Hunt of the Bandham (The Bowl of Souls: Book Three) (38 page)

Fist opened his eyes. “No. I am still awake.”

“Good.” She walked over to the bed and pulled something from behind her back. It was a thick pillow in a soft cotton cover with the name Fist sewn into the fabric. “I made you this. It is stuffed with flowers from the honstule plant. They are the most amazing thing. When the flowers wilt they don’t degrade, but turn into the softest, most fluffy material. And they smell wonderful forever.”

“My name is on it.” Fist sat up and reached out. The pillow was light, as if it weighed nothing and she was right about the smell. He pulled it in and crushed the softness to his face. The scent was sweet, but not overwhelmingly so. Just nice, like a freshly cut melon. “Thank you, Miss Becca. You have done so much. I . . . I will work extra hard for both of you from now on.”

She laughed. “Fist you are already the hardest worker we have. If you promise to bathe every other day like I have asked you, I will be satisfied.”

“I will!” The thought of bathing didn’t seem so much of a punishment at the moment.

Becca leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. “Good night then, Fist.”

Fist laid back down and placed the pillow under his head. He felt so comfortable, that his body did not want to move, but he was too excited to sleep. He called out to Justan and made him come down so that he could show him everything. Justan was genuinely happy for him and even tried out the bed and pillow, saying that they were much nicer than the ones in his room.

After Justan left, Fist undressed and pulled the blankets over himself, enjoying the way the fresh blankets felt against his bare skin. He blew out the lantern that lit his room and communed with Squirrel through the bond until they both fell asleep. It wasn’t long before Fist dreamt.

He was floating peacefully on a bed made of cloud, unafraid of being so high in the sky above the earth below. Fist was content just feeling the hot sun on his body. Life was perfect, but his peace was interrupted by a thudding noise. He sat up and turned his head to see his father Crag running at him, his feet obliterating the clouds beneath him with every step. Following closely behind Crag was an army of winged beasts, dark and terrible.

Crag yelled at him to stand up and fight, but Fist didn’t want to. He laid back on the cloud and closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth of the sun, willing the darkness to go away. But they didn’t. The sounds of his fathers footsteps and the approaching army grew louder until Fist opened his eyes and his father stood over him, blood running down his body from several open wounds, his face pummeled and swollen as it had been when Fist had beaten him on the night he had left the Thunder People forever.

“Toompa!” his father yelled and swung his arm down in a mighty punch that knocked Fist through the cloud.

Fist watched his father’s disappointed face get smaller and smaller as he fell unprotected through the sky towards the earth below. The dark army roared and dove through the air after him, but it didn’t matter, he was going to die anyway. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth waiting for the impact, but he didn’t hit the hard earth. His body plunged into the icy depths of a deep river, the shock of the cold blasting the air from his lungs. He struggled to swim to the surface but the current dragged him down and down deeper and deeper until he knew he was going to die. As he was about to open his mouth and suck in the deadly water, a hand closed over his mouth.

Suddenly he wasn’t cold anymore. The hand moved away and he could breathe easily. Fist turned to see brown hair framing a face with familiar kind eyes and a short trimmed beard. The man pulled him in for an embrace and Fist was as small as a child again.

“It’s okay, Fist. You will be fine, someone is coming for you,” the man said.

“But why must I go, Big John?” he asked. “Can’t I just stay here with you?”

The man held him close again and patted his head. “I wish you could stay, but you do not belong here with me. You have too much work to do. Do not worry, we will see each other again.”

The man’s voice faded away and Fist was in the icy depths of the river again. He wasn’t panicked anymore. He kicked upwards and as his face cleared the water, he saw Justan standing on some rocks not too far away. The river brought them closer together and Justan reached out his hand to pull Fist from the river. As they grabbed each other by the wrist, the dream changed.

Fist was sitting naked in a tub of soapy water. But he wasn’t in the washing area. Somehow he had forgotten and started to bathe in the main room of the lodge. It was dinner time. Everyone was sitting around the table laughing and feasting. He was petrified. What if they saw him? He slowly rose from the water. If he could only make it to the kitchen door before someone noticed. But as soon as he stood, one of the women screamed and pointed at his-.

Fist was startled awake by a loud knock on his door.

“What?” he said, his thick rumbling voice even thicker from sleep.

The door opened and in came Miss Nala’s second oldest boy, Jerrold, followed by Master Coal. The wizard was carrying a lamp and from the state of his rumpled bedclothes, looked as though he had just been roused from sleep himself.

“Sorry to wake you Fist, but Jerrold refused to tell me what was going on without speaking with you first,” the wizard said.

He sat up, and the young teen threw himself into Fist’s arms, shaking in fear. The ogre was startled, but pulled the boy in close, patting him on the back awkwardly. “What is it, Jerrold? What is wrong?”

“Bindy is dead!” the boy cried out.

“Your goat?” The family kept many animals, but Bindy was their milking goat and the children’s favorite. She was quite old and had provided milk for all of the children since they were infants.

“Yes! All our animals are dead! But Bindy . . .” He buried his head into Fist’s hairy chest and sobbed.

“All of them?” Fist looked to Master Coal for an explanation, but the wizard shook his head.

“What about your brothers and sisters?” Master Coal said. “Is your mother alright?”

The boy nodded and raised his head. “They are okay, but mom sent me to get help. Stephen wouldn’t go with me though. He stayed behind to protect everyone else.”

“A good brother,” Fist said and put the boy gently to the side, before pulling on clothes as fast as he could. At his suggestion, Squirrel came out of his house and ran over to the boy, curling up in his lap and offering a nut. “I will go now. Stay here with Squirrel. He will watch over you until I get back.”

“Samson is coming with you, Fist,” Master Coal said. “He is waiting outside. I will follow with others shortly. Tell Justan.”

Fist ran for the door, not bothering with shoes as they would take him too long to put on. When he ran out the lodge door, the cold air hit him like a slap in the face, but he ignored it. Samson was waiting and he had grown big. He held two steel-tipped spears and tossed one of them to Fist. The ogre caught it with a nod of thanks.

“Get on. There is no time for you to run.”

The centaur knelt down and Fist swung his leg over the saddle. He barely had time to get his toes in the stirrups before Samson was up and running. Fist was not used to riding a horse, but Samson was the first one he had ever ridden that was large enough to carry him without being overburdened. The centaur understood that he was inexperienced and gave him as smooth a ride as he could without slowing down.

They raced through the night, a full moon lighting their way and Fist held on as well as he could while waking Justan through the bond. Once he knew that Justan and Gwyrtha would follow, Fist thought about what Jerrold had said. What had happened to Miss Nala’s animals? How could they all be dead? Was it sickness? He asked Samson and the centaur shook his head.

“If all the animals are truly dead, it was not sickness. No illness would affect all of them or catch on so quickly. Besides, when the boy arrived, all he said before asking for you was ‘blood’. There is something else going on.”

“I see.” Fist gripped the spear tighter and prepared his mind for battle.

As they approached the farmhouse, Fist could see that Jerrold’s claims were true. In the light of the moon, he saw the still forms of Miss Nalla’s animals lying in the fields. The smell of their blood hung thick in the crisp night air. Even so, Fist was not prepared for the sight that awaited them on the family’s porch.

Bindy wasn’t just dead. She had been dissected and pulled apart piece by piece and her remains were strewn across the porch in a grotesque tableau. Fist climbed from the centaur’s back and looked around the yard for any sign that the intruder was still around.

“It was done almost . . . artfully,” Samson said, his face twisted in disgust as he stared at the grisly scene.

Indeed, the placing of Bindy’s parts was deliberate. Each lump of flesh or shard of bone was placed in a precise pattern. Fist attempted to step onto the porch, trying to avoid stepping in the gore, but it would have been impossible. He caught a glimpse of Bindy’s head sitting atop a coiled pile of intestines right in front of the door as if to greet the person opening it, and changed his mind.

He ran around to the back of the house.

“Miss Nala! I’m here!” He reached the back door, but before he could pound on it, the door opened.

“Fist?” Steffen peeked out with a sword in one hand, eyes wide, looking terrified but ready to do battle. When he saw Fist standing in the moonlight, the boy smiled in relief and opened the door wider.

“Don’t come out!” Fist said and the door narrowed to a crack again. “Is everyone okay in there?”

The boy nodded.

“Tell Miss Nala that Jerrold is safe and me and Samson are looking outside. Do not open the other door!” Fist said, but by the look on Steffen’s face, he could see that the boy already had.

Fist sensed that Justan was astride Gwyrtha and thundering down the road after them. He had Ma’am strung and ready. Samson headed to the other animal enclosures to check for signs of whoever had done this. Fist walked to the edge of the woods behind the goat pen with spear at the ready. He was so focused that he didn’t even feel the frozen earth against the skin of his feet.

There was movement in the trees.

Fist ran forward, his hunter’s senses taking over as he followed the sound and the slightest hint of movement the moonlight showed him. But whatever he was chasing was clever and he soon lost its trail. He searched around for a moment longer before Gwyrtha and Justan caught up to him. Justan slid off Gwyrtha’s back and set her on the trail of the thing.

“Did you see it?” Justan asked, his bow at the ready.

“Some of it,” Fist said. “It was fast and I can’t . . . tell you right, but I will show you.”

He delved into the bond and showed Justan the moment of memory he had. He couldn’t make out exactly what it was, but a few things stood out clearly. Whatever he had seen had scales that reflected in the moonlight and it carried a sword on its back.

Their search for the creature was fruitless. Despite Gwyrtha’s superior tracking abilities, she lost its trail soon after Justan arrived. It occurred to them that whatever Fist had seen in the woods could have circled back to attack again and they rushed back to the farmhouse. To their relief, Master Coal and Qyxal had arrived and were tending to the family. Miss Nala and the children were shaken but unharmed.

The sky soon brightened with the morning light and Master Coal sent his workers out to assess the damage. Fist volunteered to stay with the family, while Justan left the house with Coal and Qyxal to figure out exactly what had happened.

From the state of Bindy’s corpse, they knew that the attacker was both intelligent and twisted. They couldn’t quite tell what message the placement of the goat’s body parts was meant to send, but the attack was personal, designed to terrorize the family. Master Coal ordered some men to clear the remains from the porch. There was no need to make the family deal with it any further.

“Whoever did this knew the family well enough to pick their favorite goat to make an example of.” Qyxal remarked. “Could it have been one of the other farmers? Is there someone that doesn’t like her?”

“No,” Master Coal replied. “There isn’t that kind of animosity in this community. At least not in regards to Nala. Her husband was greatly admired by everyone and in the time since he passed, she has earned their respect.”