± while waving his face.


    ¡°Chandler¡¯s? Oh, is it that time already? You should have said so.¡± The first guard almost smiled as he holstered his gun.


    His companion¡¯s eyes rolled. He took down a book that hang by the wall. A poor pen were inside. I could see a flash of purple mixed with green inside. They swirled unsteadily against each other.


    ¡°Got a name for the registry? We mark everyone down who comes in and leaves.¡±


    An eyebrow lifted. No one had ever cared enough to do that at Chandler¡¯s Field. Maybe no one had ever asked me because I¡¯d lived in town my whole life. Everyone knew me by sight if not by name and reputation.


    ¡°Your friend got a name?¡± the first guard asked the card player.


    I pointed at the pen. The guard handed it over without a concern.


    Chase, I penned.


    The man in front of me must have stopped too. The name right above mine said Simon.


    The second guard turned to Simon and nodded. ¡°Alright Simple, you and your friend need to get out of the way. You here means we got wagon load coming through with the soldiers and lord knows this gateway¡¯s crowded as hell come daylight.¡±


    Simon threw an arm over my shoulders and pulled me along through the gateway and I got my first glimpse of Bell Town proper in years.

 7 - Work on the Piers

    After two minutes of jaw dropping awe, I knew three things. A place could be too bright, Chandler¡¯s Field were a broken backwater town with four good buildings to make up the main city center, and Bell Town were no town. The name itself had sat in my mind for years and everyone said it were big, but this defied imagination.


    ¡°You okay?¡±


    I gulped then nodded too quickly. It took me a moment to find my legs. They were below me of course, rooted to the spot a dozen feet inside the city¡¯s wall.


    Simon drug me onward while I hunched my shoulders tighter. Even this late, or early, there were too many people. Dozens roamed the main street we traveled along. The trip had been too long and cramped, this were almost as bad.


    There were buildings that had a fourth floor, which I knew by counting window lights. As we walked through them along narrow paths, the homes stretched high into the sky to hide stars and moon with their peaks. My head tipped back and stomach knotted. They were taller than I remembered. Even the city walls were deceptively high. Grey wood on the sides made it hard to tell their age. At least a year old. All this lumber in one building could have easily doubled Chandler¡¯s Field in size.


    Simon pulled me into a bar. A piano suffered ungraceful hands across the room. Glasses clinked. Scents of flowers, dirt, and a muggy snappiness that went with ale flooded the air. I wrinkled my nose and coughed lightly.


    ¡°First time in the city?¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°You got that wide-eyed look. Deer do it too when they see danger.¡±


    My attention broke. I hadn¡¯t hunted deer. They weren¡¯t common enough around The Mountain. Monsters ate them faster than they could breed, and the only time we got dee is when new herds wandered into the area on a new moon. Simon were really a man of the world if he¡¯d seen them, much less shot one for food.


    The realization broke some of the tension. My shoulders were still tight, and the room had too many people but I could find my way to the bar counter.


    ¡°Two of your finest liquors,¡± Simon said while holding up his fingers. ¡°You¡¯re up for a drink right? Seems like the least I can after you helped me to town.¡±


    Our bartender said nothing and held up two drinks. He rubbed his fingers together in a motion that struck me as familiar. He wanted to be paid first. Simon stared at me. I shrugged. He sighed and pulled out a dollar. That proved to be enough for the bar tender. He dropped down our drinks and moved on to the next person in line.


    This place were too crowded for my taste. People elbowed me as they walked by. A few hands wandered but Obsidian had taught me a bit of what to look out for when it came to pickpockets. I smiled slowly. He had a few years on me and somehow expected me to have the funds for ales. Simon didn¡¯t call them that though, he¡¯d called them liquors, with an accent that made no sense to my ear.


    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll do first round. You do next. Maybe the one after that. We can roll some dice for it. You a gambling man?¡±


    My head shook. Gambling were a sure way to be parted from one¡¯s belongings.  Greg had taught me that over the years by taking every penny I¡¯d earned. Plus I were playing the part of a destitute man down on his luck searching for a job. Which didn¡¯t stray an inch from the truth, except maybe on the destitute part. I¡¯d probably be able to make a li ving hunting monsters from the mine and turning in their hearts to the refinery, assuming they let me, or the Rangers didn¡¯t have my hide first.


    Obsidian had also taught me how to pack money away in a few separate places. One for others to take note of, but a second place that were safer. I didn¡¯t have much change to begin with but enough to afford a drink or two before needing to find the inn I¡¯d been told about. I paused with my drink for a moment, then took stock of all the little thing¡¯s the Ranger had been showing me. He might have expected this very situation and never seen fit to tell me.


    ¡°So, what brings you to town again? Sorry. I was in such a hurry to get a drink I forgot what you¡¯d told me.¡±


    The subject had never come up. My small pencil and scrapes of paper were in the wrong coat pocket. After a moment of fumbling around my pack, I managed to find them and scribbled out the word ¡°work¡± in shaky handwriting.


    ¡°You got a job lined up?¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°Tell you what. Come tomorrow, check out the grand sign near the docks. Says work here in letters bigger than bull balls. Boy those were big.¡± He stopped and took a sip then continued speaking, ¡°Cohones aside, day laborers always have a place to report. Anyone with time and muscle to lend. Always something that needs moving. Or other stuff. You¡¯ve got some muscle. Like a wary sort.¡±


    Cohones? That must have been east cost slang for bull balls. I moved on past the weird word and kept up my side of the conversation.


    Thanks, I will, I wrote. The last few months with Obsidian had done a lot to help define my body. Not enough, or it might have been the Hound having an additional cost. Running around for hours as a dog burned a lot of energy.


    Simon laughed in a choppy burst. ¡°Oh and that tip isn¡¯t free. You¡¯re buying me the next drink.¡± He nodded toward the bar tender. ¡°Maybe the one after that. Or after that if you¡¯ve got a penny to spare.¡±


    His advice had been worth at least one drink. My first major problem, finding a job, had all but been solved for me. Of course, I could have wandered around and likely found the sign by myself but it would have taken another day or two. I fished out a dollar and put it down. Our server swept by grabbing money and depositing ale in one motion and kept right on going.


    Simon held up his second glass. I¡¯d barely finished my first. ¡°To new towns and new chances,¡± he said by way of a toast.


    I nodded and lifted my own glass. We got drunk, and by sunrise, as I staggered to the Golden Gun, I felt like I¡¯d had a friend. A bit older, like Greg, and certainly chatty enough. For me though, that worked. Someone to smile and nod along with. Someone who didn¡¯t have a hand in the rest of my life. Simon weren¡¯t tied to The Mountain, Rangers, or even Bell Town. He were a drifter.


    I¡¯d worked the mines long enough to know that drifters came and went regularly. Simon might be gone tomorrow. He might not.


    Muddled thoughts bounced around while I wove an uneven path toward a bed for the day. Golden Gun proved easier to locate than expected. The owner hardly cared for the sway of my body or the pack clutched in my hands. He asked a price and sent me to a room with a card pressed with yellow ink. They¡¯d mixed it with a shard of purple and black that made the material look golden, but I knew it to be a lie. Golden as an ink were a once a year type of color. Wellbrook send down soldiers into the depths if any ever showed up. I couldn¡¯t say where it¡¯d gone, and story always held that the gold weren¡¯t real. Pyrite ink they said it were.


    The mattress were filthy. The blankets worse. I stood in the doorway to my tiny room pondering the paint and the weight of my bag. I¡¯d been clutching the damn thing all night despite subjecting myself to more drink than I¡¯d had in months. Greg would have been proud. With that thought, I fell toward the bed and let the lingering drink finish my poor rambling mind off.


    At some point my teeth ached. A deep wiry pain that dove down to the back of my jaw and up my cheeks. Stomach muscles tightened and something hard smacked into my face.


    Soft pounding echoed along wood to my ear. A hoarse sound crawled out of my mouth.


    ¡°Sir?¡± someone softly called out. ¡°You alright?¡±


    My brain flickered on slowly on like on of Poss¡¯s fancy lights. The room came into view. Dirt brown lined one side. It took a moment to piece it together. I¡¯d fallen out of the crappy bed onto the floor. Pack contents were spread across the room. One pant leg had rolled up past my knee. My nipples were hard enough to cut through the wood under me. I didn¡¯t even remember taking my shirt off. The slit of a window let in red sunlight.


    The dry sound came out again. I pushed myself upright. My ribs hurt and the world lack definition.


    Someone rapped at the door again. I fumbled with the lock. It had been much easier to get into the room than it were to open the door out.


    ¡°Hello?¡±


    I got the door open. A woman halfway to feline stood there.


    Why do I know that?


    My eyes tightened to block out the noise. Not that there were any. Lights were blinding and I felt sick beyond belief. I hadn¡¯t had a hangover like this before.


    ¡°You alright?¡± She smiled.


    I nodded but couldn¡¯t be sure. A sharp breathe came out of me and I reeled back from the woman. The ink in her body had be a lot. She seemed near to bursting. I¡¯d never seen anyone like this before. Not the Rangers, them I knew. They were, stable for lack of a better word. This girl were like one of them fizzy drinks sold at the general store. New, fancy, but fit to pop if shook too hard.


    With that, I looked beyond the ink at the woman herself. Her skin were tanned but well washed. A robe hung over her shoulders covering everything else up. Bits of lace and string poked out from underneath. Her muscled legs were nearly bare and the shoes added a few inches to her height, making her almost as tall as me, if I could stand up straight.


    My back bent slightly from the weight pressing down on my head. The hallway were too bright and long. This damned inn had a dozen rooms on each floor and smelled like a colony of rats were fornicating in every third room. I bobbed unsteadily and poked my head out of the door to look both ways. There were no one else in the hallway but her.


    ¡°You¡¯re new.¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Staying long?¡±


    My notepad were back on the nightstand. I went for it, leaving the door wide open. When I turned around, her head were leaning inside to peep around much as I¡¯d checked out the hall earlier.


    She kept her feet outside the door, seemingly respecting my privacy but only to a point. Her fingers waggled at me. ¡°Not much belongings, so you¡¯re not fixing to lodge here long. You a drifter?¡±


    Both shoulders bunched in a shrug. I pulled out the pencil and marked away.


    Chase. Mute, staying a week, looking for work.


    ¡°You¡¯re mute? You know Xavier?¡±


    No, I wrote.


    Who the hell is Xavier?


    I kept the thought to myself as something to figure out later.


    She looked both ways in my room again, up, then down, over me and seemed to study everything while rocking forward on her tippy toes. How she managed to rock while wearing heels were beyond me.


    ¡°You got a girl in there?¡±


    That were an over-the-line question to ask.


    An eyebrow went up on my face. The women at my door lifted her own fine eyebrow and continued to smile happily. Her body leaned forward in my direction presenting a bound display. I couldn¡¯t help myself and glanced. She weren¡¯t up with Lily but the woman had more than enough to catch my eye packed under her loose robe.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Guess you¡¯re not taken.¡± The woman bounced a bit caused what were visible to ripple. ¡°See something you like?¡±


    I said nothing but thought plenty. If Jenn hated men, and Lily wanted me to be her first for a host of sordid acts, and this women were hungry. Downright ravenous. I glanced up again and wondered if she thought all men were steaks, or just me. Either answer had it¡¯s downsides.


    The problem were, I had my own desires. It¡¯d been an age since I¡¯d been with a woman. There¡¯d been none since Lily which were at least five months too long. More perhaps. Ink bucked in my mind, bringing up images of the curvy and coyly smiling Lily in a dim light, wearing that damned red corset, the one she¡¯d never had while living in Chandler¡¯s Field. The smell of her skin, sound of her voice as we¡¯d done the deed.


    Dizziness hit me. My body tilted into the door frame. The wall shuddered as my door banged into the wood.


    My visitor¡¯s antics paused briefly. She frowned slightly, even her eyes turned slightly moist. ¡°That¡¯s right. I wanted to know, you okay good sir? Heard you fall. Didn¡¯t want you to be unable to get up. That happened last week. We had a fellow in one of the rooms, overdosed on tooth drops.¡±


    My face bunched up as I wobbled. My stomach felt shaky. What I needed were food. Instead, I pointed at my crotch and lifted an eyebrow.


    ¡°You soliciting me sir?¡±


    My eyes rolled and checks flushed. That hadn¡¯t been my intention at all. Despite the lingering sensations in the back of my mind, it were downright rude to ask a girl if she¡¯d come into the room and take care of business, at least, I¡¯d suspected it to be.


    The other woman smiled and winked at me.


    You knew I was a man, I wrote slowly.


    ¡°Oh.¡± She flushed almost as much as I had. ¡°You¡¯re asking how I knew that?¡±


    I nodded quickly and pretended I hadn¡¯t been crude enough to point at my crotch in front of a woman like that. Momma would tan my hide if she ever found out, even if I considered myself an adult.


    ¡°I smell a man a mile away.¡± She winked at me. ¡°Bit of marking to help us working girls keep employed. See here?¡± She turned a shoulder toward me, pushed back the cloak, and tugged down the bit of shirt over her otherwise bare skin. ¡°Marvel it is. A dog in heat, but not a bitch. No good sir. This is a male dog¡¯s face. Or so I¡¯m told. Let¡¯s us find a man in need of a good night for some coin.¡±


    The marking had sharp ears, an uplifted nose, and bit of shine around the neck that might be a chock collar used to keep the dog in line. I weren¡¯t sure how the iconography fit together but the dog on her shoulder were mean looking. I¡¯d seen plenty of markings in Cassandra¡¯s book, but never one that helped finding men with pent up need. That were a whole new use.


    My eyes flickered. She had a few other marks besides, most on her back, and a few on hands and feet of all places. What those meant were beyond me but I took note of the faint lines that traced down her fingertips like feathers. They were almost swimming with purples and black inks, that mixed together like a river frozen over for winter.


    ¡°You look like you¡¯re in dire need of a helping hand.¡± She turned around and waved decorated fingers at me. ¡°These here, give a sir feelings he¡¯d never known before. If you¡¯re so inclined. Bit cheaper too if you¡¯re starved for funds. If you¡¯re staying long, we can even work out a bit of a private deal. Bit of rest and relation after a long, hard, day.¡± Her words dripped with implications.


    God help me, I thought with a gulp and half step back. She is the forwardest woman I¡¯d ever met.


    I¡¯d never met a woman like her before. The ladies of Chandler¡¯s Field were reserved.


    ¡°Or if I¡¯m not your fancy, and you¡¯ve a mind to seek relief for your condition, come on over to Madam Crawfords. We¡¯ve got a woman for every desire.¡±


    I lifted an eyebrow and gave her a once over again. Then I looked around the inn.


    ¡°Rent¡¯s cheap for long term guests, but don¡¯t let this fool you. Madam Crawford¡¯s got the cleanest ladies you¡¯ll find this side of the Mississippi.¡± She put a hand over her heart and raised the other like a man being sworn into office. ¡°Gods honest truth.¡±


    With one finger I slowly pointer at her.


    ¡°You¡¯ll find me there, of course. Just ask for Jewels. Though I¡¯d ask you take a bath first, good sir. It¡¯ll help with the impression.¡±


    Of course. My head dipped slowly.


    ¡°Madam Crawford doesn¡¯t like us to be solicited by those that are too dirty. A good scrubbing, which we could also do for you, for a modest price.¡±


    A loud bell tolled outside. I turned slowly to look. Jewels turned too then abandoned all her flirtatious behavior.


    ¡°Must be going! Pleasure to meet you good sir.¡± She gave a brief but less revealing bow then dashed off down the hall toward the inn¡¯s front.


    Her sway as she ventured away left a lot to be desired. I wondered about all those markings and that full feeling she gave me. Could she be close to transforming to a Feline? Or something else. She might not survive or becoming a Wildling.


    That worried me. I wonder if she even knew. Jenn¡¯s description of the process hadn¡¯t said there were any sort of warning. A crossroads, a choice, being overloaded, those were indicators but not useful. I couldn¡¯t use my own experiences because I¡¯d been kicked into a damn bottomless pit made of pure ink. Plus I didn¡¯t really know Jewel at all. She were a mystery who lived nearby. Surely trying to help her would get me the wrong sort of attention. The goal were to lay low but be seen.


    Either way, she¡¯d brought up my own desires to be with a woman. Lord have mercy. Now I had a reason to meet the Crawford Ladies, and a dire need to do so soon. There¡¯d be perks a plenty to visiting Bell Town. Especially since no one here were likely to tattle back to momma. Even if they do, what of it? Surely a little dip wouldn¡¯t hurt anyone. I¡¯d heard the miners talking about visiting her establishment many times. I¡¯d even met one of her former girls while doing the Ranger trials.


    Though that other girl from ages ago had been rather rude, talking about Ducky¡¯s father and how he¡¯d visited the houses too many times to count. Which didn¡¯t fit against everything else I understood of Mister Lake, Derrek Lake¡¯s daddy. He were a Wildling and lived in Butcher Hills somewhere, and I had to visit him on a new moon.


    With that rapid set of thoughts, real life came crashing back. I had chores aplenty before there were time to pursue a bit of personal recreation.


    I wanted to drop of Wan¡¯s package before it became an issue. Tawny said the Golden Gun were safe enough to leave my belongings in, but I suspected whatever Wan had given me to pass on needed to go, well before anyone else in town took note of me. Obsidian had been a paranoid sort, telling me all sorts of ways to know if people were following me. Though most of his lessons focused on the wild outdoors and not a maze like Bell Town.


    Before that, I needed a wash and shave. It wouldn¡¯t do to try and find work while smelling like a wet dog.


    The rooms didn¡¯t come with much aside from a bed and chair. I meandered around until figuring out there were shared bathrooms and they were an utter mess. The shower had a timer tied to it and an insert for coins. I went back to my room then found a nickle. Five minutes later the water shut off with me half shaved and lather still on my face. The old clothes were bundled up and my face shaved with what liquid remained in the sink.


    I got back to my room, pulled out Wan¡¯s package and tucked it into my shirt. My extra clothes were bundled into the bag. That went under the bed.


    Freshly dressed in my daddy¡¯s finest hand-me-downs, I went off toward the market, hoping to find Wan¡¯s contact. He should be at a shop called ¡°Our Lady¡¯s Piece¡±. Whatever that were. Wan hadn¡¯t given me much direction beyond a location, a name, and a vague description. Mister Lady. Whatever a Mister Lady were in a place probably named after him. I had a strange feeling about it and Wan hadn¡¯t helped any by getting a far away look when he spoke of the man.


    The store itself were on a corner with neatly trimmed hedges decorating the entry way in two rows. Ribbons were woven between the branches making them seem oddly festive. The rest of the market were awash with colors by the nature of items being sold, but none of it had a mark of deliberate decoration like Our Lady¡¯s Piece. Even odder, the store had two names. Right under the first were a smaller set of lettering that said ¡°Your Ladies Peace¡±.


    Store hours were limited. A sign in the window side said they closed at noon, which had to have been hours ago judging by the afternoon sun.


    I sighed, made sure the thin package Wan had handed me were still secure, and went to the docks to find work. I¡¯d accomplish something today, beyond looking at a woman¡¯s bare skin and artwork. Not that there hadn¡¯t been a certain appeal to the eye candy. Taking part in the delights she¡¯d promised would cost coin and I wouldn¡¯t feel right spending someone else¡¯s money on a woman for the night. I didn¡¯t even know what the rates were for such services.


    The sign Simon had mentioned were extremely obvious. Right at the main pathway to the peer were a ten foot tall carved sign saying ¡°Workers here¡± and a dozen or so people milling around. They eyed me. I eyed them back and noted they formed a loose lined with the person directly under the sign glowering at me. He pointed to the end. I shrugged and go in after him. Based on the amount of dirt and greasy footprints this place got a lot of traffic. Maybe more in a day than Chandler¡¯s ever saw in a moon.


    People showed. They waved at workers and shouted numbers. By the time the line reached me, I had a fairly good idea of what to do. People would give a number of workers, a task, a price, and we could say yes or no. It were that simple. Most of the people offering jobs didn¡¯t have to haggle, implying there were going rates. I waited my turn but didn¡¯t feel stressed. If today didn¡¯t work, I¡¯d go back to the Golden Gun and pass out.


    ¡°Hey! You. Fifty cents if you help load. You in?¡±


    Fifty cents were barely enough for a snack but helping were more about word of mouth and getting myself known as a hard worker. I nodded anyway. The goal were to be seen, to work, to get my name known until a steadier job arrived. Surely someone would need a man willing to work for money every day.


    He escorted me to longer pier where boats were docked. They had a wagon backed along the peer toward the boat, ready for goods to be transferred from one to the other.


    ¡°Put them up there in the same layout they are on the boat.¡±


    I stared at the pile then looked back to the wagon.


    A second man who¡¯d been hired along with me snorted then shook his head. ¡°You must be new.¡±


    Up and down my head went.


    My coworker pointed. ¡°Here. We¡¯ll on this side. It¡¯s simple stuff.¡±


    ¡°No. Those have to go there. They¡¯re stacked with the heaviest on the bottom.¡±


    They argued over where to put the crates. I wanted to earn back some money from last night¡¯s drinking and stopped worrying about the price. If nothing else, I banked on someone else seeing me as a hard worker. If that failed, they¡¯d at least see me around town. Trying to scrape by.


    We got on either side of a crate and got ready to lift.


    ¡°Ready?¡±


    I nodded. My coworker nodded back, and I we moved on from there. A few dozen boxes left we were done.


    Our temporary boss smiled, clapped his hands together, gave me a full dollar, and motioned us off.


    Back we went to the line. Darkness were creeping in but money were the root of all necessity. More work meant more money to survive. It meant more visibility and ingraining myself with Bell Town. The line rotated quick enough, but it might not be like this every day. I suspected that the main carriage I¡¯d rode in with, taking a shipment from Wellbrook, were timed with a lot of other shipments. Military shipments would probably be ideal to travel in the wake of, like we¡¯d done coming from Chandler¡¯s Field to Bell Town.


    By the time I¡¯d gone through three jobs, Simon showed up. He cut in line behind me causing another tired man to grumble, but the next person looking for workers picked the lot of us. We left almost immediately for another job further down the docks.


    On the way, Simon cheerly started a conversation. ¡°Hey! Chase. You made it. I couldn¡¯t get out of bed until an hour ago. Don¡¯t know what those drinks were spiked with.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t distract my workers!¡± the cart owner shouted.


    ¡°No sir! I¡¯m ready to work!¡±


    It seemed like everyone out here wanted to move boxes. From the pitches I¡¯d heard, some wanted people to help put up buildings or clean out stables. There were all sorts of needs but a lot of it were day labor works. None of it seemed steady or useful.


    My coworkers were different this time but seemed cheery enough. Talking were apparently a way to pass time while performing a boring task like lugging around crates. Or bags. This time we were slinging large bags that smelled like they had rice or some other soft grain that made me want to sneeze.


    We had timed our work so they we could move together. It helped me get to know more rules of working the docks, and the others were too happy to fill up the silence with chatter. Our conversation had twisted to telling a drifter like me what options there were.


    Simon dropped off a bag of supplies at the designated spot. ¡°Chase, you should join a crew. Most of them got deals to pay their dues. Nancy¡¯s got her group a deal with a local healer. Twice a day they can go to one of the contractors at the rest house there. Get a pick me up, fixes minor problems, green from Wellbrook Mines and inked by the finest tattooist this side of Mississippi.¡±


    The other man, who¡¯s name were Douglas, said, ¡°Nancy hates pretty boys.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know nothing. Nancy loves pretty boys. It¡¯s the rest of her crew that doesn¡¯t.¡±


    Douglas dropped a sack into its spot then marched back to get another set of supplies. ¡°Probably best not to talk to Nancy. Could try Jesse. Hear he¡¯s got an opening down on pier six.¡±


    I tried to remember the places I¡¯d been so far. These docks were pretty big and stretched on a way all along the river. Fingers counted out one, two, three, and so on until Simon started laughing.


    ¡°Seven,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s seven piers here. This close to the Mississippi, and Wellbrook, well. Bell Town¡¯s basically a transit hub for everything. Going up river, you¡¯d probably stop here. Going down? Probably stop here.¡±


    I¡¯d thought Bell Town were further from the Mississippi than that. I¡¯d need to find a map soon, especially if being a Hound were going to send me traipsing around the countryside.


    Douglas shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s cus Bell¡¯s got the cheapest ink. Traders pop up every day trying to get a deal and run the ink across to the trains on the eastern side. But I hear they¡¯re building a bridge up north to get over the smaller rivers. Maybe one day we¡¯ll push back the Saracons back far enough to build some rails to the south too. But even one to the north¡¯ll help. My brother says it¡¯ll cut hours off of travel to use a train from coast to coast. Can you imagine?¡±


    ¡°Are they?¡± Simon perked up then grunted as he hefted another crate. ¡°Any work up there? Could use a change from heaving shit around the docks all day.¡±


    ¡°Nah. Immigrants took all the jobs. Them chinks fresh off the boat.¡±


    By this point, I barely could follow the conversation. Douglas seemed to have brothers everywhere in the country and


    ¡°You paid your dues yet?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t recall. Too broke to pay them now at any rate. Come sunrise I¡¯ll have a few bucks to spare.¡±


    Their banter continued back and forth. I smiled quietly to myself but kept working. A cool night breeze blew off the river¡¯s straight and across the pier.


    Fifty miles away and the people were almost the same. The day passed, full of labor, gossip, and getting to know new faces like Simon and Gregory. It felt like my first days at Wellbrook all over again, without the mine spawned critters. It helped a bit to offset my awe from last night, but I¡¯d gotten good at killing monsters over the last few months.


    I couldn¡¯t tell which I¡¯d prefer. Peace, quiet, and simple labor or danger, excitement, and crazy plots. Momma were still back there, along with Jenn.


    Maybe I could earn enough cash to move them someplace safe from the monsters. I could send them funds like Wan did in his package that still lay close my chest. It¡¯d be easier for all of us, and Bell Town seemed safe enough so far.

 8 - Thugs on the Way

    The next few days passed without much fanfare. Simon and Douglas were there almost every afternoon. Sometimes we worked together, other times we went to different projects. There wer always  The later shifts were colder but the line moved quickly. By the end of each night I had enough to afford the next night¡¯s rent, food, and a drink. If I were lucky, I had a dollar or two left over, which I¡¯d been saving to get momma and Jenn some food or clothes.


    Truthfully, I could have made more hunting monsters all over Butcher Hills and turning in the inks and hearts to the refinery. I hadn¡¯t known while working at Wellbrook exactly how much they paid for hearts. Though there were miles more danger involved in fighting beasts.


    That¡¯s one situation I noticed the most of. People here weren¡¯t as afull of markings, except some of the workers. They were simply people. Felines stuck to the inner city, though there weren¡¯t many. Flops I could see through walls in people¡¯s backyards along the roads. Likely planting food to save the poorer areas a few bucks. Not a delver to be seen. Simon and Douglas hadn¡¯t talked about the other races either.


    As requested, I made myself obvious about town. Lots of wandering from one end to another, getting used to the sights and smells of a world different yet strange similar to the one I¡¯d grown up in. The tall buildings startled me near every morning. The amount of people living under one roof at the inn were too many for me to deal with. I¡¯d hear them through the walls doing anything and everything. Some nights they invaded my dreams.


    Then there were Jewels. I  could see her markings through the walls. Faint and blurry on account of all the walls, but still obvious enough to stand out. A distant balloon, fit to pop. She spent most mornings currently into a ball and holding still.


    It worried me, but not enough to run down to her door and knock. Not even the need to touch a woman would drive me to banging on her door in the middle of the morning. I swallowed all my own worries and stayed sober the rest of the week.


    I hadn¡¯t managed to make it to Our Lady¡¯s Piece while they were open. The hours in the window kept changing with each visit. Wan¡¯s package might have to wait until I got better instructions out of him. Playing games with someone I didn¡¯t know were a frustrating way to start each morning.


    Come Friday evening, I were done and ready to go home. To sleep in my own bed, and see if Jenn and momma were alright. Though that also meant there should be a mile long letter full of explanations waiting for me.


    We stood in line. Friday proved to be busier all around. Based on quiet mutterings from the others, it were because everyone sought a few extra dollars before the weekend rolled around. It sounded like it¡¯d get even worse come the next of the month.


    ¡°Big plans for the weekend?¡± Simon asked.


    I shook my head.


    ¡°Headed back home? Chandys or whatever?¡±


    My head bobbed.


    ¡°Can¡¯t believe anyone would want to move back to that hell hole. Too many monsters.¡±


    Fingers rubbed together. Simon blinked a few times then shrugged. ¡°To each their own.¡±


    My motivation for money were pretty much established by the end of the week. A few workers recognized me, and while none of my my markings were for strength or stamina, they were


    ¡°I¡¯ll be here all weekend. Need to get enough for a ticket up north to those rails. That¡¯s where the real money will be. Then if I¡¯m lucky, I learn how to run the trains. Imagine that, all day, going back and forth across the country. Waking up to a new town every day?¡±


    Simon surely had wanderlust. In the week we¡¯d been working together, he¡¯d always mentioned going somewhere else. The minute a job were mentioned out of town, he perked up and asked questions.


    ¡°Monsters everywhere. And those guys that kill them. What do you call them?¡±


    The weather were cold but having gloves on my hands helped with both the work and keeping myself warm. I fumbled anyway with the pencil and wrote out an answer.


    Rangers.


    ¡°Insane, that¡¯s what. Rangers? What kind of name is that. Might as well be Minions of God, or Cowboys. Could call themselves, what are they. Noble Knights? That¡¯s what I¡¯ve heard them be called back in the empire. Noble.¡±


    Noble Knights sounded far better than Rangers. Rangers sounded like a stupid name for someone who hid in the trees watching people. Though, that weren¡¯t exactly far from the truth. Wan and Ash did exactly that.


    ¡°Think a week or two and I¡¯m going to move on. Maybe three.¡±


    My eyes rolled.


    Where, I wrote


    Simon squinted at my note. The dwindling daylight made it harder to read but he¡¯d been perfectly willing to try. I liked Simon. He didn¡¯t care that I were mute. Didn¡¯t care that he had to read a piece of paper to get my side of the conversation. He chatted a mile on his own.


    ¡°North! Weren¡¯t you paying attention?¡±


    I had been, but I wanted to irritate him a bit by pretending otherwise. Greggory Chandler had been fun that way too. Always willing to talk and drag others into his grand plans. Gregory had been a man with gravity. A pull.


    Simon didn¡¯t have that, but he were fun to listen to anyway.


    ¡°Do that for a month or two. Bet they don¡¯t have union dues up there. Bet they don¡¯t have people demanding protection money from the shops. What¡¯s that one you keep visiting? I¡¯ve seen you outside their door three times this week, but you never go on.¡±


    I frowned briefly then shook it off. Simon likely got up and mossed around about the same time I did, and the store were between the docks and Golden Gun so chances were pretty high he¡¯d venture by when I did.


    Though I weren¡¯t sure I put much stock in coincidence with this many people about town.


    ¡°Don¡¯t like it here. Too lawless. The only time this place shapes up is when the military comes through and that¡¯s only once or twice a month. This place will be hell come next week.¡±


    Simon nervously shuffled his feet back and forth where we stood. The people in front of us glanced our way in unison but went back to their chatting.


    Their sudden gaze made me think twice about Simon¡¯s words. There had been talk all week between him and Douglas about groups to join and union dues. I hadn¡¯t taken it to heart but maybe there were issues. Corso and his thugs, a group notorious to hear about back in Chandler¡¯s Field, had a reputation for a reason.


    ¡°You guys with a union?¡± Simon asked.


    They nodded.


    ¡°Jesse,¡± the younger said. The other man elbowed him in the side.


    The pair in front of us were father and son. I didn¡¯t want to stare but couldn¡¯t help myself. They whispered to each other and smiled at jokes. He had to be about my age, and his father reminded me of my own daddy.


    Douglas waved at us and came to our spot in the line. Someone grumped, which made Simon turn around and wave a hand. ¡°It¡¯s alright, he¡¯s just talking. His spot¡¯s back there by the man who think¡¯s plaid is in fashion.¡±


    Simon pointed back to a wall of folks wearing the same clothes.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Douglas said dryly.


    ¡°No problem. Don¡¯t want people to think you¡¯re cutting.¡±


    ¡°Never,¡± he deadpanned in response.


    I shook my head at their banter. Even if I never saw them after this weekend, I¡¯d enjoyed the company in a new town. It helped to have a familiar face, especially people that weren¡¯t annoying pricks like Ducky.


    ¡°Enjoyed your first week in Bell?¡± Douglas asked. He stared blankly at me. Douglas didn¡¯t seem like the smiling sort. He were frank and detached from everything. ¡°Been to see all the sights?¡±


    Some, I wrote. The line were moving along still and if we were lucky, Simon would get a job in the next batch. One thing I¡¯d learned, no one liked it when the line were skipped, not the workers, nor the employers. Once we were gone, Simon would have move to the back.


    Simon waved. ¡°There¡¯s not much to see around here. Water. Boats. You want real piers, go to New York. Makes this place look like an outpost at the edge of the world.


    ¡°It pretty much is,¡± Douglas said.


    ¡°And all those wagons? I suppose there¡¯s a lot of horse shit, and them Hell Steeds are something. Don¡¯t get those back west.¡± Simon shook his head. ¡°East I mean. Didn¡¯t get enough sleep last night, had company over.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t gone to see the stables. Hell Steeds were one of the more common ink modified critters out there. People had tried with other beasts like sheep and pigs, hoping for some perfect livestock. Daddy had shared a story about how a neighbor tried to feed ink to pigs. He¡¯d come back a week later to find one pig at all the others, half the fence, and broken loose. Calling the results disastrous were kind.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t get into the magical beasts. Though tales from the empire say they ride great big lizards. They call them dragons. Even got these little wings. Though I¡¯d only seen them in second hand artwork. I¡¯m going to go see the museums at Washington, get a glance of those original versions, see if they have wings there too or if that was just my friends pulling a great big joke on me.¡±


    I missed my daddy¡¯s stories. There¡¯d been so much there that¡¯d never quiet made sense. He¡¯d probably been to the museums. He¡¯d been back east for a summer and met momma there. Then they came back and settled down, had me.


    ¡°It¡¯ll cost me at least fifty to get a train ticket up there. I could get on first class for one hundred and change. Get me a nice stewardess in one of those tight outfits. Or I could buy me a horse and go anywhere I want. Kind of funny that one ride costs the same as a horse.¡±


    ¡°People steal horses.¡±


    ¡°Suppose that¡¯s true,¡± Simon said with a nod.


    The longer I sat here in Bell Town, the more I realized I didn¡¯t know a damned thing about my own family. Daddy had been all over Chandler¡¯s Field. The mines, the hills, all over town. Everyone had known him but no one had told me about his real calling. To be half a Hound, like my granddaddy. Families were big to other folks around Chandler¡¯s Field. I¡¯d always been told mine were hard working, focused folks. The miners were like that. They¡¯d liked him.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Out here, no one knew me. No one called me Widow Craig¡¯s son.


    The pair in front of us left. Simon stepped up to the front of the line. Almost immediately someone came by and grabbed him, then another person me, and on went the night. Manual labor in exchange for coin. I suspected the workload would die down eventually. Wellbrook¡¯s workload ebbed as the month went on, then spiked again as everyone came back in.


    Strangely, working the piers made me think of Kenneth. He were the pastor at a church outside of Chandler¡¯s Field. I suspect he were also a head cleric of the temple up The Mountain, helping folks with returning their ink tainted dead to whence they came from.


    This only reminded me of him because the full moon would be soon. Not this weekend but next. Based on my understanding, the dead should be returning soon. Which meant next week I¡¯d likely need to keep my eyes out for anyone pilfering parts from the deceased in an attempt to get cheap ink.


    That ink wouldn¡¯t be processed as neatly. I knew from my own markings that the application process changed it, bound it somehow with the body. Though I hadn¡¯t put much thought into my marks, the hot and cold sensations always lingered on opposite hands, weaving a path that connected at my heart. I kept them suppressed by way of the Hidden Soul marking on my back, which let me hide my own inks.


    Hours passed. Night descended, and by the end I wanted a drink and to curl up in bed. Tomorrow I¡¯d catch the wagon ride home and deal with whatever came next.


    Douglas had marched off an hour ago with barely a wave. I wanted to say farewell to Simon, in case he took off over the weekend for better pastures. Next week might be harder if they were both gone, especially since I¡¯d need to start getting up earlier and work morning shifts.


    Simon¡¯s pattern this week had been to work all night, grab a drink and gamble away some earnings. He weren¡¯t anywhere obvious along the main piers. I continued down until reaching the edge of the docks, passed the workers gathering sign.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know what you mean,¡± Simon said. His voice were barely above a whisper and sounded rough.


    ¡°Now, I¡¯ve been over our accounts.¡±


    The second voice I couldn¡¯t place. They were firm but wobbly sounding. Muffled, like they were underwater.


    ¡°Paid in full, right?¡± Simon asked. A dull thudding sound echoed twice. ¡°Or maybe not.¡±


    I followed the sounds slowly, taking care to lighten my footsteps a bit. Obsidian had been a bastard, but he¡¯d also taught me that it were all in how one¡¯s foot were set down. My shoes weren¡¯t as good as his custom made bits since they were leftovers from my mining days.


    Sneaking around turned out to be pointless. Simon were downright cornered in an alley with crates piled high. There were three men surrounding him. None of them cared a whit about me. Based on the size and piles of markings on two of men, they were used to being left the hell alone.


    A smart person would see their bare arms all inked up to high heaven and find a wiser path.


    ¡°You¡¯re in arrears. Plus interest from two months ago.¡±


    Simon¡¯s head could be seen trying to find a clear path to escape. It bobbed up and down behind the other men like a fishing lure. ¡°Can¡¯t be behind. I¡¯m sure I made a payment before I left.¡±


    ¡°Then it looks like our books have a disagreement, which means we¡¯ve a problem.¡±


    I stepped closer, keeping myself against a wall and using careful footsteps.


    The walls of meat were burley. Markings all along their arms were crude but lent themselves to bursts of strength. They¡¯d hit like freight trains and keep on going until the user ran out of steam. I couldn¡¯t remember the downside, aside from frequent muscle tears. Self damage did me no good in the short term, and certainly couldn¡¯t help Simon.


    ¡°No problems. Not with me boys. I¡¯m just coming off the job now. Got a couple of dollars for you. I swear.¡±


    The third thinner man did all the talking. He kept his hands pressed together and his head listed to one side. One of the markings on his forehead were for eyesight but the other one took me a moment. I felt fairly sure I¡¯d seen it in Cassandra¡¯s book. A brain in a book made of blue bits mixed with lots of gray. It should help with memory and filing away details.


    His head rocked to the side. ¡°Simple, Simple. You were warned about not having paid your taxes after the grace period.¡±


    ¡°I was going to pay,¡± Simon said. ¡°That¡¯s why I went to Chandys. I swear. Had to get a better job. Came back with ten bucks all told.¡±


    The scrawny man snapped his fingers. His hired muscled reached out and grabbed Simon by the shirt and lifted him to the wall. Simon¡¯s arms grasped along the wood behind him for a weapon or door. His knees jerked but didn¡¯t last out.


    The halted motion confused me.


    Is he deliberately not fighting back?


    It made sense. Fighting those walls of meat would probably make matters worse.


    A hand clamped down my shoulder and sent a ripple of force through my body. A knee wobbled and threatened to give out. The person with a hand on my shoulder squeezed and pushed me forward.


    My eyes tightened. I¡¯d been so focused on studying their damn markings that I¡¯d forgotten to check behind me. Of course they wouldn¡¯t leave the entrance unguarded. For a moment, I debated trying to punch the man, but surely that¡¯d leave me hurting. I hadn¡¯t mastered using the leeching green that looked like stomach sickness yet, or it might be easier to recover.


    Damn Obsidian¡¯s exercises.


    What image went with the green again? A swirling hole sucking down swamp water. Whatever swamp water were. I couldn¡¯t think of something I¡¯d never seen before, like Simon and his damn dragons.


    ¡°Who do we have here?¡±


    I stared at Simon, blaming him for getting us into this trouble. Never mind it¡¯d been my own damn fault for nosing around.


    ¡°No one.¡±


    ¡°I doubt that. He knows you. I can see it in my eyes.¡± He tapped at one of the markings I hadn¡¯t fully identified. A pair of eyes with threads. Maybe that let him see which people were linked together somehow.


    That made me nervous. Markings had too many functions. I needed to study the possibilities even more so I could have a better idea of what I were against from the jump.


    ¡°Just a coworker. Mister Chase.¡±


    Scrawny looked back and forth between us slowly. His tilted head made me dizzy. Or the pressure on my neck and shoulder that felt like a giant held me in place. ¡°A friend of yours?¡±


    ¡°Coworker. We¡¯ve had a drink together. That¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s inquisitive for a drinking buddy. Perhaps he can help you pay your debt?¡±


    ¡°Him? No way. He¡¯s mute. Like Xavier. Needs every penny he earns. He doesn¡¯t know anything about this. His grace period doesn¡¯t end until next week. Right?¡±


    The thin one kept his hands clasped and lifted them slightly. Ink on his neck flared briefly as the brain in the book glowed. I closed out the Watchful Eye and pretended not to notice.


    ¡°Is that true?¡± the thinner one asked.


    I nodded slowly and without a clue what this grace period were, but it likely had to do with these dues and whatever Simon were in trouble for.


    ¡°And I thought you hardly knew him Mister Simon.¡±


    ¡°Hardly. We just met.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯ve got a fate together.¡±


    A shiver raced up my backside and it weren¡¯t from the man holding me. This unknown with the out of the way markings made my skin crawl.


    Simon were trying to help. ¡°No we don¡¯t. Not at all.¡±


    Thanks, but I don¡¯t think it¡¯ll matter.


    I didn¡¯t have time to write it out and they were set on doing me harm. It were in the eyes. Monsters in the mine had looked at me the same way. A strange mix between dispassionate and hungry that made it seem like I were simply a meal being served up.


    ¡°Well. I think Mister Chase needs to help you pay what you owe.¡±


    His fingers snapped.


    A walls of meat that had been cornering Simon walked toward me. Markings under their skin crawled with a series of dirty gray inks. He reached up to his neck, where an image of chains rested, pressed against it and the ink swam in an eager curl. One breathe later and he had a weaving pile of chain wrapped around his fingers and arm.


    wHe strode toward me.


    Simon had been wrong a few days ago. Making friends weren¡¯t free. It came with a cost, and without a voice I couldn¡¯t exactly explain that I wanted nothing to do with this nonsense.


    ¡°It¡¯s simply a lesson Mister Chase,¡± the one in charge said.


    I couldn¡¯t back away. They were moving slowly though, giving me time to understand that my face were about to be beaten until momma didn¡¯t recognize me. Only one of the thugs continued a slow approach. My eyes drifted to the chains. They were like the spirit animals, but a weapon. Hardwood had one, a gun. Ash had his stave''s. I didn¡¯t have anything of my own, and hadn¡¯t realized a simple chain could be a weapon.


    My own markings weren¡¯t suited to battle without a weapon to channel through. A knife, a gun. I¡¯d foolishly brought neither. They were back in my pack at the Golden Gun. It¡¯d been stupid to think this forsaken town were safer simply because there were no monsters. I should have kept my knife in a boot. Now I knew.


    In the time it took me to figure out an option and find a weapon, the man had strode over and had his handful of chains draped between his hands. It registered. They didn¡¯t need to kill me. They needed me to learn my place.


    They needed a show.


    I had no such simple needs. They wanted to hurt me, and everything that had done so would be killed. Only Ducky had survived when I set my mind to kill something.


    Where Simon hesitated, I couldn¡¯t.


    My foot lifted behind me. The man holding me tightened his legs. I pushed backwards and sent us falling backwards. He weren¡¯t stupid. His hands came up to cover his face and as his large bulk quickly rolled out to one side.


    I weren¡¯t a complete idiot either.


    He got up, but I moved quicker. Monsters from the mine had more tricks than humans.


    The man who¡¯d been holding me stood. The second one rushed past his friend with the chains holding both arms wide. A snark like marking shimmered under his clothes. That should be a grappling based marking that would squeeze the life out of me. I grabbed nearby crates and toppled them in his path while backing over his friend..


    He stumbled into the pile of wood, shattering boards. Bone snapped as he fumbled wildly. The strength markings had worked against him but it¡¯d be one down, if he didn¡¯t have a way to recover quickly.


    ¡°Stupid,¡± the one with the brain in a book said.


    I silently agreed.


    Maybe it were being in the mine for ages, but part of me simply treated these guys as another form of monsters. I¡¯d seen spiders with human faces on their bellies. I¡¯d seen snakes that looked like sticks and dogs that blinked across distances to appear where least expected.


    Subtly be damned. Spying were too hard. I grabbed the nearest object, a emptied sack and channeled fire into it. Images of Ducky¡¯s snarling face as we tussled flooded my mind. Down the image went as flame jumped along the bag¡¯s length, turning it to kindling. It weren¡¯t as good as a blade but it¡¯d work.


    I tossed it at the man with broken bones then kicked at the one who¡¯d first grabbed me. He pushed away from me writhing in the midst of broken boxes. The broken boness man screamed louder as his clothes caught fire. He rolled, screaming and clawing at his body. I grabbed a board and let the rage and Wilding Touch channel more burning.


    Down I swung the kindling onto the man who¡¯d held me. Metal clanked against my wood, shattering it. I¡¯d ignored the first guy too long. He bellowed as his chain whipped out toward my face. I fell backward to get away but it caught my face, dragging metal across it at an angle.


    Simon screamed. A solid thud filled the air.


    ¡°With each other. You idiots need to work with each other!¡± Their leader sighed heavily.


    One were flailing with a sack of fire. The one with the chains were still standing, huffing and walking slowly. I realized his marking must somehow be slowing him down. He hadn¡¯t been trying to intimidate me, he simply couldn¡¯t move fast while using that marking.


    His price were a speed reduction.


    ¡°Corso will have your heads.¡±


    The remaining man looked at his boss. His partner I¡¯d kneed and knocked over pushed me away using the same debris I¡¯d been using.


    I threw a my burning plank at the one with chains. His arms worked fine as he lashed out again, sending the aflame wood splintering across the alley.


    So far, I¡¯d only used the one mark. My others weren¡¯t useful in this fight. Not even the Heart Seeker, which would only point out where my foes were.


    I lifted up my gloved hands and got ready to grab at them. Simon slipped further back but stilled when the thugs leader eyed him. As I backed the other direction, my foot lashed out at one of the men, who¡¯d somehow fallen again. Fighting monsters at Wellbrook had taught me plenty, but one fact stood above the others. Once an enemy were on the ground and weak, lettering them back up would be a foolish idea.


    Their leader froze, almost literally. He glanced behind me. I couldn¡¯t be sure it weren¡¯t a trick and kept my eyes locked on the lot of them with all four men in plain sight. Even Simon were visible. He¡¯d somehow managed to get on the far side of all this nonsense.


    If we both ran now, we should get away cleanly. Him in his direction, I in mine, and these goons could stay here and rot.


    ¡°What? What the hell is going on here?¡± The new voice bounced off the walls down the alley.


    All three thugs halted. Even the man who¡¯s body were burning held still like his life depended upon being quiet more than putting out fires. It took me a moment to register it, but they were dripping with sweat that didn¡¯t come from our quick scuffle.


    They¡¯re scared.


    I tensed and fumbled around for another weapon, resolving never to leave my knife behind again. Finding nothing, my back went to a wall trying to get a better view of the newcomer but I refused to let any of the foes out of my sight.


    A new man had appeared at the mouth of the small alley. He leaned against a box, a blade in one hand, picking his teeth with a point sharper than daddy''s. A smirk crossed his face despite the knife in his mouth. A second later, after looking proud we were all focused on him, he pushed upward and walked slowly across the twenty feet toward me.


    He waved a hand back and forth like one of Poss¡¯s fancy butler¡¯s but with no food. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡±


    Behind him, Douglas stumbled into view. He wove an unsteady path and paused, staring at the mess of people in the alley. His head reeled back slowly as he also asked, ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    The man picking his teeth with a knife turned toward Douglas, his face scrunching into a ball of tight fury. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask for your opinion!¡±


    His blade flashed, and almost immediately Douglas hit the ground at the alley¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°Argh,¡± my coworker clutched his foot and whimpered.


    ¡°Shut up! If I want you¡¯re opinion I¡¯ll shove it up your ass like a puppet.¡±


    I took a moment to realize Douglas¡¯s food had been penned to the ground by the blade in our newcomers hands. My arms lifted, ready to fight or grapple with this new enemy, only there were a fresh weapon already prepared.


    ¡°Sir.¡± I shifted slightly to eye the man with his stupid brain in a book marking. He kept his hands together and bowed deeply toward the newcomer. ¡°Corso sir. We were simply collecting our dues, as ordered.


    My face drained of feeling and body slacked. The men I¡¯d been fighting were Corso¡¯s thugs and this were their leader. Said to be one of the most dangerous men in all of Bell Town.


    Shit.

 9 - Poison on the Knife

    I¡¯d been in town all of a week and stumbled into Corso himself. Or he¡¯d found me. It didn¡¯t matter much either way. Either Hounds were truly cursed to stumble into messes or my luck were simply shit.


    Simon took another step back and Corso¡¯s head whipped around. He smirked at Simon. One lip lifted slightly and tracked over teeth in anticipation. I¡¯d seen felines grin the same way. It weren¡¯t even the potential joy of chasing prey. They were excited that they¡¯d scared someone.


    This leader of thugs liked people being afraid of him.


    He turned to me with that same grin. I stared back. His eyes were unfocused and fighting to lock onto my face. Like he couldn¡¯t figure out where I stood or maybe madness dwelt in his brain and threatened to burst out then infect the world.


    I¡¯d faced down that fear inspiring mountain lion. I¡¯d been chased by a beast of a bear. Corso¡¯s gaze were the same but he were nowhere near as intimidating because he were merely a man.If he were really that dangerous he¡¯d be out there hunting down the real monsters instead of playing king here. I knew Corso were two things, mad, and a coward.


    He pointed at me. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°Sir. Just another new face on in town who needs to pay his dues for using the property.¡±


    Corso tilted his head like the brain man to the side, who were still locked in a half bow. I wondered if all the man¡¯s mental gears were slipping.


    ¡°Refusing to pay? In my territory?¡± He stormed around the alley but no one moved. Not Simon, Not Douglas, and not me.


    We were literally a captive audience. I glanced down the alley and debated leaving the other two behind entirely. Simon and Douglas had been nothing but helpful and I weren¡¯t the type to simply abandon someone, especially budding friends.


    I blinked slowly and watched our captures. One were still on fire but managed to contain his whimpers. Even his efforts to put the fire out were restrained. I wanted to shuffle further away and get myself some room, but there were no easy escapes.


    ¡°You nervous?¡± he asked.


    Corso were a man full of questions.


    I tilted my head to the side but slwoly righted myself. Mocking Corso¡¯s henchmen might go poorly and I¡¯d rather get out of this without more violence, given a choice.


    ¡°According to Mister Simon, Mister Chase doesn¡¯t speak.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t speak?¡± Corso asked me while waving his weapon like momma used to shake spoons at me when I didn¡¯t eat.


    My head nodded slowly.


    ¡°I hate deaf people.¡±


    Mute were the word. I frowned slightly. Corso shook his head violently and knocked over the remaining crates near him. I restrained my jumping and held still. Thankfully the wooden boxes had been empty but that much material surely weren¡¯t light. He¡¯d pulled it over like it were nothing.


    Strength? Side effects of confusion? Maybe he can¡¯t keep track of thoughts.


    I let my eyesight flicker again and studied him. He had a bared arms and a lot of markings, but none of those were real ink. The one¡¯s I saw were nothing like any I¡¯d noted before. Circles were all over his body. Inside those circles were bits of blue that didn¡¯t seem right. They shimmered with a sleekness that no ink should have on a marking.


    Cassandra had some more explaining to do about a Hounds being prone to walking into trouble, and I needed another crack at her books. I needed to survive this crazy guy.


    ¡°Mute, sir.¡±


    ¡°A mute? Mute. Mute.¡± He snapped his fingers repeatedly and jabbed the knife into a wall. It¡¯d been somewhere else a moment ago but seemed able to return to his hand at a whim. ¡°Oh. His voice is fucked, that¡¯s what it means, right? Right?¡±


    The brain tattoo bearing man nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t had a mute since Xavier. Remember that guy? Told the funniest jokes.¡±


    ¡°He couldn¡¯t speak, sir.¡±


    Corso¡¯s hands flailed. He threw a blade again and it thudded into wood near my face. I managed not to flinch despite not seeing where he¡¯d brought the weapon from or how it¡¯d moved so damn quick. It were like it simply appeared.


    ¡°The fuck you think I¡¯m saying? Funny damn jokes. Always making me laugh. I miss Xavier.¡±


    Were it being summoned to a new place? That might be possible. It might also be hidden from sight somehow, like my markings let me hide tattoos. Surely that¡¯d have a hellish cost attached, to pull a weapon from nowhere then make it unseen.


    ¡°Sir?¡± The minion¡¯s head tilted all the way from one side to the other, nearly touching his shoulder. ¡°He¡¯s right where you left him.¡±


    ¡°I left him in a ditch because he mouthed off to me.¡±


    Jesus.


    Corso were utterly off his rocker.


    The man who¡¯d been on fire stopped moving. I gave him a glance and debated dashing across the distance to kick him harder, but he lay there unmoving. The ink on his markings twisted then went still. My lips tightened on one side.


    I might have killed one of Corso¡¯s men. That brought me back around to wondering if I should simply take down Corso too, if I could. There were still too many brutes and while some were battered or dead, even becoming that twisted Hound body might not be enough. Then there¡¯d be finding a place to lick my wounds if I survived.


    I shouldn¡¯t be a fool.


    Failing to kill him would put everyone in danger. I might fail miserably. Then momma, Jenn, and everyone else would be damned forever. Cursed to be slaves to that shit-hole of a mountain until they too died. Then we¡¯d all join the war on the other side.


    Not fighting were wiser. Especially since I didn¡¯t understand his markings or how he¡¯d made a blade appear in Douglas¡¯s foot. Our coworker sat frozen on the ground, afraid to even whimper. Blood pooled under his foot around where the weapon had been.


    If taking down the thug leader now were impossible, then maybe finding him later might be easier. I took note of his scent as much as possible, along with the other man. Bell Town were huge and full of a constant flow of people, but a man like Corso must have a home where he¡¯d bedded down. If I could sniff out a Rock Snake in the woods, then finding him on my terms would be simple.


    It¡¯s gone. I blinked repeatedly and didn¡¯t understand. To the side of my head, where there¡¯d been a weapon moments ago, were nothing. Corso had yet another knife in his hands as he bobbed around the alley ranting.


    ¡°So what am I doing here?¡± the madman asked. ¡°What, what, what? Disrespecting my men. But do I get upset? No. No, we don¡¯t get upset when someone disrespects the order of things. We don¡¯t get upset when they kill one of our men. Do we?¡±


    Corso walked over to me, still waving the blade and flipping it in a  lazy arc.


    I fumbled to get something solid in my grip. Without a reliable green I couldn¡¯t risk directly confronting him or heal mid-fight. Sneak attacks would work better. As Obsidian said, no man could defend against a knife in their throat while sleeping. Or maybe that¡¯d been daddy.


    ¡°You know what I¡¯m going to do?¡± he asked.


    If it involved attacking me, I knew what I¡¯d do. Mission be damned, I¡¯d do my best to shove that short dagger into his eye socket.


    I may not be immortal. Hell, Rangers ain¡¯t immortal. Neither are you.


    The weapon he were flipping went up but didn¡¯t come down. I searched wildly for it but couldn¡¯t see much past Corso¡¯s face.


    He smiled, a little bit softer, but with insanity still in his eyes. ¡°I like you. You¡¯re a funny man.¡±


    Just like Xavier, I thought dryly. Whoever the hell Xavier were. Everyone asked about him. Everyone, and it made me sick. Or it might have been channeling red and the rage that came with it. My head felt fuzzy and arm heavy.


    If the Wildling Touch were an ocean of hot emotions, then the Heart Seeker on the other side were simple clarity. I lifted my other arm slowly and hoped no one would notice the marking under my gloves. I could feel a dull sensation for each body around me. Every one of them were inked almost as much as larger beasts. Corso¡¯s were strong but still wrong. I couldn¡¯t explain what sort of wrong they were. It reminded me of sour milk. Or cheese with a bit of mold on one side.


    My nose wrinkled.


    His neck tightened and he shrugged while looking around. ¡°You got a joke funny man?¡±


    I slowly shook my head.


    ¡°Nothing? Amusing story? You tell me all about Simian here. Or I can tell you all about him.¡±


    An eyebrow dipped as the other shot up. My head tilted slightly.


    What in the hell am I to make of that?


    ¡°No? Tell me Ballsy, why we keeping him around?¡±


    ¡°I believe his best use is as an object lesson.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Corso spun in circles between Simon, me, and Ballsy couldn¡¯t be his real name. With his twisted posture, weird markings, and servant like attitude, Ballsy had to be utterly wrong.


    ¡°It seems best to use Mister Simon as an example. For Mister Chase.¡±


    This time both my eyebrows lifted. Simon¡¯s head shook back and forth and he pulled away.


    ¡°Well. Everyone is useful. That¡¯s what I always say. Isn¡¯t that what I always say?¡±


    The circle of men nodded.


    Only one brute from Simon¡¯s original encirclement still stood. He smiled then reached up to pull at hat off his head. Only he weren¡¯t wearing a hat. ¡°Mister Corso. Sir. I¡¯d like to kick his teeth in, sir. On account of my friends.¡±


    ¡°Your friends are idiots. Look at him. Look. He¡¯s a matchstick. Your friend?¡± Corso cupped his hands and spun around while shouting, ¡°Timber! Like a log. Look at him. He¡¯s practically part of the crates.¡±


    Corso waved.


    The large wall of muscle ran an arm under his bleeding nose then sniffed.


    ¡°But can I kick his teeth in, sir?¡±


    ¡°You want to have fun, you do your job. Collect what¡¯s owed. Move on. Did you collect anything today?¡± Corso tilted his head then turned slowly to eye his brutish enforcer. His lips curved with a smile that were almost friendly. He waved a hand and bobbed over.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°You¡¯re new in town right? He¡¯s new?¡± Corso pointed at the man with the brain and book marking. ¡°Tell me.¡±


    You asked that.


    Ballsy¡¯s memory enhancement marking flashed. ¡°He¡¯s new, sir.¡±


    ¡°Never seen him, sir,¡± the brute echoed.


    ¡°Arrived with the shipment from Wellbrook along with two other new faces.¡±


    I didn¡¯t take time to write the thought down and pretended everything were going to be just fine. Simon kept his eyes peeled and every other breath he¡¯d try to back away.


    ¡°See? I knew it. I can smell them a mile away. Everywhere I go. People who don¡¯t know their place. Who don¡¯t know the rules.¡±


    Simon¡¯s eyes searched for an escape. There didn¡¯t seem to be one for either of us. Not without me doing something stupid and ruining the whole mission.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I do. I teach people the rules. My men, they follow them. I¡¯m not even mad you killed one. That happens. People fight back. They hurt my men. People get killed. Then I have to hurt someone back to make sure everyone follows the rules. Children. Mothers. Fathers.¡±


    I didn¡¯t like the threat, especially since I¡¯d be heading home tomorrow. Bashing in Corso¡¯s face with a flaming stick became more attractive by the second. There weren¡¯t a lot of witnesses besides his minions. Simon would probably leave the area. Douglas would be the only one to worry about and I couldn¡¯t say for sure who he¡¯d tell.


    Corso laughed, backed away, and spun around. ¡°See? Funny jokes.¡±


    Cold rushed up my other arm and swirled around my heart. I wondered any number of things at that point. Had he read my mind and backed away to avoid getting hit? Had he seen something in my eyes? One of his marking might let him know what I were thinking, or it might let him read facial ticks.


    ¡°Come. Come. Everyone.¡± Corso started snapping and pointed at Simon. ¡°Bring him. Bring what¡¯s. What¡¯s his name again?¡±


    The book and brain man turned slightly. ¡°Mister Simon. He hasn¡¯t paid his dues.¡±


    There were one problem. In the time I¡¯d lost my focus and wondered what exactly Corso¡¯s markings did, there were now six additional men with us. These weren¡¯t odds even a seasoned Ranger would dare. I¡¯d been nervous about what I might find at home in momma¡¯s letter. Now I¡¯d settle for making it back to Chandler¡¯s Field with all my limbs.


    Though these odds wouldn¡¯t stop me from fighting if needed. I kept thinking myself in circles but each time I had to resolve to keep calm.


    They grabbed Simon. I don¡¯t know why the man hadn¡¯t run, but neither had I. We should have struck hard and fled to somewhere we could lay traps. That¡¯s how miners handled monsters. Rangers were much the same. Kill those weak, flee those too strong and figure out their weaknesses.


    Them being human had thrown me off. I¡¯d do better next time. I wouldn¡¯t strike when other people were around. I¡¯d find them one by one and remove them like monsters from the mines.


    I watched as they drug over my coworker. My face flushed cold, wondering how they intended to use him as an example for me.


    Corso pointed. ¡°Hey new blood. Look me in the eye. Look at me.¡±


    I did, but kept the poor-man¡¯s weapon ready in my hand. My arm itched and emotions threatened to overwhelm me. A half formed image of the sunlight backing a field came to mind, like Obsidian had trained me.


    Corso didn¡¯t care. He hadn¡¯t looked at my weapon even once. The man simply smiled at everything and shook his blade at me.


    ¡°We¡¯ll give you a lesson. The best lesson ever for people coming to work my docks.¡± He rocked slightly then stood straight with both hands wide, like he were preaching to an audience of believers. ¡°You have to follow at least one rule around here. Just one. One. The rest, you and me, we¡¯ll sort that out. But until then you follow just one rule.¡±


    The men stretched Simon¡¯s arm over the wall, Two held his fist. The other locked his shoulder. A fourth punched Simon, halting his attempts at escape.


    Corso nodded and lifted his blade. Hi shead turned slightly and he smiled at me, that same insane grin he¡¯d been sporting since first showing up in the alley. Like he knew how this would all work our and had been looking forward to this part of the night.


    My stomach sunk. I¡¯d never seen men do this to each other and I had a terrible feeling what came next.


    Corso hefted the blade. I stepped forward then halted as I noticed something else. Ballsy stared at me with his head tilted to one side. His marking simmered like a pot of water on boil. I stared at the marking briefly, then his nearly sideways face, and worried that he might be memorizing everything I were doing.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Douglas groaned while putting up a hand. ¡°He can¡¯t.¡±


    Corso laughed.


    ¡°Think I care? It¡¯s not about the unpaid dues, it¡¯s about sending a reminder.¡± He chopped at Simon¡¯s hand. Simon bucked wildly and were punched in the stomach again. His face locked in a twisted expression of pain. The remaining thugs let him go and down Simon went.


    My head buzzed with a low hum and eyes were locked on the spurting stump. The world went fuzzy and red flooded everything. Buzzing filled both ears. Visions of monsters attacking in the minds flushed my face.


    Ballsy smiled as another marking I hadn¡¯t noticed crawled along his skin. My mouth pulled to one side and eyes watered. I stared at him and snarled. He smiled slowly and his mouth stretched the snapped back like rubber bands.


    Whatever swam under Ballsy¡¯s skin were like a snake treading lake water. It coiled and the image of that marking doubled, tripled, and I felt something in my stomach twist sideways. Inks shouldn¡¯t move like that. One placed them on a human then they sat. Everything. I¡¯d seen operated that way.


    Corso¡¯s voice danced along my mind. ¡°Pay your dues.¡±


    He bent over and looked me right in the eyes. I feld still trying not to let whatever Ballsy¡¯s marking were doing to me completely destroy my senses.


    The leader of Bell Town¡¯s underground tilted his head back and forth slowly. I tensed and fought back the urge to throw up in his face. He stood back up and waved his name. ¡°I¡¯ll be watching you, Mister Chase. But you ain¡¯t gonna wanna see me again. You understand?¡±


    The feeling were mutual, but instead of uttering a threat, I managed to nod slowly and barely kept eye contact. I¡¯d figure out what marking that man had that made me damn sick and I¡¯d counter it like Obsidian taught me.


    All of his men walked away. My eyesight were a mess but I managed to turn enough and watch as they ventured past Douglas and out of the alley we¡¯d been in.


    A second later, once their footsteps had faded, Douglas whimpered.


    ¡°My damn foot. Dammit my foot. He,¡± Douglas whimpered. ¡°Think he got bone. Bleed like a sob of a bitch.¡±


    He shook his head.


    I managed to see a bit better then, since I were still fairly whole, stood up and helped Douglas get to his feet. He hopped to the side against a wall. Each step his eyes tightened.


    While Douglas found a place to prop himself up, I ripped off my shirt and set about binding Simon¡¯s arm like I¡¯d seen Delilah do back at the mines. The blood were everywhere, and I tried to tightened straps around the end.


    First aid were my only real option right now. My Wildling Mark might be able to get a green, but I couldn¡¯t be sure. I didn¡¯t have time to fumble with a mental image.


    Douglas coughed intensely then wiped away his face. ¡°Get him to a healer.¡±


    I nodded but couldn¡¯t ask the dire question of where. The limb were still bleeding but I cinched cloth around the end like a pocket. I¡¯d heard that if his arm stayed this way too long he¡¯d lose even more than the hand.


    ¡°We get to the healer. They¡¯ll put his hand back on.¡±


    Simon¡¯s eyes budging, bloodshot, and shaking. It were a gaze that promised murder.


    ¡°It¡¯s tingling. Dammit. I¡¯d heard his knives were poisoned but hoped never to see it. Dammit Chase!¡±


    Simon fell to his side and clutched the freshly wrapped stump.


    ¡°Could have gotten away,¡± he mumbled.


    I couldn¡¯t see how Simon might manage that. He didn¡¯t have any markings of his own.


    ¡°Come on. I¡¯ll try to help.¡±


    Douglas couldn¡¯t do shit either. I ended up with Simon over one shoulder and Douglas limping along next to me for support. He gave directions to a place down the pier.


    ¡°Poison.¡± Simon babbled the same sort of words over and over. Sometimes I couldn¡¯t understand him. ¡°Poison¡¯s nothing. He knows nothing. Just need some rest and I¡¯ll be good to go. You¡¯ll see.¡±


    Simon shivered then groaned. Whatever he were saying had to be half fever dreams. I¡¯d never lost a limb like that but figured it¡¯d be about the worst thing that could happen to a body.


    Douglas hopped on one foot toward the upcoming door. ¡°This is Jesse¡¯s office. Her crew has a healer on the payroll. It¡¯ll help with his dues too. You need to pay yours. Corso saw you. His henchmen know you. They¡¯ll remember you stood up to him and try to break you.¡±


    I ignored Douglas and hefted over my shoulder. Liquid from his stump arm dripped all over. I¡¯d done a shit job of binding it and would need to learn how to handle the next one if this were to be a regular occurrence with Corso.


    ¡°I¡¯ll kill him,¡± Simon said. His eyes were different than Corso¡¯s. Where the gang leader had been shaky, Simon¡¯s were calm. Still waters that held no doubt as to his next goal. In that moment, I wondered if I¡¯d really grown to know the man at all.


    Douglas pushed the door open weakly. I bulled it the rest of the way with my elbow and swung Simon thorugh the narrow passage. Upon stepping inside, everything became a blur of action.


    Someone shouted at us. People grabbed Simon from my shoulders and set him across a barely cushioned couch. Another person cried about the mess all over the floor. Before I fully registered, someone had shouted for their healer while a woman with short cropped hair demanded to know what were happening. Douglas managed to explain that Corso had used Simon as an example.


    I stood there trying to take it all in. I¡¯d been in this sort of mess back at the mine, when we nearly lost a Jeff to some monster below, but this had happened because of another man. A twisted psychopath of a man who¡¯d been out to set an example.


    Because of me.


    If I¡¯d fought then maybe he¡¯d have killed us all. If I¡¯d stayed quiet in the shadows or seen the man watching the alley then maybe they would have simply roughed Simon up. Then Douglas, why had he walked in after us out of nowhere?


    There¡¯d been so many minor screw ups. The biggest one, I had no great way to defend myself without resorting to becoming a Hound. Which were a shape I hadn¡¯t used to fight humans. That and I had no way to recover afterward so being in a fight that got me injured would leave me in danger too.


    Time passed. People asked me things but my mind were numb. Simon and I weren¡¯t the closest in the world but who else were I friends with? It bothered me to see him get damaged. Folks held Simon still, peeled back my badly applied wraps, and ran water over it. He screamed. I paced back and forth but Douglas kept telling me something that sounded reassuring.


    It weren¡¯t.


    My eyes tightened. I figured out what bugged me about this whole mess. I hadn¡¯t tried to be close to many people since daddy passed, and he¡¯d gotten sick too. Sweat on his brow. Trying to hold back curses but angry.


    Through it all Simon watched me pace back and forth, staring past the people healing him, until I had to get out of the small house into the cool morning air. Sunlight crept over the horizon and I wondered when the last time I¡¯d slept were.


    Spices hung in the air. A faint hint of baked goods being cooked. Gulls called out to each other in their loud cranky voices. Water lapped against the posts that held up piers nearby. A million little bits of nise and smells overwhelmed the rest of the world and nearly turned me blind.


    ¡°You okay? Douglas asked.


    I jerked. He¡¯d come out after me and I¡¯d been too lost to notice. He stared. Heavy lids and black bags lined Douglas¡¯s eyes.


    Eventually I pointed back inside instead.


    ¡°He¡¯ll be okay. Corso likes to take hands as an example. Healers for the crews are pretty good at putting them back on.¡±


    I nodded slowly but felt no better. Knowing that Corso had done this before made matters even worse. Killing him would have saved everyone a lot of pain. Taking his own arm might have been a bitter justice. But then there¡¯d been his follower, Ballsy, with his sickness inducing mark.


    ¡°It¡¯s why you should join a crew, like I said. Make sure you pay dues to someone. Anyone. It don¡¯t even have to be the right person or a lot. If they come to collect and somehow you paid the wrong people, tell the collectors. They¡¯ll tell Corso, he¡¯ll sort it out.¡±


    I swallowed slowly and wondered how such a madman had been allowed to live within two days of The Mountain. All those military people should have come through and cleared him out.


    ¡°You leaving today?¡±


    My head bobbed.


    ¡°For home, right? Back in Chandlers you said. Wrote. On that-¡± he pointed at my chest where the notepad were normally stored.


    I still didn¡¯t have a damn shirt.


    He saw me fumbling then handed me the last part of my shirt that hadn¡¯t been turned into crappy bandages. In it were my notepad. My fingers shook as words were written slowly


    Yes. Going home.


    Douglas nodded. I wrote out a second note and held it up for him.


    Simon able to work?


    ¡°Like I said, he¡¯ll be okay by Monday. Then he¡¯ll have to watch that arm. Might take another jolt of healing, or he can pick up his own mark. Some folks try that. Paying dues is cheaper honestly, and less likely to have Corso some flay a body alive just tot prove that even inkings won¡¯t get a body out of paying their dues.¡±


    Jesus, I thought. Corso were serious about this whole payment deal. Especially if he tore out markings to prove a point. I put pencil back to paper.


    Simon staying, or leaving?


    Douglas shook his head a bit then shrugged. ¡°He paid his dues. He¡¯ll be able work all month without problems. After that? Simon seems like the type to wander.¡±


    I nodded and went over all the stuff we¡¯d been talking about this week. Dues were apparently a form of protection fees. We could pay crews like Jesse¡¯s and get patched together. Same as I used to deal with up at Wellbrook.


    Douglas promised to keep an eye on Simon and I went to get my stuff for a ride home. There¡¯d only be a few hours left. Along the entire walk I put together the markings I¡¯d seen and attempted to figure out ways around them. I¡¯d be damned if I let myself get caught by Ballsy¡¯s markings again.


    Cassandra¡¯s charms were annoying but not malicious, then whatever Ballsy did were over the line. Lowering my guard and being more trusting hadn¡¯t hurt me in the same way. He¡¯d done it to keep me from fighting back while Corso finished his insane speech.


    What marks could I get to stop it? I¡¯d still only had three, but Cassandra promised a worthwhile tattoo that would help me. Wan promised to train me with it. I still hadn¡¯t delivered his stupid letter but luckily decided to leave it back at the Golden Gun yesterday afternoon.


    I wrote a note for the front desk but the man there didn¡¯t care one ounce. I¡¯d paid through this morning and what happened next week wouldn¡¯t matter until I returned. He seemed to expect drifters like me to flee town as soon as a boat came in. He didn¡¯t even care about my topless state.


    Down the hall were Jewels, standing at her door fidgeting with the cloak she wore on the way to work. She shifted it over both shoulders drawing the front closed so regular people on the street couldn¡¯t see the goods.


    I were still wearing no shirt. Jewels waved those feathery fingers over my skin which cause da wave of goosebumps to form. My brain shut off like a light bulb for a good second.


    ¡°Hey there sexy,¡± Jewels said. ¡°Thought about my offer?¡±


    I didn¡¯t have the patience to deal with her on top of everything else. My head shook slowly back and forth.


    ¡°Shame. Now that I see what we¡¯re working with, I¡¯d be inclined to pay you for a night.¡± She leaned over, letting the cloak about her shoulder slip slightly.


    Going home for the weekend.


    Jewels smile faltered a bit then returned with full force. ¡°Where¡¯s that?¡±


    Chandlers.


    ¡°Oh.¡± She stood still, all trace of flirting gone. ¡°You¡¯re that Chase.¡±


    Jewels stood up stiffly then strode quickly past me toward the Golden Gun¡¯s exit.


    I wondered what to do next but couldn¡¯t figure out what options there were. So, home I went.

 10 - Answers on the Letter

    The ride home were mostly spent on sleeping, face pressed up against a wooden post and Hell Steed¡¯s ass only a foot or two away. I were too tired to care.


    My dreams were filled with visions. Not like The Mountain and its birds stealing power from heaven, not like mixed up memories of the past, but of Jewels, Simon, and Corso. Corso¡¯s knife flipping through the air, Jewels saying that I were ¡°that Chase.¡± I couldn¡¯t even remember telling her my name. Then there were Simon, who¡¯d taken a special sort of offense at being poisoned. Like he thought Corso were an armature.


    Momma weren¡¯t home but she¡¯d left behind a letter. I¡¯d wanted to stop and read through all of it front to back but didn¡¯t have enough time or patience. Despite the long ride home, Simon and Corso¡¯s words hung in my head and overpowered everything else.


    So, I wandered the house and made sure everything were still in one piece. Tidying up were how I survived after daddy started getting sick and after he passed on. Cleaning the home were like cleansing my soul, if only for a little while. Messes always came back.


    Once I were sure everything had been put to order with the livestock, dishes, and garden, I went back to my room and sat down with momma¡¯s notes. Turned out she rambled in letters as much as she did in real life. There were pages of tight neatly packed wording.


    I turned it over trying to find signs of which parts were more important that others but came up empty. Start to finish I read, tired and occasionally skipping lines, then having to go back over the fine cursive. All the way until I find a passage that made me stop and set the letter down.


    Eventually I reread the entire portion of the letter.


    Your daddy made them promise to leave you out of this mess. A curse going back generations he said. He didn¡¯t want you becoming a Hound, any more than I did. I saw how your granddaddy ended. I¡¯d seen how your daddy never took to the change. I¡¯d never wanted that for you. We never wanted it.


    He¡¯d made them promise to let me be. Likely the same as he¡¯d made me promise to get momma away from this place. Only both those had failed. I¡¯d become a Hound and survived the change. Momma, she had those black wings like Cassandra did. Like those crows from the vision who¡¯d stolen from heaven.


    They¡¯d said it were bad blood on your grandma¡¯s side. She weren¡¯t the right kind of woman. I can¡¯t attest to that, having never met her. Your daddy never spoke much of his momma on account of her passing away. I¡¯d read her journal though. She were tough enough but scared.


    Hate to say it, but maybe that fear ate at her. I imagine what your daddy almost became, and think on what I¡¯ve seen you turn into. Lord knows it¡¯s enough to give a body nightmares. Imagine being alone out here, hardly a town to speak of and Wellbrook were barely a think - and knowing your husband were a half a monster hisself.


    I flipped through the rest the passage. It contained more of the same. Momma¡¯s worry over this half twisted body the men in my line had. How daddy¡¯s change had left him stronger and tougher but short of breathe.


    My mind drifted back, putting together pieces of momma¡¯s letter with what I remembered of those last few months with daddy. He¡¯d always been the quiet sort, letting actions speak for him.


    Maybe that¡¯s why I¡¯d stopped talking after he passed.


    I¡¯d seen a dire need for me to be the man in the family. To grow up and stop playing kid games. My examples had been hard working men who kept heir heads down and toiled away steadily. At least, that¡¯s what I¡¯d always believed.


    It were stupid to still be stunned by this mess, but hearing it from Cassandra and Tawny had been one thing, reading momma¡¯s accounting of what happened were another entirely.


    In the letter, she explained that she¡¯d been at a college when daddy showed up. He¡¯d taken a class or two with family money, apparently my granddaddy had been an extremely hard worker and wanted his son to get an education.


    At some point my granddaddy had stopped being able to earn as much money. Daddy moved back, and momma came with him. They both settled in Chandler¡¯s field. It made me wonder where my granddaddy used to live, because this house were too crowded for three adults. I knew that because adding Jenn to the home had made the house feel cramped.


    I flipped back to the beginning while struggling to remember all the questions I¡¯d written down. She hadn¡¯t left me my original list, only a long meandering series of thoughts that spun a useless yarn of babble as much as they answered anything.


    She had been learning to be a tattooist. It¡¯d been a last ditch effort after daddy¡¯d started to get sick. Momma wrote that she¡¯d used all the knowledge she gained working first aid at Wellbrook, coupled with favors some Rangers owed her, to try any number of solutions to daddy¡¯s ailing body.


    Momma had failed then bottled herself up. I reread the damn letter again and wondered how I¡¯d missed so much.


    When your granddaddy were ill, I¡¯d been the one to take care of him. I stayed home and tended his broken body. The years had been unkind, he said. Said he¡¯d been close too. Not that it meant much because when he were lost in a fever, he said he were too far, then too close. Then too far. Like he chased something that didn¡¯t exist.


    Your daddy were the same way. Remember how I used to shoo you out of the room when he were really bad? It weren¡¯t fair, but we¡¯d hoped this mess would die with him. Foolish me, should have packed up and took flight back to the coast. But I¡¯d waited too long, mourning your daddy, worried my family would hardly know me. Your grandmomma, my momma, would say I spoke and wrote like a common born whore. "Were" ain¡¯t proper, she¡¯d say.


    She¡¯d be right of course. I¡¯d been taught better, but I liked it. It helped me fit in. None of the women around here took well to college language. Said it were too high flouting for their tastes. Lord knows I needed people, real people to talk to. Your daddy were my man and that meant something, but I couldn¡¯t let my life be only him.


    Shame on me. I¡¯d failed anyway, for all the changes I made to my way of life and manner of speaking. It¡¯d done no good.


    At some point momma¡¯s letter drifted away from answering my questions and turned toward a sort of self defense. Like she¡¯d needed to prevent me from accusing her of failing every which way from Sunday. I didn¡¯t need to blame her, I needed answers.


    The letter all but said that my family had been searching for something over generations. Given my dreams, that were likely the blue orb of magic that those black winged folks had stolen from the heavens. It didn¡¯t explain a damn thing about why momma and Cassandra had black wings. Though I didn¡¯t think momma had stolen anything from some fantasy world herself, I did suspect that being a tattooist might somehow be related to being a thief.


    I skimmed through the pages of letters again, trying to pick out anything worth a ounce of gold and couldn¡¯t sort past her babble in short order. She¡¯d worked in the mines. When my granddaddy passed, she put her nursing skills to work up the tents and learned a mile more about first aid. After a decade she¡¯d gotten pretty good but quit so she could raise me.


    That rung a bell, but that had been shortly after Jenn¡¯s house caught fire. Momma kept me busy learning to fix up the house and do little chores. We¡¯d gone into town which is how I got to know the other kids in the area. Somewhere in the years that followed, my body had grown along with my interests, and I¡¯d started to notice Lily.


    It weren¡¯t new, but told from momma¡¯s perspective, it were like seeing another side to the story. I¡¯d hoped she¡¯d simply address each concern one by one, but maybe she¡¯d been as flustered by my wall of inquiries as I were by her recount of our lives.


    I skimmed over toward the ending and stared at the text pertaining to my daddy on his death bed.


    I don¡¯t rightly know what to make of your questions. You asked if you weren¡¯t a hound, then what are you? Well, a hound¡¯s purpose might be one thing according to Cassandra, but from what little I¡¯ve pieced together from your granddaddy, he never called hisself a hound. He¡¯d never heard of it before. When the fever gripped him, he¡¯d say he were a hunter of the plains. A lone wolf on the prairie searching for his lost heart. Though that don¡¯t make sense either.


    I¡¯d always thought he spoke about his wife. The ladies around town said she used to be a beautiful woman who¡¯d had many a man hot on her tail. Though they also said once she¡¯d picked your granddaddy, she never strayed. They were insistent upon that, and I simply assumed she¡¯d been his missing heart.


    Your daddy didn¡¯t give me much to go off of. He¡¯d had dreams too. Said he were searching for something but he¡¯d never been in his right mind enough to share, and I were too heartbroken to ask. I¡¯d seen my share of dying men, and I knew we¡¯d little time for me to pry questions out of him, especially ones we¡¯d hoped to put to rest.


    It¡¯s a curse son. Lord help you if you have a boy of your own.


    I¡¯d been with all of one woman in my life and from what little¡¯d been explained to me over the years, getting with child were far more complicated than a one night stand.


    A knock at the door shook me out of my jumbled thoughts. I glanced up and sniffed. Jenn or momma should have been home by now. Surely they hadn¡¯t both decided to simply avoid me all weekend.


    I got up and walked to the door. A few feet away I could tell that neither of the women had returned. My visitor were someone else.


    One hand went to my gun hanging from the coat rack. I cocked the hammer back in case my visitor were unfriendly. Though it seemed impossible for Corso to have followed me home, maybe one of his henchmen had decided to get revenge.


    I opened the door slowly and stayed ready to shoot my guest.


    Ranger Wan stood in the doorway, hat in hand, and shuffled from foot to foot.


    ¡°Mister Craig. You¡¯re home.¡±


    My finger eased off the gun slowly. I nodded and took slow breathes to steady my heartbeat.


    Wan didn¡¯t notice. He paced back and forth again, then asked, ¡°You deliver the package?¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    My head shook. I stepped outside and went for a rocking chair we¡¯d placed by the front door. Wan refused to sit so we both ended up standing.


    ¡°Something¡¯s wrong. What¡¯s wrong?¡± Wan cocked his head to one side. He glanced between me, the house, and spun a slow circle to check out our surroundings.


    ¡°We¡¯re safe enough here. No one else around but you and me.¡±


    The information barely registered. I reached for a pencil and paper. It took a few questions and some chicken scratch on one of my new pocket books, but eventually I managed to convey to Wan what happened. Despite showing up at the store five days in a row, not once had the store been open. It¡¯d stayed closed and no one responded to my knocking, even during the hours stated on the window sign.


    Wan¡¯s face puckered up tight after he finally put it all together.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t make sense. He¡¯d always been punctual.¡±


    I can check Monday morning.


    It¡¯d mean I¡¯d skip sleeping, or resting in the wagon and throwing my schedule off. Time were hard when I spent almost a day simply traveling back and forth to Bell Town.


    ¡°You should. Maybe he¡¯s out of town for the week. Though he hasn¡¯t left Bell for months. Most of the Rangers use him for post. He¡¯s trusted. He¡¯s trusted, dammit all.¡±


    Wan stomped and threw his hat on the ground. His actions worried me. I¡¯d never seen him flustered by anything. Not during the trials where we¡¯d run for days and Ash kept us ragged. Of course, after working with Obsidian for three months, I felt sure the Ranger trials were more of a head game than an actual test of fitness.


    ¡°Pardon my manners Mister Craig. Rude of me. Our deal still stands if you¡¯re of the mind.¡±


    Don¡¯t know what marking Cassandra has planned.


    ¡°Then we¡¯d best go see what the miss cooked up for you.¡± He waved his hat at me and turned toward the path off my property. Wan paused and turned back to me. ¡°Though I¡¯ll ask you to keep trying with our contact in Bell Town. We¡¯ve few enough to trust outside the circle. Yourself and the Widow Craig included, of course.¡±


    My lips tightened. Rangers having contacts had been one of the odd tidbits Obsidian spouted when telling me to stand in a field holding weapons. It hadn¡¯t fully registered that Rangers might not be able to use normal systems. Post had never been a concern of mine since no one wrote me letters.


    ¡°You coming? Only so many hours in a day and no use spending them here.¡±


    He had a good point. My weekend were going to be busy enough. I nodded, grabbed my belt, gun, and hat then headed out after Wan. I¡¯d need time to ponder over momma¡¯s letter and sitting around the house puzzling over it wouldn¡¯t do me any good.


    ¡°Tawny¡¯s busy at Wellbrook¡¯s refinery. His wife¡¯s knees are wearing thin so they¡¯ve decided to camp where the monsters present themselves until she¡¯s on the mend.¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°He said I¡¯m to get your story for the week then report back to him come Monday.¡±


    Tawny hadn¡¯t given me any warnings about who I spoke to. Wan seemed to know everything anyway and we were headed to Cassandra¡¯s home. Between those two factors it were likely Wan could be trusted.


    I wrote down notes about my week while Wan led us to a pair of horses he¡¯d readied. Instead of playing twenty questions, I piled on the notes until I felt everything important had been put to paper. My first work of week were simple enough. I spoke of Simon and that he¡¯d done a short stint up at Wellbrook. I went on to explain that I¡¯d run into Corso and he¡¯d chopped off another man¡¯s hand as a warning to me.


    Then I handed the mess over to Wan and let him scan through it.


    He said little then nodded at the end.


    ¡°Busy week.¡±


    I nodded then crooked a finger in question. The horse swayed to one side and my balance were disrupted.


    ¡°Not a clue. They sent me out on one of those missions years ago, after I¡¯d become a Ranger. Went poorly. I don¡¯t leave the mountain side much anymore.¡±


    My nose wiggled side to side as I pondered that. Momma had plenty to say about Wan and Ash but most of it had been chiding them for being children. If I were to guess Wan¡¯s age, he were somewhere between momma and I, which meant she¡¯d been living in Chandler¡¯s Field since Wan were my age.


    ¡°I promised to teach you how to wield whatever weapon the miss gave you, but there¡¯s no reason we can¡¯t talk about it now.¡±


    I pointed to my throat.


    He smiled but didn¡¯t laugh. ¡°Better that way. I¡¯ll talk, you listen.¡±


    My head bobbed slowly.


    ¡°Back when I was a kid, I¡¯d had a teacher from the east. Or so he said. It was New York and people lied about their backgrounds. Reinvented themselves every other day. Some were drifters, others escaping their homelands.¡±


    Simon would have fit in with them. He drifted because he wanted work, though I¡¯d come to suspect he never made enough money to send any home.


    ¡°My parents are still back there. That¡¯s who the letter¡¯s addressed to.¡±


    A shoulders lifted in a lopsided shrug.


    ¡°Used to be this man who taught all the kids in the neighborhood. Anyone who¡¯d listen, how to use their bodies to fight. He¡¯d force us to learn our bodies before learning a weapon.¡±


    Eyes slowly blinked. Wan were over explaining and it bothered me. I nodded so he¡¯d keep going.


    ¡°He taught me two things that work for every weapon I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±


    Our horses tread a steady path along the road. I wondered if I¡¯d locked the door but decided not to worry about it. People rarely came this close to The Mountain willingly, and one thing Chandler¡¯s Field had little of were thieves.


    Bell Town though, I let the thought hang. Corso had opened my eyes to another side of people and it bothered me.


    ¡°Anything this miss gives you will need practice. That¡¯s always a given. Use it soon, use it often, use it against any spawn from the pits you can find. Learn it¡¯s limits.¡±


    I nodded. It were an obvious suggestion.


    ¡°First though, think of how your body moves. You¡¯ve been,¡± Wan dirfted a bit then shook his head, ¡°You¡¯ve changed into those other bodies. A dog. A wolf man.¡±


    He stared across the gap between our mounts until I nodded again.


    ¡°Your body doesn¡¯t move the same, but you got used to it, right?¡±


    My head dipped.


    ¡°Any weapon you get will be like that. My teacher used to wax on about practicing with a weapon until it became an extension of your body. Which is an ass backwards way of approaching the real issue. A weapon has a range of motion like a human does. You learned how your body moves, how far an arm will go before it pops and strains. How long your legs will hold a weight.¡±


    I nodded again.


    ¡°Learning a weapon requires the same knowledge. Learn how far it goes before it breaks. Learn how it moves with your body. Like leaning into a punch with your hips. It adds force. Weapons are the same. You got to learn how they move.¡±


    One hand pointed at my body and gestured from toe to head.


    Wan¡¯s lips tightened as he tried to understand my gestures. He blinked slowly then said, ¡°And how you move with it. If that¡¯s what you meant.¡±


    He¡¯d gotten close enough.


    ¡°If the miss can do your marking tonight, it likely won¡¯t function right for a day or two. Maybe longer. Weapons are heavy, or so Ash tells me. They¡¯re a thick ink. Like a bar under your skin. Hardwood always complains that her gun gives her shivers in the winter.¡±


    That didn¡¯t sound attractive. I¡¯d known that each marking carried with it a sort of side effect, and a price. My own eyes felt like lumps in my back. They mussed up my normal eyesight when in use. The Wildling Touch and Heartseeker often made my body hot and cold from either end. The idea of having a lump under my arms didn¡¯t sit right.


    I thought of Corso¡¯s surprise visit again and realized that it might have gone radically different if I were able to pull a gun out of thin air. How quickly could I have shot the lot of those thugs and Corso hisself?


    ¡°Your notes said something about Corso¡¯s men. One had a chain about his neck.¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Likely he couldn¡¯t speak right. Like what you suffer, only he¡¯d be raspy. Since the marking gets put on his neck. Or that other fellow, Mister Corso. Word is he¡¯s a scary one.¡±


    My head dipped to one side and I wiggled fingers again.


    ¡°He¡¯s the type that smells trouble a mile away. It¡¯s said that Obsidian and Sterling once went to Bell Town simply to remove him. And Corso set out an ambush. Took them two days to escape. He tore into Tawny about there being a traitor in our midst but no one could figure out who.¡±


    My forehead wrinkled. That sounded dangerous. Anyone that could ambush Obsidian had to be a scary individual. That shadowy Ranger seemed able to appear and disappear at a whim. Unless someone used a sun based marking on him.


    ¡°Near as anyone can figure, Corso has a precognitive ability. He can see the future, or maybe futures. He mixes that with his flickering blades and gut anyone within eyesight.¡±


    I pointed at my chest.


    Wan nodded, catching on faster this time.


    ¡°He let you live. Which means he doesn¡¯t know what you are, or his powers are more limited than Obsidian believes. Or maybe he¡¯s playing a longer game.¡±


    Fingers wiggled in question.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a deep thinker. That¡¯s Ash and Tawny. They¡¯re the thinking type. I¡¯m more a break someone¡¯s arm first and worry about questions later sort.¡±


    I chuckled. It came out as a dry heave of air.


    ¡°Once we know what the miss is thinking about your weapon, then I can give you some exercises. Material that will focus on learning range of motion. If you practice enough, then maybe a month, or two, you¡¯ll be able to use it effectively.¡±


    Imagery becomes form. Form becomes power. That¡¯s what momma had written in the letter. She¡¯d laid it out for me. Wan were saying the same  sort of nonsense. The marking became an item. That item became an extension of my physical body. I¡¯d have to learn how to move with whatever the item were, same as I learned to walk on four legs or in a hutched sort of monster.


    Not that I¡¯d had much practice as that in between monster. It scarred Jenn. It bothered momma. The fact that both women in my life reacted poorly to it made me wonder if becoming a misshapen back-bowed beast were worth a damn.


    I¡¯d get it sorted. At least this way I seemed able to be a man. That stance hadn¡¯t changed from my time in Wellbrook Mines. I intended to die as a human, come demons from the depths of hell itself, or where ever the mine¡¯s ink spun portals led to.


    We reached the edge of Cassandra¡¯s homestead, where the road ended and trees thickened to form a natural barrier hiding her home away. Wan stopped and whistled loudly, alerting the dogs in the distance. I got off my horse and hitched it to a tree.


    Only a fool would steal mounts this close to Cassandra¡¯s home. The dogs kept back most monsters. I suspected they had fed off ink based beasts and were similar to Hell Steeds in that regard. It would explain why there were so many of the damn mutts, and how they acted a bit too intelligent for normal dogs.


    ¡°The miss sometimes cackles to herself.¡± He shrugged.


    Cassandra¡¯s laughing?


    My face bunched in question. I couldn¡¯t hear her over the mess of dogs barking. They moved toward us in a wave.


    Wan blinked at me then nodded. ¡°Right. You haven¡¯t had much chance to research marks, have you?¡±


    My head shook. I¡¯d barely started last weekend, when Cassandra let me take a glance through her books. It were on my list of things to do this weekend. IF nothing else, I wanted to find the marks I¡¯d seen on Corso and his henchmen. It¡¯d help me know how to fight them, should the need arise.


    ¡°It¡¯s important to know what marks do at a glance, but it¡¯s also the hardest task we¡¯ll ever get. Battle comes quick and ends just as fast. Rarely do Rangers get to have a full hunt.¡±


    A hunt. Once a month there¡¯d be a big nasty beast crawling out of the ink pools in The Mountain. They¡¯d find their way to the surface, chasing after lesser monsters and attempting to eat their bodies. Harold had called them unclean.


    Wan kept talking while my mind struggled to keep his words in line with what I¡¯d been learning. ¡°It¡¯s rare the mind that can think fast enough, or even remember every marking in the world. Even the miss can¡¯t do it, and she¡¯s been working the ink for an age.¡±


    I nodded. Her books had hundreds of tattoos each, and there were likely variations of those marks that were different between people. Based on last week¡¯s conversation, it seemed likely that a lot of markings were invented based on the wearer¡¯s needs.


    ¡°Most you can figure out by looking at what they are. Those working girls in Bell Town, it¡¯s safe to assume anything they¡¯ve got is to keep them clean and eager.¡±


    Jewels markings had likely been of that sort. She¡¯d pointed out the one that let her tell when men were in heat, which seemed silly but apparently worked well enough.


    ¡°Mister Corso though. He¡¯s a harder one. Most of his marks are misdirection. Fakes designed to fool others.¡±


    Fake tattoos made little sense. Maybe it were like slight of hand for anyone he dared fight. Some fool would be looking at his arms thinking the spiderwebs on them meant something, when his real powers lay in the dozens of circles across his body.


    ¡°Obsidian should have harped on and on about thinking of counters.¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Take advantage of the learning you¡¯re being offered.¡±


    My pencil and paper being tucked away prevent any snide remarks from making it out of my mind. Momma wouldn¡¯t like me being rude, but Wan¡¯s statement were wholly unneeded. I realized my knowledge had huge gaps, especially during these last three months.


    ¡°Come on. The miss¡¯s clearing her table.¡±


    He led the way, and I took a peek at his markings.


    Crows. His back were filled with them. Black winged masses that fluttered and spun around each other. They weren¡¯t moving, but I couldn¡¯t tell where one began and the others ended.


    What are those for? I made a mental note of yet another set of markings to research. Though it might be polite to wait until Wan weren¡¯t looking. I considered it something of a test, to see if I could learn what other Ranger¡¯s marks did without asking them.


    Maybe that were stupid, but if Obsidian and visions had taught me anything, it were that Rangers may not be on my side. Helpful, aiming for the same goals, but we weren¡¯t exactly a unit. Heck, most days they hardly seemed to be even friendly with each other.


    Part of me missed the simple days of working at Wellbrook. The job had been hell, but at least we¡¯d been on the same team. Except for Ducky. Odd that he were more on my side now that he¡¯d become a Ranger.


    I shook off the muddled thoughts, pushed passed the mob of dogs bouncing and slobbering all over me, and stepped into Cassandra¡¯s home.

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