3. Penny
Penny
I ’d only ventured this far from home once before, and while the lively bustle of Forstford was a stark and thrilling contrast to my quiet farming village of Eastcliff, it was hard to savor the experience with empty pockets.
I talked—a fair bit, in fact—and asked after the elusive Kit Mosel, hoping someone might reveal something new. When they didn’t, I shifted my questions toward where he might have come from, thinking I’d take myself there next.
By the end of my fifth day, the stories here felt far less sensational than the ones that had first lured me to town. They mostly echoed what the barmaid had told me, though at a fraction of the cost.
Kit Mosel kept to himself. He had no friends to speak of, no social life to dissect, no wife or family in tow. He came into town strictly to work the smithy—where I was far too ashamed to show my face—or to buy supplies at the market.
So, to the market I went in hopes of catching him.
Wandering down the rows of vendors, my body moved forward while my head lolled back, tantalized by the sights and smells of various foods for sale.
Temptation warred with me as I slowed to a stop in front of the cheese monger’s stand.
Hard waxed wheels, soft, creamy cakes, and angular smoked wedges stacked the wooden table and spilled out of baskets, a bounty the likes of which I’d never seen.
I thought fondly of our cows back home, how they lowed for the early morning milking when I would drink my fill of fresh, warm cream before carting the sloshing pails inside.
I savored the smell, as it was all I could afford, before willing my feet into motion.
One step was all it took to send me straight into the path of an oncoming stranger.
The collision staggered us both, and the other man dropped the burlap sack he’d been carrying, setting apples loose to scatter across the ground.
I froze. Locked from the knees up, jaw slack, breath caught somewhere in my throat as I looked up at the tall, dark-haired man I’d been hoping to find any other way than this.
“Hello again, Mister…” I caught myself and cleared my throat before correcting, “Kit.”
“Should’ve told you not to call me that , either,” he grumbled, then knelt to scoop the now bruised and dusty apples into his bag.
I’d learned from the incident at the forge not to offer my assistance, but it felt awkward to stand idly by, so I spoke. “I had a thought.”
I’d had several of them while I wandered the quiet streets the night before, looking for a stoop to curl up on after being turned out of the inn. Fortunately, it hadn’t rained, though the dreary skies overhead didn’t promise the same luck for the coming night .
Kit finished collecting his goods and rose to full height as I continued.
“Perhaps, if you’re unwilling to take me to the Bone Men, you could draw me a map?”
Kit shouldered his shopping bag with a scoff. “Some navigator you’d be. Can’t even walk through town without crashing into people.”
My chest swelled with a haughty breath, and I crossed my arms, standing staunch before him. “I’ll have you know I made it here on my own from some miles away. I can manage myself.”
Rather than face me, Kit stepped around, approaching the cheese monger’s booth to peruse the goods I’d only just finished drooling over. I followed closely at his heels, near enough my nose tickled at the scent of juniper wafting off him.
“You’d walk yourself off a cliff holding the map wrong side up,” he muttered. “All because it said there should be a road there.”
He indicated one of the small, waxed wheels and requested a quarter of it. My stomach growled, a reminder of my three meals-a-day lifestyle recently reduced to one as the coin in my pocket reached dangerously low levels.
“And it’s more than ‘some miles,’” Kit continued while the vendor sliced and wrapped the wedge of cheese in waxed paper. “When I left that place, I went as far as my feet would take me, then kept going.”
Aggravation prickled at me almost as much as the hunger. Five days I’d wasted asking for help and favors, but it seemed Kit and I were speaking different languages. So, I tried again in terms he might better understand.
“Helping me is the least you can do,” I said, watching Kit take the cheese and tuck it in his sack.
“Surely you have some remorse for taking part in such heinous crimes. Having damned so many souls and ruined so many lives. Perhaps doing right by my father will earn you some much-needed absolution.”
Kit hadn’t acknowledged me at first, but the longer I spoke, the more focused his attention became. By the time I finished, his nostrils were flared, and his dark eyes had gone cold. His burlap bag slid gently to the ground, and his empty hand curled into a fist at his side.
I watched it, first swallowing, then bracing for the blow that never came. I must have squeezed my eyes shut because when I looked out again, Kit had retrieved his sack and relaxed his hand.
“Well,” he growled, “since you’re such an intrepid adventurer, surely you can manage with a point in the right direction.” He stabbed a finger toward the cloud-shrouded sun. “Go that way. Walk or ride, and don’t stop until you’ve gotten this absurd notion out of your head.”
Having said his piece, Kit turned away.
My empty stomach gurgled again, and I pressed my palm against it as though I could will the gnawing pain away. But Kit’s continued rejection hurt worse and came with more lasting consequences.
Time was running out. I was already facing a wet, uncomfortable night on the streets and a long walk home with nothing but bad news at the end of it.
I imagined my mother’s cries when she discovered the truth of it all.
She was a superstitious woman and raised my sister and me on cautionary tales about the dark god Eeus.
He manifested suffering and scarcity, the scourge of families like mine who relied on bountiful crops and successful harvests for our livelihood.
Eeus himself was bad enough, but his followers were worse, and taking part in his worship—even as an unwilling sacrifice—was enough to put a dark stain on an entire bloodline.
I didn’t believe in the curse that was said to befall the family lines of those whose bodies had been stolen.
But Mother and Sayla did, and it was Sayla’s urging that sent me to Forstford to try to find a way to break the curse before it could take hold.
It was their peace of mind I sought to preserve, and I was failing.
Kit made it a few retreating steps before I lunged after him and caught his elbow. He turned around, his eyes piercing with a scorn that almost silenced me, but I forced the words out on the cusp of a sob.
“Please, Kit…” I swallowed but failed to clear the lump clogging my throat. “This frightens me, too. But it doesn’t need to involve you any further if you’ll just show me the way.”
His shoulders rose and fell with a heaved breath. “I’m sorry for your loss, truly, but all that waits at the end of this road is death, and I’ve been party to enough of that already. I won’t point you down that path, too.”
My heart sank as he rummaged in his sack and pulled out one of the apples, polishing it on his pant leg before tossing it to me. “For the journey home. You won’t make it some miles on an empty stomach.” His pity grated on me, but I couldn’t find the voice to protest. He moved away again.
My feeble reach after him drew the notice of the cheese monger, who clicked his tongue. “Don’t you know when’s enough?” he asked. “We don’t want strangers bringing trouble, and Kit don’t deserve it.”
The sob stuck in my throat, letting only a few words eke out. “I didn’t mean any harm…”
“Take your snooping and your beggar eyes and get.” The man shooed me with his hands. “Go on.”
With a final glance at Kit’s retreating form, I nodded and went the other direction.