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Chapter 28. The Boy in the Air Shaft

by Rea

After a moment of silence, Thalliv spoke up. "Shall I…ah…provide us a bit more light?" Without waiting for a response, he produced two pieces of flint and turned to a conveniently located torch housed in a bracket just beside the staircase. A moment later, the room's disarray increased as the flickering firelight cast strange shadows along the walls and floor. Thalliv continued to several other torches around the walls, lighting them in turn. "There now, that's better."

"All the better to see nothing," Dirano grumbled mutinously.

"You don't like it, then get, while the gettin's good, cat," Sybil retorted.

"I only meant that there are no obvious clues besides that box," the wildcat hissed. "I'm going to look around!"

Not a bad idea, Rea had to admit. She wandered over to some of the more intact shelves.

Before she could have a proper look, though, her ear twitched in response to something just beyond her conscious awareness. She shook her head, focusing on the specimen jars in front of her, hoping to find one that looked red and brandy-ish. Nevyeer had thoughtfully labeled all his containers, but had also seen fit to write them in the insensible squiggles Antonio called 'letters.' Rea cast a sidelong glance at the brooding mustelid. Well, brooding wasn't quite correct. He seemed bound and determined to straighten the ruined lab, but he did look quite pensive while doing so. Or annoyed. That was certainly a possibility with the severe lack of clues Sarkleyet had given them before they undertook his mission.

Rea didn't even know why she had decided to join the Brandy-hunters. Speak no falsehoods, little dreamsayer, an internal voice that sounded suspiciously like Granny niggled. Thou be'st full conscious of the reasons for thy actions. True enough, though. It was a selfish reason, and most likely foolish, but it was a reason nonetheless. Looking for the Brandy gave the young dreamsayer a concrete - hopefully attainable - goal. Running off to save a town? That might prove a bit more difficult. Not only that, but when she did find the Brandy, she could destroy it.

The wolf still recalled her argument with Sarkleyet – Honestly! What was his mother choking on when she named him? – the first night. He'd reprimanded her like a pup and insulted her culture, but she'd backed down. Even then she'd begun to realize that if she 'helped' the Brandy-hunters, she could prevent the violence from escalating. That necessitated finding the Brandy first, though.

Trying to ignore the sound tickling her ears like a persistent, unseen insect, she let her nose lead her down the row until she reached one beside an air shaft leading up to the surface. Pine resin, stale as if taken many seasons ago, coated the inside of an amber pot. The wolf could smell, almost taste the bitter, sticky ichor on her tongue as she had once when lapping at the wound on the Cygne Tree. Every dreamsayer savored that-

"It's a flute!" The wolf realized, slamming a fist into her open paw.

"I hardly think this is the time for playing instruments, Ms. Rea." Antonio sounded exasperated, but the dreamsayer suspected some of that was directed at himself. The stoat kept clenching his jaw whenever he looked about the room, almost as if it physically hurt to be in such a mess.

"No," she resisted the urge to add 'you moron,' "I mean that sound I keep hearing. It's a flute. I can just make it out…" Her ears swiveled toward the air shaft. "I think it's outside." A few tense moments of silence followed before Sybil spoke.

"Don't hear nothin'," she stated.

"Is it even of consequence if there is somebeast playing a flute out in the street?" Dirano wondered aloud. "Just so long as he doesn't know we're down here..."

"Mayhaps this dark mission is confounding your senses." Silisk's hiss sounded far too close for comfort. The wolf's eyes darted automatically to the floor where a clean swatch cutting through the dust and debris tracked the snake's progress. She had slithered by, just a paw's length away, silent and unnoticed. The wolf repressed a shudder. "Hark!" A beat. "I hear nothing of this phantom flute."

Do you even have ears to hear with? The wolf almost sneered, but thought better of it. Silisk did not warrant snapping at for such an innocent comment. She wasn't a bird, not the slightest bit related to one, but for some reason her existence set Rea's teeth on edge. Her very presence engendered unfounded fear and distrust in the dreamsayer. Why? Only Siren knew.

Shaking her head to clear it, the wolf considered her almost-words again. It was an interesting question. Rea hadn't seen any sort of ears on the snake. How did she hear?

On the verge of asking honestly, a sharp note in the music caught the dreamsayer's attention. Abandoning her survey of the hopeless wreck of an apothecary's lab, she pressed her ear to the opening, cheek resting half in the shaft and half against the cool stone wall. It reminded her of something. No, somebeast. There was nothing pleasant about the music - no airy melody or upbeat tempo. It sounded more like…

"Papa?" Rea rubbed at the sleep still gumming her vision as she padded out of their den and approached. The sun held steady in the arctic summer sky, though the young wolf's internal clock told her 'dawn' had not yet arrived.could make one. Grandsire called him…'indecentive'.She found herself darting through the forest, breath coming in short gasps as she struggled to suppress the tears threatening to overwhelm her. She needed to see this. Needed it whatever Mother or Father said.curare herself, and his Passing shall be swift. From her eyne the tears shall fall…but not afore thy heart hast wept. Thou-"

"Rea?" Papa started, nearly dropping his flute and falling off the rock he sat on. "I'm sorry, Pinenut, did I wake you?"

"S'okay," she yawned, crawling up onto his lap and licking at his chin. "Granny said I should start getting up early anyway, as part of my dreamsayer training."

"That so?" the elder wolf asked tersely.

"Papa, what's wrong?" Rea felt the anxiety in her father's body – taut like a drawn bow string. Not only that, but… "Your flute just now, it sounded so…ugly? Angry? Are you mad at somebeast? At me?"

Papa considered her for a moment before replying. "Not at you, Pinenut," he sighed heavily, but the younger wolf relaxed. "I've just…made a choice about something and three creatures are going to be very upset with me because of it, one of them being myself."

"Oh." That made no sense. Why would Papa get angry at himself for making a choice? He was usually so happy when he

Her father had gone quiet and, unsure how to comfort him, Rea reached up to stroke the fur on his cheek, as Mama did sometimes. Only, she never had the chance to pet him properly because a moment later…

"Thou art planning to watch Grandsire's Passing Ceremony," Rea heard herself speaking from far away. The lips and tongue forming the archaic speech of the dreamsayers were not hers, nor the hooded yellow gaze that stared up at Papa with predatory interest.

"Pinenut?" Papa's voice sounded both surprised and concerned. "How did… Why are you-"

"Thou darest to gaze upon what no wolf should…the Passing of an alpha. Certes, thou knowest our ways, Armael Lightbringer. Thou art bold and brash to contravene them."

"Stop it, Rea." The elder wolf's hackles rose and he bared his teeth. "Stop it now."

"But thou wilt see as thou expectest. Grandsire's limbs grow weary. Cayenne, his dreamsayer and mate, shall complete the ritual. She hath prepared the

"I said stop!" Papa backpawed her, breaking their contact as she tumbled out of his lap and hit the ground hard.

"P-Papa?" Rea's voice and eyes belonged to her again. She stared up at her father, tears running down her cheeks. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't m-mean to touch you if y-y-you don't l-like it. But I-I thought M-Mama-"

"Armael? Rea? What's going on?" Drawn by the commotion, more wolves began poking their heads out of nearby dens.

"Rea, I'm sorry." Papa's eyes grew wide as he realized what he had done. "Oh, Pinenut, I'm so sorry!" Throwing down his flute, the elder wolf slid from the rock so that he crouched next to his daughter and hugged her in a tight embrace. "Rea, my Rea. Papa's so sorry. I didn't mean to do that, but you scared me when you started talking about…"

"About what?" Rea sniffled, confused, as she buried her snout in her father's neck.

"There's blood," he said abruptly, reaching to touch the scarred side of her face that still bled so easily.

"What?"

"I said I smell blood," Aras growled, a hint of – no, it couldn't be longing; those sorts of wolverines died out ages ago – interest in his voice. "It's strongest near you, Rea. Can't you smell it?"

"Smell?" Shaking off the remnants of the strange memory, the dreamsayer took in a great whiff and gagged.

"Ugh!" Rea pushed away from the wall, unprepared for the sight that greeted her next. Blood dripped from the top of the air shaft and oozed down the wall in front of her, a black mouth drooling red.

"Siren's tail!" the wolf swore, paw flying to her face to feel the sticky wetness where the foul liquid had penetrated her fur.

"Brandy.
Brandy.
Tastes like a candy.
But what of Red?
It's blood instead?
I wonder, wonder, wonder!"

The shaft sang. "I wonder if it's blood. Do you creatures down there know? I like blood. Oh, I love blood so. And I hate it! Hate it! But I'll love the blood that's given; the blood I take. Won't you come up? Come up, come up, whoever you are! I'd love to chat. One on one. One on two. One on twelve? I'm very flexible when it comes to chatting beasts up."

"Who are you?" Antonio demanded, the first to regain his composure.

"Me? I'm me, Castille. Not interesting." The toothy smirk in Castille's voice made Rea's hackles rise and her ears press back against her skull. "But you. You sound interesting. Are you the wolverine? Not very wolverine sounding, you. I've never met a wolverine to be honest, but you just don't sound like one. A pompous little weasel, maybe? Yes. That's what you sound like. Sorry, I mean to be rude, you understand."

"My name is Antonio Calceterre," the mustelid spat. "I am a stoat and an accountant in the services of His Royal-"

"Definitely pompous," Castille intoned. The wolf had trouble repressing a snicker. On some level, she had to agree with the disembodied, decidedly disturbing voice.

"Tell me, then, astute one," Antonio gritted through clenched teeth, "why is it that you hide in the darkness and prattle away without action like some wretched invalid? Why not show yourself? Or are you just that ugly?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say I'm handsome, but not ugly, no," the voice replied amiably enough. "Are you interested, Mr. Calcepompandcircumstance? Are you courting me? I love a good courting. All the teasing and testing and tantalizing touches that torment the body and soul."

"Steady on," Rea cautioned, uncertain of the meaning of many of Castille's words, but catching the gist from his tone. Looking around, fully expecting Antonio to fire back a volley of insults, it surprised the wolf to see the stoat had actually heeded her words. Not only that, but his expression left little to the imagination of what he might have said. His face pulled to one side, ears flat, lips drawn down with teeth bared, shoulders hunched, and left eye twitching irregularly, the accountant looked, in short, the very picture of disgust.

What's got his tail in a twist? the wolf wondered fleetingly before the more sensible side of her being spoke up. "Let's just-"

"Leave," Sybil finished.

"Two more? Oh! Lucky ladies. But what kind?" Castille sounded so genuinely curious, Rea had to bite back the introduction she was about to make.

"But what of yon box?" Silisk eyed the shaft as if considering whether or not to slither up and see just who dared to threaten her. "We've yet to divine its secrets. And we've nothing to show for our endeavors in this place save this crude construct."

"We can come back later when the nutjob ain't here," the marten suggested sensibly.

"Oh, that hurts, lovely lady," Castille pouted. "I'm not a nutjob. I'm not even a squirrel!" A full three seconds passed.

"Hahah! I get it!" Thalliv grabbed his muzzle in both paws and clamped it shut, having the decency to look embarrassed.

"Well, at least some creatures appreciate humor," the disembodied voice sniffed.

"It was a bit funny," the dreamsayer admitted. She had nearly joined the grandiose weasel in his giggling, but managed to hold off. The stupid joke had reminded her so much of her little brother. Eloi… The little git always had the dullest sense of humor.

Dirano ignored the wolf's comment. "How are we even supposed to leave with 'the nutjob' outside? He doesn't seem the sort to just let us walk out of here."

"Of course I am!" Castille interjected. "Do you know how much work it would be to drag seven corpses about? It is seven, yes? All of you wonderful creatures have spoken? Yes?"

"No, we got another score o' beasts down here," Sybil invented. Rea and the others gave her incredulous looks. The acrobatic marten shrugged, her expression plain: Doesn't hurt t'try.

"Tsk! Lovely lady! Lying lady!" The voice sounded annoyed now. "Lovely lying lady shouldn't dissemble. No, no, no. I don't like liar's blood. It has a bad taste, like it's been fermenting in the veins for far too long. I don't like it, not at all! But I'm not so picky about my drinks. The bad makes me appreciate the good ever so much more. Don't you think that's how it is with everything?"

"Gather around me," Antonio commanded, so suddenly and forcefully that everybeast did so. He'd obviously overcome his revulsion. "Look, I've just noticed something," the stoat carried on in a whisper once they all crowded around him. "There." He pointed to the table they stood beside. "Parchment scattered everywhere."

"Not exactly the time t'be complain' about the mess," Sybil snorted.

"Hardly, Ms. Sybil," Antonio replied in the same tone as he might say: 'And you are the illegitimate child of a pauper, too.' He picked up a sheet with an official-looking wax seal. "This particular piece here has such interesting things to tell… Oh! Forgive me!" He sounded apologetic, had all the inflections right, but something still made Rea want to smack him. "You are illiterate. Well, for your benefit, and Ms. Rea's, there is a letter here from one of Nevyeer's servants. It is difficult to decipher such poor penmanship, but I can just make it out…"

"Why so quiet all of the sudden?" the voice in the air shaft wondered. "Is something secret happening? I don't much like secrets, you know. Almost as bad as lies. Secrets and lies! Terrible things." No one spoke for ten seconds. "Well, if you're not going to keep chatting with me and you won't come up, I suppose I'll have to come down."

"Are you intent on bringing harm to yourself, ser?" Silisk scoffed. "There are seven of us and one of you."

"Won't that make it interesting?" Castille chuckled and Rea felt a shiver travel down her spine.

"We need to get out," the wolverine rumbled. "Now. That creature is mad and I don't feel much like fighting him."

"Agreed." Antonio nodded, not looking at him, instead running his eyes quickly over the letter. "We withdraw for now and make for the forest."

"Wait. Why? What does the message say?" the wolf asked.

The accountant sighed as he folded the paper quickly and placed it in his breast pocket. "Much more than I have time to read at the moment. There is a bit at the end, though: 'How far can I walk into the wood? Only as far as the three seasons fox sitting on the hundred seasons' golden head.'"

"That's nonsense." Rea's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yes, and we can make sense out of it when we're out of here," Dirano piped up, already leading the way to the staircase. "Fates! You'd think we were on a lovely picnic with the way you two are blabbering on."

"I just wanted to know–" Unease swept over the dreamsayer suddenly as the cat's footpaw touched the first step. It felt like when Sybil had gone off to meet with Sarkleyet: forbidding. "Wait! There's something off!"

"Aye," the marteness scoffed. "Maniac outside. Get a grip, wolf."

Something told her getting a grip was the least of her worries.